The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(66)

He pressed a soft kiss against her and she melted. His mouth was so warm and gentle. His tongue slid inside her, thrusting until her hips circled against him. Until she thought she was going to die of pleasure.

His kiss turned rougher. Tonguing her deeper and deeper. Circling. Flicking. Sucking. Using his fingers. Her hips rose up to meet him. It was right there. She could feel it concentrating.

“Oh God,” she moaned. She couldn’t stop it. The pressure spiked.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured against her, “come for me.”

She came apart, crying out as the tight ball of sensation shattered inside her. She pulsed against his mouth, and he held her there until the last spasm of pleasure had ebbed from her body.

Slowly, her heartbeat slowed, and she returned to consciousness. He’d eased off her, but still had the linen of her chemise clenched in his fingers.

His head was bent over her, and he was holding himself so stiffly, if it wasn’t for the harshness of his breathing, she would have thought he wasn’t real.

“What’s wrong?” She placed her hand on his rigid shoulder and he jerked at her touch.

He looked up at her. His handsome face was strained and tight, his blue eyes dark. He looked to be in severe pain.

“Nothing,” he growled. His shoulders drew up as he struggled to take a deep, ragged breath. Then, more gently, he said, “If you want to leave here a maid, I need a minute.”

Her eyes widened, realizing he was fighting for control. “Oh.” She sat up, adjusting her chemise. He hadn’t taken his pleasure. Was it the same way for him as it was for her? Was he feeling the way she had when he took his hand away? She bit her lip. “Is there anything I can … do?”

His jaw hardened, and he shook his head. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Take care of it? How? All of a sudden she realized. “No!” She didn’t want him to go to another woman. “Please, I want to. Show me how.”

Erik’s heart stopped beating, not believing his ears. He was having a hard enough time getting himself under control. Watching her come had aroused him to the point of almost mindless need. Pushed to the very edge of his control, where all it would take was one nudge to send him over. Her offer was almost more than he could bear.

He shook his head. “You don’t know what you are offering.”

She was a virgin, for Christ’s sake.

Ellie put her hand on his leg and he stiffened, the blood pounding even hotter. Sweat gathered across his brow, and it wasn’t from the sauna.

“I know that I want to give you pleasure.” Her cheeks heated adorably. “The way you pleasured me.” She bit her lip and gazed up at him uncertainly. “If it’s possible?”

God, was it possible! In a number of ways.

Erik closed his eyes and fought for control but knew he was past the point of arguing. The idea of her hand on him—he dared not picture her mouth—was too tempting to refuse.

She wanted to pleasure him. Usually he was the one who gave—whether it was pleasure in the bedchamber or entertainment around the campfire. He wasn’t used to someone thinking about what he wanted. But Ellie never seemed to act the way she was supposed to.

“Tell me,” she prodded softly.

He looked into her eyes, every inch of his body pulled as tight as a bowstring. His jaw was clenched so hard he could barely get the words out. “I can’t.”

Instead he showed her. Holding her gaze, he moved her hand over him.

He groaned at the contact—and at the little erotic sound of surprise that emerged from between her parted lips. She swallowed, with some effort, but when she didn’t remove her hand, he thanked about every god he could think of.

Molding her hand around him, he savored the sensation for as long as he could. He was in danger of losing it with her just holding him.

Clearly this wasn’t going to last long. His vaunted stamina seemed to have deserted him. Ellie was wreaking havoc with his reputation. Not that anyone would believe it. Hell, he couldn’t believe it himself.

Her shock wore off quickly. He almost wished it back, however, when his too-curious little nursemaid started to explore him with painstaking attention to detail. She petted him gently as if she were afraid he would break, when all he wanted to do was curl that soft little palm of hers around him with a firm grip and let her stroke him until he burst into mindless oblivion. She tested his length, moving her hand up and down, and then his girth with a tentative circle of her hand. But her hands were small and he was not; she could barely close halfway.

She gave a gentle squeeze and tug. He made a rough sound of half-pleasure, half-pain. He clenched and started to pulse.

She jerked back her hand. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head, blood raging like an inferno in his ears. He wanted to come so badly he could barely think.

“God, no.” His eyes burned as he gazed into her worried face. “It feels perfect.”

She smiled, causing the heat in his blood to spread to his chest. She touched him again, and he sighed into her hand, the relief acute. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying not to think about what she was doing to him, while savoring each dark sensation. The warmth. The tentative brush of her fingertip as she traced him from root to the top of his thick, sensitive head. And the exquisite pressure when she finally gripped him in her hand.