Page 27

Lydia

Lydia’s hands tightened on the headboard, and her body went weak.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

All embarrassment, all nervousness, all hesitation fled, chased away by Malcolm’s wicked, sinful tongue. His large hands dug into her hips, holding her prisoner exactly where he wanted her, his tongue trailing over her.

He teased, laving over her, not dipping between her folds where she feared she’d burst from the aching need that had grown there. Because he’d already done plenty of torturous teasing on her breasts earlier. A pathetic noise pulled from her throat. She was dying with want of him.

He flattened his tongue against her, pressing in a long, slow glide, and she squirmed. The way her body needed more… She whimpered. The pleasure was nearly unbearable.

Then his tongue dipped into her folds, and she cried out, her back bowing.

He delved into her and groaned, deep and long, with pure satisfaction.

He thrust, shallow and not nearly enough for what her body craved.

And as though he knew, he gave her what she wanted—or close to, because nothing compared to the exquisite feeling of being filled by him.

One hand slid around her bottom, and he thrust his fingers inside her while his tongue danced over her clitoris in a maddening rhythm.

Lydia ground against him, rocked back against his fingers, needing more, harder, deeper.

And then pressed forward again, the pulsing need at the top of her thighs demanding more attention.

Her hands bit into the headboard. Her arms straining to keep herself upright as she shamelessly rode his face.

But she was beyond caring. Cries fell from her lips, and his moans vibrated against her.

Her heartbeat flew like fire finally granted oxygen, bliss coursing through her veins.

She bucked against him, no longer in control of her own body.

Ecstasy crashed over her, and her body went up in flames.

Blood thrummed in her ears, drowning out her scream.

Malcom’s hands dug painfully into the flesh of her hips as his tongue continued to wrest every last bit of pleasure from her.

Until it became too much, and she squirmed away, rising, her entire body heaving from the force of her breaths.

She glanced down at him, and even though she’d just found bliss, her core throbbed, clenched, demanded more.

His eyes, all but black, glittered with lust, the evidence of her release glistening on his lips and chin.

He looked wild. Like an animal. And he was an animal, was he not? And she, his meal. She trembled.

More , her body whispered.

He helped her shakily untangle herself from him and lie by his side. And then he drew her into a fevered kiss, and she ground into him, the taste of herself on his lips doing something unspeakable to her core. And her core was angry at having been denied what it truly wanted.

More .

“I’m going to need ye to back up into me, mo chridhe,” he said hoarsely, pulling her against him so they both lay on their sides. “Because I cannae wait even a heartbeat longer. I need to fook you. Now.”

Thank God.