Page 50 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

He stood between her knees, his lips swollen from their kiss, and reached for the tie at the neck of her shift. But then he paused.

“Take it off,” she demanded.

Together they lifted the linen over her head. Cool air kissed her heated skin. Her hands rose on instinct before she lowered them to the blanket and allowed him to look his fill.

His gaze shifted to the faint mark above her breast. “Did the dress hurt ye?”

“Nay.”

His thumb passed over the mark. “Tell me if I do.”

He kissed it, his mouth following the curve toward her breast, and her fingers curled into the blanket. When his lips closed around her nipple, her breath stuttered. He watched her face as he sucked on her until she moaned. He then released her nipple and trailed kisses to her throat.

Ceana ran her hands over the firm muscles of his shoulders and the scars across his back. Every time her fingers found one, he drew a sharp breath.

He gently laid her on the bed and followed, bracing his weight above her. He trailed kisses over her stomach, down to the inside of her knee, then slowly up her thigh. The first brush of his fingers against her sex startled a yelp from her.

He stopped. “Look at me.”

She raised her head. His hand remained still against her thigh.

“Do ye want me to touch ye?”

“Aye.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Good.”

His fingers moved again and found the swollen spot right above her heat. It made her hips buck. The sensation was too sharp at first, then softened when he eased the pressure.

“There?” he asked.

“Aye. Again.”

He obeyed.

Her thighs trembled with each patient stroke of his fingers. When she arched into him, he kissed the inside of her knee and moved higher, giving her time to get used to the sensation. The feeling briefly startled her before she settled into it again.

“May I?”

She opened her legs further. “Aye.”

His mouth found her right as her heel dragged across the blanket, and her hand curled into his hair. He slowed his ministrations when she tensed, then followed the rocking of her hips when she stopped trying to hold them still.

“Oscar.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Daenae stop.”

He dove back between her legs.

Each breath broke past her lips as the pressure in her core grew. She moved with him, learning which small tilt made her pleasure climb fastest. Her inner walls clenched around him, and she cried out his name as climax crashed over her.

As the aftershocks receded, she lay breathing hard while his palm stroked up and down her leg.

As soon as she could lift her arm, she reached for him. He came over her, and she slid her hand down his body. His eyes closed for one breath as he guided her hand to the bulge in his breeches. Her fingers curled around him, and his jaw clenched, his hips bucking into her palm.

“Again?” she asked.

He caught her wrist and kissed it; his rough breath was answer enough.

After a while, he removed the last layer between them and settled between her thighs.