Page 95 of The Scot Beds His Wife

Unable to take it anymore, he put his hand to his mouth, licked the tips of his fingers, and brought them to where their bodies joined—to where he’d become a part of her—and slicked the moisture over both of them.

Quickly, he found the tight bud exposed by her position and thrummed it softly, delighting in the satisfied gasp she made just as much as the ground he gained within her.

“Aye,” he breathed. “Take all of me.” He stroked her again, and again, feeling the answering clench of her inner muscles with each sensitive glide of his fingertip, and the subsequent release that came in slow, wondrous gives until he was seated deep within her.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she began to roll her hips in careful, concentrated motions.

Ye gods, but she was exquisite, perched above him, her hair wild, her swollen lips parted, her eyes wide with equal parts wonder and determination.

Instantly, he could tell she was favoring her leg, and that her thighs trembled. Determined or no, her strength wasn’t what she wanted it to be.

But he also knew his wee wife wouldn’t forgive him if she lost this battle.

Gripping her hip with one hand, he anchored and supported her weight, using his strength to thrust up inside of her. His other hand remained trained on the throbbing little pearl above where they were joined, teasing it in time to his desperate, increasing rhythm.

He watched a pink flush overtake her golden skin as he surged up and up, increasing his penetration with such force, she bounced above him with shocked littleohsof pleasure.

Stroked and gripped by her tight, wet depths, Gavin bared his teeth as his breath began to hiss out of him, dragged from his struggling lungs by unbridled pleasure.

With any other woman, fucking had always been about one thing, the burning, throbbing, climax at the end.

But with her, with his wife, the climb was equally as satisfying as the peak. Even as he drilled into her, a single-minded beast, he marveled at the pleasure he found just being inside of her. At the tenderness she evoked that underscored the ferocious lust.

“Kiss me,” he demanded in a guttural whisper, surging up to meet her as she fell against him, rocked by the relentless movements of his hips. Their kiss didn’t last long. It was interrupted by her hoarse cry as a wet release flooded around his rock-hard shaft, her sex pulsing and milking at him, bearing down greedily, and then curling away.

She ripped his own orgasm from deep beneath his spine, her body clenching around him so tightly his shoulders dropped back to the hay. His fingers dug into her hips as though they’d save him from a long fall into the void. Holding her still as the voluptuous rhythmic pulls and grips of her own release were all that was needed forhis sex to pulse liquid warmth inside of her in a few final, ecstatic jerks.

She collapsed on top of him, and his arms instinctively encircled her, his fingers toying with the long rope of hair he’d braided the night before. Their chests heaved against one another’s with uncontrolled breaths, their bodies still joined beneath the spread pool of her skirts.

“All right, lass, ye win,” he panted. “Ye can ride.”

Her reply was muffled against his shoulder, but it sounded something like “You’re goddamned right.”

“Who knew being married was such fun,” he panted, pressing a kiss to her temple and swatting her backside simultaneously.

She pulled back to look at him, one of her rare, reluctant smiles tugging at the corner of her kiss-reddened mouth. “You probably should have done it years ago.”

“Nay, lass,” he said, suddenly feeling very serious. “Then it wouldna have been ye.”

Encouraged by the shy lashes that spread down across her cheek, he lifted his neck to kiss her, gently this time, and her response was unlike anything he’d ever experienced with her.

Soft. Tentative. Uncertain.

A protective tenderness bloomed inside of him, intensifying as she shaped her small fingers to his rough jaw, cupping his face in her hands.

He reversed their positions, settling above her with a possessive moan. How had he ever thought her a hard woman? All he’d first noticed of her was her sharp angles and even sharper tongue.

It wasn’t sharp now, as it glided past her soft lips and into his mouth, hotly exploring him as her hips began to roll once more, coaxing his cock to twitch and swell.

Moved by a foreign, frightening emotion, Gavin clutched her to him. “I canna believe—”

The doors to the stables slammed open and Eammon’s voice boomed through the causeway. “I’ve had it with you, you bloody daft ass! No one has all bloody day to wait on you!”

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Samantha’s heart stopped for several incomprehensible seconds before she registered that Eammon Monahan was, in fact, addressing a mule.

With a low curse, Gavin leaped off her, turning his back to the stable doors while he fastened his trousers, tucked in his shirt, and adjusted his vest.