Page 20 of Snowbound Surrender

The organ beneath her was starting to feel less like an uncooked sausage—albeit quite a large and meaty sort—and more like a fence post. She was pretty certain that, if she directed him now, he’d provide a perfectly adequate pole upon which she might slide.

However, she didn’t have the chance to try.

“There is something that might do it.” His voice had become several degrees huskier. “I’ve a thirst for something sweet and juicy. Come here, wife, and sit on my face.”

His hands were promptly upon her waist, scooting her upward. ’Twas not a position they’d tried before, although Finlay had performed the oral act upon her from the first days of their betrothal—as a way of giving pleasure without the risk of bringing a babe along.

Margaret gripped the headboard as Finlay’s heated breath met the soft skin of her inner thigh. Instead of diving straight in, he brushed feather-light kisses up and down, making her pant for what she truly needed.

When his open mouth closed over her and sucked directly upon her nub, she let out a squeak. Skillfully he worked upon her, drawing the tiny piece of flesh between his lips, then using his tongue to flick back and forth. She tried her hardestto remain still, but the acrobatics of his tongue sent her into a frenzy.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Her orgasm came in a great rush, making her cry out something extremely crude.

Not that Finlay seemed to mind.

She was squirming every which way, but he had a firm grip upon her, keeping her where he wanted. She liked the strength of his hands holding her, making her feel she couldn’t escape even if she wished to. ’Twas wickedly delightful.

He gave her a moment’s respite, taking his tongue lower. Entering her sheath, he explored every recess, delving between her inner lips, drinking her cream, but soon returned to her pearl again, drawing the flat of his tongue over that sensitive place.

He was fast steering her toward another peak.

“Come for me, my lovely lass.” He paused from his efforts to encourage her, before diving back to the feast.

The second wave hit her so forcefully, she was dizzy with pleasure as he maneuvered her onto her back, brushing tendrils of hair from her face.

“God, you’re bonny. The bonniest lass in all of Scotia.” He rose above her, resting in the cradle of her hips, to sink into her softness. A long, satisfied sigh left his lips.

There was no doubt about it. He was hard as the stone of Dunrannoch Castle, and hot as embers in the forge.

As he began his rhythmic thrusting, Margaret stretched languorously beneath him and raised one knee.

Oh yes. ’Twas exactly what she needed.

“My bonny beauty.” Finlay growled between thrusts. “My bonny, beautiful wife.”

CHAPTER 10

Finlay hummedto himself as he busied about the kitchen, piling the breakfast tray with an assortment of tasty tidbits with which to tempt his bride.

Brucie had braved the snow, loping out for a quick run, but had sprinted back promptly, eager to receive his own meal. The blizzard had stopped, leaving a thick covering of snow blown high upon the far side of the kitchen garden, but thankfully not piled deep against the outward door itself.

Finlay had crept from bed with the first spill of dawn, to get the fire going again. Margaret was deeply asleep, her hair spilled wildly over the pillow, cheeks flushed, looking even more devastating than she had the night before.

And what a night it had been.

Despite her protests, she’d been as hot for him as he was for her. Somewhere in their third bout of lovemaking, he’d heard the chimes of midnight but had been far too preoccupied to pass comment upon it.

Hogmanay night had certainly been memorable, but ’twas all the nights and days to come that had his interest. New Year’s Day it was, and a new beginning for them both.

Returning, he entered the chamber quietly, setting down the tray at the end of the bed, while Brucie flopped straight back down before the hearth again.

Going to the window, Finlay partly pulled back the curtain, looking out at the far-reaching landscape. ’Twas hard to discern much, for the frost on the panes concealed most of the view, but there was no doubt the storm had come hard. He could barely make out the white-crusted hills against the pale grey of the sky and the blanketed moor.

Across the room Margaret stirred slightly, turning over. As she did so, the coverlet slipped down, revealing the smooth line of her back, pale in contrast to the auburn tones of her hair.

Throwing off the shirt he’d donned for the trip downstairs, Finlay joined her once more, where it was welcoming warm and scented earthy, rich and sex-sweet.