When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(56)

“I have time for this.”

The words were a low growl that sank to her belly and simmered there. He leaned close enough that she could breathe in the scent of his clean hair and skin, along with the faint aromas of soap and starched linen. She’d never drawn a more arousing breath.

“You may say you dinna want to attract notice. Well, I notice all of you.” He tipped his head, letting his gaze saunter down her body. “In fact, I’m starting to fancy myself a sort of naturalist. One with verra particular interests. I’m becoming quite the expert in Madeline Eloise Gracechurch.”

“Logan . . .”

“And lass, you canna stop me.”

Logan took his time, drinking her in.

Holy God, she looked lovely tonight. The green of her gown brought out the rosiness of her cheeks and lips. The silk clung to her figure, and that little lacy ruffle decorating her bosom drove him mad with desire. He tilted his head, staring into the soft darkness of her cleavage.

He needed to touch her. Taste her. Possess her in some small way.

“What do you mean to do?” she asked.

“I mean to put some color on your cheeks.”

“How?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“Don’t you dare. The maid spent an hour with the curling tongs.”

“I willna muss your curls.” A sly smile tugged at his mouth. “Not the ones on your head, at any rate.”

“Now you’re not making any sen—-”

He dropped to his knees before her, tossing up her petticoats with both hands.

She squeaked in response. “Logan.”

“Just a kiss, mo chridhe. Just a kiss. Let me give you this much.”

This wasn’t only about giving. He was taking, too.

He ran one hand up her stocking--covered leg, skimming over her garter to caress her silken thigh. Then he swept his touch higher, settling in the dark triangle where her thighs converged.

“Logan, please. I don’t want . . .” Her words trailed off in a breathy sigh.

He smiled a little, rubbing up and down with the pad of his thumb. “Oh, you want. You most definitely want. I can feel it.” He gave her inner thigh a lick. “I can taste it.”

She might have been shocked by his crude language, but her body didn’t object. He slid a finger along her crease and found her to be wet. So wet and ready for him.

“It took too long to dress,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be mussed.”

“Then lean against the dressing table.” He settled her backside against the edge. “Hold your skirt like so.” He lifted the silk hem and folded it upward, placing it in her hands. “And now be verra, verra still.”

Before she could muster another objection, Logan sank back to his knees and laid his mouth to her core.

She gasped.

He moaned.

Holy God. She tasted of ambrosia. Like peaches and blossoms and honey and musk. And just a touch of salt, to make the unbearable sweetness even sweeter still.

He went slowly, running his tongue up and down the full length of her slit. Teasing, tasting. Enjoying the hitch of her quickening breath. Feeling the little tremors in her thighs. Savoring the perfect softness of her most intimate places.

And then, when she began to arch against his mouth, he slid upward and touched his tongue to the place he knew she needed it most.

She cried out a little. Her hips bucked.

He reached under her petticoats, cupping the twin globes of her arse in his hands to hold her still.

So . . . very . . . still . . .

As he worried that sensitive bud with the gentlest flicks of his tongue.

Soon her hips were rolling in an instinctive rhythm. Moving with him, against him. If he withdrew his tongue, she chased it.

Yes.

Arousal surged through him. Beneath his plaid, his cock was hard as a staghorn dagger handle. A thought whispered through his lust--frenzied mind.

He could have her.

He could make her his. Right here, right now. Forever.

If he rose to his feet this moment, lifted her sweet little arse onto the table, and positioned his cock at her entrance . . . would she tell him no?

He didn’t think she would.

But damn if he wasn’t enjoying this too much. The seduction. The chase. Learning the sweet taste of her, and finding every slight caress that made her sigh and moan.

Still, he needed to be inside her in some way. He released her backside with one hand and ran his fingers up the slope of her thigh. Never ceasing his attentions at the crest of her sex, he slid the tip of one finger inside her.

“Yes?” he whispered, pressing his brow to her belly.

There was no hesitation in her reply. Only trust. “Yes.”

He advanced his finger, thrusting in and out, pushing deeper by slow degrees. She was so damned tight. He felt a primal thrill at the way her inner muscles gripped his finger so fiercely. This was something she’d only shared with him.

And she loved it.

“Logan. Oh, Logan, that’s so . . .” A moan caught her words and stole them away. “So lovely.”

“You’re lovely.” He kissed her just where he knew she needed it. “Beautiful.” Made a tender pass of his tongue. “Perfect.”

Then he settled into a rhythm. Sliding his finger in and out. Teasing her with the tip of his tongue. Her breathing and motions grew frantic, but he kept up his slow, steady pace. She released her hem with one hand, tangling her fingers in his hair.