“Don’t you dare take that kilt off.”
His eyebrow arches. “Enjoying the view, are you?”
“You havenoidea.”
I reach for him, fingers trailing up his thigh. The realization hits me…there’s nothing underneath his kilt. Just Knox, hard and ready for me.
I gasp, my hand sliding higher beneath the wool. “So the rumors about Scotsmen are true.”
Knox’s smile is pure sin as he moves with deliberate slowness, kneeling between my spread legs. His hands push mydress up my thighs, bunching the fabric around my waist. When his fingers hook into my panties, I lift my hips without hesitation, allowing him to slide them down my legs.
“Beautiful.” His voice is rough, laced with that thick accent.
His hands coax my thighs farther apart. I should feel shy…but all I feel is the heat building low and wild as his eyes drink me in like I’m something sacred.
I reach for him, desperate to feel him against me. “I need you, Knox. Now.”
He leans forward, claiming my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath. “Patience. I want to savor my fiancée.”
“Patience is overrated,” I breathe, reaching between us. When my fingers wrap around his length, he hisses, his forehead dropping to mine.
“Christ, Juliette,” he groans, his hips jerking forward instinctively.
I stroke him slowly, feeling him throb against my palm. “I want to feel you inside me.Please, Knox.”
In one swift motion, he grips my waist and lifts me off the couch.
“You’re going to get exactly what you want,” he says, his voice husky with need as he carries me toward the kitchen.
My legs wrap around him instinctively, my arms looped around his neck as he walks with determined strides. When we reach the kitchen, he sets me on my feet, his fingers finding the zipper of my dress. The fabric slides over my skin, pooling at my feet, leaving me bare. The cool raises goosebumps across my exposed flesh.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs as he lifts me again, this time setting me on the edge of the kitchen table.
The polished wood is cool against my thighs as I lean back on my elbows, watching as Knox stands between my legs, hishands caressing up my calves to my knees. His hands slide higher, pushing my thighs apart as he leans forward, his mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses up my inner thigh. But then he straightens, his eyes burning with hunger as they lock on my breasts.
He dips his head, capturing one nipple between his lips, and the wet heat of his mouth makes me cry out. His tongue circles the sensitive peak, then he sucks hard enough to make my back arch off the table.
“Knox,” I gasp, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to me as he moves to my other breast, giving it the same attention.
The sensation shoots straight between my legs, and I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more. His teeth graze my sensitive skin, and I tug at his shirt, needing to feel his bare chest against mine.
Knox tears himself away just long enough to grip the collar of his dress shirt, his muscles flexing as he yanks it free. The buttons pop off with a satisfying snap, scattering across the kitchen floor. He stands there, chest heaving, his kilt still perfectly in place, the sight of him stripped to the waist leaving me breathless.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me to the edge of the table until I’m perfectly aligned with him. He lifts the front of his kilt, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight before me.
His cock juts out from between his legs, thick and heavy, the tip flushed deep red with need. He’s gorgeous everywhere. It’s impossible not to take in his broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, his abs defined and ridged beneath taut skin that I want to taste.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe. I reach out, wrapping my fingersaround him. He’s like steel wrapped in velvet, throbbing with heat in my palm. Moisture beads at the tip, and I swipe my thumb across it, spreading it over his sensitive head.
Knox hisses, his muscles tensing beneath his skin, the cords in his neck standing out as he restrains himself. The power I have over this magnificent man makes my head spin. I’m just about to stroke him again when his control snaps.
His hands grip my shoulders, shoving me back until I’m flat against the cold table. In one forceful thrust, he buries himself inside me. I cry out, my back arching off the table as he stretches me, the rough wool of his kilt grazing my thighs, sending a shiver through my body.
“Fuck, Juliette,” he groans, his fingers digging into my hips.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, my voice breaking as he fills me completely. Between the cold table below me and the scorching heat of his body above, the sensations are overwhelming.
