“Ye deserve better than a table.”
Her head lolled against his shoulder. “I liked the table.”
He grinned. “Then ye’ll love the bed.”
He crossed the room and lowered her into the fur-strewn mattress. The fire cast gold over his skin—over broad shoulders, slicked muscles, and one very upright threat to reason.
He hovered over her, eyes burning.
“I’m going to take my time now.”
She swallowed. “Define time.”
“Till ye forget yer name. Or remember mine like it’s the only word left.”
Then he kissed her—not like before. Slower. Fuller. More consuming than air.
His weight settled over her. Skin to skin. Warm thighs cradling her hips. The length of him—still achingly hard—pressed against her belly, demanding a second hypothesis.
He kissed down her throat, across her chest, taking her breast into his mouth, tongue circling, sucking until she cried out and arched.
Wanton’s voice cracked. “F-field Observation 32.0—sustained contact increases—oh God—nerve receptivity and… regret for ever learning words.”
“Tavish… if you don’t—”
“I will,” he promised. “But this time, slow. This time, ye feel every inch.”
He pushed inside her again. Her head fell back, a low moan escaping her throat.
He moved slowly, hips rolling with unbearable control. He kissed her throat, her lips, her temple, moving deeper, pulling back, and filling her again.
She wrapped around him, legs cradling his hips, mouth open on breathless gasps, hands roaming his back, his shoulders, his hair.
“I—can’t—take—much—more—of—this,” she panted.
“Ye will,” he whispered, thrusting deeper. “And ye’ll beg for more.”
She did.
Softly, then louder.
And when she shattered for the third time, he let go—burying himself deep, coming with a groan so guttural it echoed in her chest.
He stayed inside her as their breath slowed, forehead resting against hers.
She blinked up at him, dazed and utterly destroyed.
“You’re… very efficient.”
He laughed, kissed her again. “I’m not done, lass.”
“Field Observation 33.0,” she mumbled, eyes drifting shut.
“Multiple orgasms may cause hallucinations involving kilted gods.”
“I’m real,” he murmured, pulling the blankets around them.
“And I’m keepin’ ye.”
