Page 14

Lydia

Malcolm leaned forward, his breath hovering over her lips. Lydia’s skin prickled, anticipation swirling through her chest. His gaze was locked on hers, steady, secure…but unnerving. Because of the strength of it, of how forceful the unnamed emotion was that lurked there.

Her palm landed on his chest, freezing him.

Her heart stuttered. He was so large, towering over her even as they sat on the floor of his rooms, his massive hand cupping her cheek infinitely gentle.

And she knew, even though his size and strength gave him an advantage—power—over her, he’d never use it.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered finally.

He studied her silently, eyes darkening like the sky before a storm.

And she could feel the heat of it, the intensity, straight to the core of her.

She hadn’t realized something so small, so simple, could set her aflame.

She was a woman of two-and-thirty. She’d had plenty of time with her own body.

With want. Heavens, she was far too familiar with painful, aching want.

And now she knew this man could provide it.

Fulfill it. Her heart rapped erratically in her chest.

“Just follow my lead, lass,” he finally murmured. “I’ll show you anything you want to know.”

He leaned forward, his lips almost, almost touching hers, the comforting scent of leather and Malcolm enveloping her.

“Everything,” she whispered.

“Aye. I’ll show you everything, mo chride.”

Her lungs faltered at the endearment. She wasn’t overly familiar with Gaelic, but she knew that one. My heart .

And then his lips touched down on hers. Soft, warm, and heart-stopping.

They passed slowly over hers, pressing the sweetest kisses over her bottom lip, her top lip, the corner of her mouth.

She leaned into it, her chest buzzing, afraid it was near to bursting.

She didn’t understand the feeling, but the gentle press of his mouth against hers… was enrapturing.

Lydia mimicked his movements, and his thick fingers curled, pressing into her scalp where he cradled her head.

Her own fingers dug into his thin linen shirt, pulling him even closer as she pushed into him.

He remained careful, intentional, with his feather-light presses, but with each pass, their mouths parted the tiniest bit more, lips trailing over lips, until the kiss was open-mouthed and searing.

And demand pulsed heavily in Lydia’s heart and between her thighs.

“More, Malcolm,” she said against his lips, yanking on his shirt in her grip. “Closer. Show me what’s next.”

His nose brushed against the side of hers, his breath skimming over her lips and cheek. “Lie back, love.”

Still cradling her head, he slowly lowered her to the blankets they sat upon. He rested on his hip next to her, his hand leaving her head to find her thigh, down to her calf. His blue eyes bore straight to her soul as, inch by inch, he pulled up her skirts.

“How far do ye want this to go, Lydia? Whatever it is ye want is what I’ll give.”

“Everything,” she said again, his thickening brogue rolling over her like waves of warmth from a blazing hearth. “I want everything with you.”

His lips pressed down against hers again, wider, wetter, hotter. “Then ‘tis what I’ll give ye, lass. But if that ever changes, all ye have to say is nae, and I’ll stop. Understood?”

She nodded, lifting herself to kiss him again. And then his tongue flicked out and trailed over her bottom lip. Lydia gasped into his mouth, back arching off the floor. Because that small caress? Heavens, she felt it between her thighs.

He did it again, skimming over the seam of her lips, dipping inside, slow and shallow. She didn’t need to be told twice. She reciprocated, desperate for more of that feeling. Feeling alive.

She met the next pass of his tongue with her own and a low rumble came from deep within him, shaking his chest where it rested against hers. She matched him stroke for stroke, pushing harder than he did, more demanding, showing him without words what she wanted, what she was ready for.

His hand was on her bare thigh now, and as she drove their kiss harder, faster, wilder, his fingers dug into her skin, like if he didn’t latch onto her, he’d lose control.

But she very much wanted him to lose control.

If a simple kiss was this exhilarating? What would his hands be like? At the heart of her.

Malcolm took that moment to pull away and trail kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck.

And did the most delicious things with his lips and tongue beneath the hollow of her ear.

She shivered, legs twitching, fingers trembling.

He tugged gently on the shell of her ear with his teeth, and she felt an answering pull between her legs.

How? How was that possible? It made her want things.

Scandalous things. Forbidden things. Like his mouth where all these feelings he was provoking pooled.

She squirmed next to him, hot and needy. Strong, sure fingers skimmed over the top of her thigh and traced the groove where her leg met her hip. His lips left her, his harsh breaths bursting against the sensitive skin of her neck.

“I’ve dreamed for so long of being blessed with the chance to touch ye in this way,” he said with broken breaths. His fingers skimmed over the curls between her legs, teasing, just the light trace of his fingertips. “To be the one to bring ye pleasure.”

Lydia widened her legs, gently nudging up into his hand. She wanted him to show it to her. What it was to reach that blissful peak. With someone else. By someone else. By him.

Malcolm.

She sifted her hand through his dark locks, gently pulling him until his gaze locked on hers. “Do you want to know a secret?”

He nodded, his nose bumping into her with how close they were together.

“I’ve dreamed of the same. With you. Of what it would be like if it wasn’t my fingers, but yours.”

His gaze never left hers, and his fingers slowly trailed between her legs, coasting up and down. Leisurely. But the feelings that it inspired inside of her were anything but.

“Like this, mo chride?”

She leaned up into him, so their lips brushed as she nodded. He nipped at her mouth, his fingers dipping to part her, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her core was on fire, her skin nothing but a throbbing ache, desperation sizzling beneath the surface.

His fingers slid over her, and a tortured groan fled his lips.

And she devoured it, her mouth, her hips, her hands, every part of her greedy for every part of him.

Her hands pulled at his shirt, and he rose to his knees and hastily shucked it over his head.

Then her hands landed on searing hot skin, blessedly bare burning skin.

The muscles of his abdomen quivered beneath her palms, and blue eyes blown black stared down at her. Hungry.

He towered over her, his face shadowed from where his large form blocked out the candlelight behind him. And for once, he didn’t look safe. He looked dangerous. In the best way.

“What comes next?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

He lowered over her, caging her in between his forearms. He dragged wet lips across the bottom of her jaw, teeth grazing, then trailed down her throat to where her neck curved into her shoulder.

“I’m going to make ye come, lass,” he murmured into her skin. “And then I’m going to strip ye bare.” That sinfully wicked tongue trailed over the ridge of her collarbone. “And make ye do it again. And again.”

His hand found her core again, this time with surety, no teasing.

He parted her, fingers skimming, swirling, and then sinking deep inside her.

A broken cry fled her lips. One Malcolm was quick to steal with his own lips.

His thumb glided up over her, a gentle barely there movement that wasn’t enough but was everything at the same time.

He groaned, deep and rough. “Och, leannan. You squeezed me so tight, just then.” He did another barely there pass with his thumbs, his fingers thrusting inside her in a torturous rhythm.

Her knees slid up, thighs clenching on his hips; her blood thrummed, turning molten in her veins, swirling to center between her thighs.

She didn’t know what way was up, what way was down.

Her body was frantic, incoherent. She could never have imagined it’d be like this.

It was nothing like when she was by herself.

A simple relieving of an ache was what she’d experienced.

A short moment of pleasure, and then it was over.

But this? She wanted to crawl out of her skin with how badly she wanted him, needed him. Crawl into him.

She met him thrust for thrust, and each thrust had him moaning into her neck, nipping at her skin, sucking on her flesh. Like he wanted to consume her the same way she did him.

“That’s a good lass. So eager for me. Wild. Ye’re going to unman me.”

Lydia didn’t know what that meant. But his husky praise, his thickening brogue, it did something to her. Something she couldn’t fully grasp, couldn’t put her finger on. All she knew was she needed. Needed harder. Deeper. Closer.

“More,” she whimpered.

He shifted her, pulling her back into him, her bottom nestling against where he was hot, hard, and demanding.

And then the heel of his palm replaced his thumb, and his fingers picked up in a punishing rhythm, driving deep, curling inside her, pressing, pulsing, pulling her pleasure from her. And she was helpless to stop it.

Malcolm’s hips ground into her, just as she ground into his hand, riding the heel of his palm.

The rush of bliss was right before her, about to crash down.

His thrusts grew unrestrained and fervent—both his hand and his hips—and something about the hard length of him pressing against her was too much for her to take.

A tantalizing hint of what else they would share.

The tide came crashing down. Her hips jerked, legs shaking, as white-hot pleasure tore through her, engulfing her in ecstasy.

She reached blindly for him, up behind her head until her fingers found the soft locks of his hair.

And she grabbed a fistful and held on tight, because she was lost, untethered, her body shuddering, heart racing as overwhelming feeling continued to sweep over her, ripping sobs from her chest. Because the pleasure was so profound, the only possible reaction was to cry.

He pulled her tight against him, his hips bucking wildly against her. And then a hoarse roar tore from him, muffled into the crook of her shoulder, his body trembling and spasming behind her before falling limp, the same way she had just done.

His hand slipped from her, and he tugged her back flat against his chest, his rough exhalations dancing over her skin in between the endless kisses he was painting over her shoulder. And she leaned back and let herself melt into him. Pure, relaxed, lethargic, contentment. Unbounded happiness.

“Ye unmanned me, mo chride,” he said between breaths.

She filled her lungs with air, trying to regain control of her own breathing.

“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked.

“I… It appears you came to completion, too. If you are not inside me when it happens…is that what that means?” Her blush burned up her cheeks, and she lifted her hands to cover her scalding face.

She hated how little she knew. At her age, she should understand what these things meant.

Malcolm lifted to his elbow next to her, gently pulling her hands away, his blue-grey eyes soft and kind, and pray, she thought, perhaps even adoring.

“No’ exactly, love. It’s more that I wanted to hold out for longer.

But simply touching ye was more than I could bear.

Just the feel of ye, how it was sweeter than cranachan, more intoxicating than the warmest amber whisky.

I spent with nothing more than yer heaven on my fingers and the friction of yer body against mine. ”

“So, it’s not a bad thing then?”

“Nae, no’ bad. I wanted ye too much.” His voice lowered. “Starved for ye, Lydia. I was starved for ye.”

She rolled the back of her head against the floor, gaze tracing over his flushed cheekbones. The deep red cresting over them from what they just shared made the blue of his eyes more prominent somehow. She lifted a finger and traced his jawline.

“You’re beautiful, did you know that?”

A boyish smile tugged at his lips, and he dipped his chin, giving a little shake of dissent. Bashful thing.

“You are,” she insisted. “A beautiful person.” She slid her hand to his chest so that her palm rested over his heart, over where it still thumped vigorously beneath his heated skin. “Everywhere.”

“Och, lass. I’m supposed to be saying these things to ye. No’ the other way around. Ye’re stealing the words right from me.”

She grinned at him, her heart swelling in her chest. “You’re saying you feel the same way, then?”

Malcolm leaned forward and pecked her on the lips. “Aye. I feel those things. And then some.” He pulled away and helped her lift to sitting. “Now, off with those clothes, lass. I had said I wanted ye naked.”

Her brows pinched. “Are we not done?”

His lips curved, slow and sinister, and full of promise. “Nae, lass. No’ even close.”