The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(35)

He wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he liked seeing her flustered. How he wanted to fluster her some more. And what a damned shame it was to get to her age and never know a man’s touch.

“Let go of me,” she managed shakily.

The poor thing was as jittery as a lass who’d never been kissed.

Ah, hell. She probably hadn’t been kissed before. His eyes fell on her mouth. It was a pretty mouth, when it wasn’t pursed thinly with disapproval—rosy and lush, with a soft, sensual curve. It would be a crime to leave a mouth like that untouched. Hell, he was doing her a favor. One side of his mouth lifted in a wicked curve. Call it his Christian duty.

He could make an exception to his “never dally with maids” rule just this once.

He let his thumb slide over the too-stubborn point of her chin, softening it with a gentle caress. Her skin felt almost unreal, as smooth and velvety as cream.

Her eyes widened. “W-what are y-you doing?”

He smiled, letting the pad of his thumb slide over the plump pillow of her lower lip. The hitch in her breath sent a pulse of heat to his groin. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

Her pupils darkened. She seemed to stop breathing. “Why?” she squeaked.

Her eyes were raking his face so intently he didn’t think she was aware of his thigh closing against her, nudging her closer to his lap.

He slid one of his bandaged hands around her waist, resting it on the gentle flare of her hip. “You’ve never been kissed before, have you, Ellie?”

Mutely, she shook her head, too stunned to lie.

He brought her face closer to his, running his thumb over her mouth again, pleased when it quivered and her lips parted.

It was an invitation too sweet to ignore, and he brushed his mouth over hers. Gently. Softly. The barest touch. Letting her get used to the sensation.

It was something he’d done hundreds of times before, but his senses exploded at the contact. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. How was it possible to have lips so soft and to taste so sweet? He wanted to sink into them. Into her.

He pulled back, a bit perplexed, and stared into her half-lidded eyes. Aye, this was how she should look. Eyes soft and dreamy, a supplicant waiting for his touch. Not impassive and impervious.

His brow furrowed, thinking it strange how hard his heart was hammering in his chest, and how much he wanted to kiss her.

He took her mouth again, increasing the pressure, lingering for a deeper taste.

Sweet? Hell, her mouth was like warm sugar, dissolving right under him.

He kissed her harder, moving his mouth over hers hungrily, forgetting all about Christian duty. All he could think about was her velvety skin, her soft, sweet lips, her honey taste, and the enticing scent of her skin. He felt as if he were being dragged under in a delicious, sensual undertow—drowning in liquid desire.

He couldn’t believe he was getting this hot over a kiss. His c**k was as hard as a damned spike. Seeking a little relief, he pulled her against him, bringing her fully onto his lap. But the sensation of her bottom pressing on his arousal—separated by a thin piece of linen—only increased his agony, making him want more. Much more.

She made a little sound at the feel of his hardness pressed so intimately against her. Half gasp of surprise and half something deeper that hinted at a sensuality he wouldn’t have surmised, but was damned eager to explore.

The bandages on his hand didn’t prevent him from lacing his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head and bring her mouth fully against his.

Just a taste, he vowed, and urged her lips apart with his.

Christ. The first sweep of his tongue in her mouth made him groan with raw pleasure.

She startled at the unexpected invasion, but before she could pull away, he stroked her again. Sweeping his tongue against hers in a bold, seductive caress. Repeating it again and again until he could feel her soften against him.

He liked her like this. All warm and melty in his arms. Her skin hot, her breath short, her body ripening for his touch. Was she damp for him? Was the heat rushing between her legs? Were those plump lips of her womanhood swelling? Quivering? Aching for his touch?

What the hell was wrong with him? He knew desire, but this was … more. Something about this lass felt different, though hell if he knew what. The heat that gripped him grew tighter. All over. Not just in his groin.

Suddenly uneasy, he started to pull away—and would have done so had he not felt the tentative flick of her tongue to his. The innocent response did something to him. It was as if that little flicker sparked a fire inside him.

Instead of pulling away, he drew her nearer, bringing her more fully into his embrace. The tips of her br**sts pressed against his chest as he deepened the kiss, circling and twining his tongue with hers. God, this felt good.

And she responded, meeting his strokes with her own, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as his groans urged her on. He wanted to roar with masculine pride when he felt her arms circle his neck. Anything she lacked in experience she more than made up with enthusiasm. What a waste to keep passion like this bottled up to wither away and die. The lass was a natural.

Her response was having a strange effect on him. His control seemed to be slipping. His kiss grew hotter. Wetter. Naughtier. He was kissing her, plundering her mouth as if he meant to swive her senseless.

She was so damned hot, practically melting in his arms. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. His hand found the small curve of her breast, nothing like the soft, pillowy flesh he was used to, but firm and supple, with barely enough roundness to fill the palm of his hand. He wanted to squeeze and knead, to take the tiny bud of her nipple between his fingers and pinch it to a taut peak, but the wild fluttering of her heart beneath his hand made him take it slow.