He grinned against her cheek. “Actually, this is no’ a problem.”
“I don’t know how far I want to go and—” She was bewildered by her physical and emotional response to this divine beast of a man. Better undisguised beast than fallen angel.
He stroked her throat and neck, casting a spell on her, and leaning in close, whispered in her ear, “We can go as far as you want.”
She trembled when his fingers let her braid go and wandered over her nape and her jaw. “What are you doing?”
“Touching.” His thumb ran over her lips.
She gasped, and he pressed it inside her mouth.
“Suck.”
“No.” She pulled back and inhaled deeply, trying to steady her heart. “I—”
“We’re both old enough tae know what we’re doing.” Tavish’s eyes darkened, focusing on her, full of desire.
“I know what I’m doing,” Laetitia said, feeling so hot she knew she was blushing. “I just . . . I—” She breathed deep.
“Are ye wet?” he whispered. “Are ye wet now, just thinking about it?”
Her mouth dropped, but she didn’t look away from him, just stared right back. Then she licked her lips in a way that made him even harder and said, “Yes.”
Tavish sucked in a fast, deep breath, amazed by her easy reply, even though he’d been the one who asked. He put his hand on her thigh, envisioning feeling it for himself. Instead, he put her hand on his erection. “Feel me.”
She whispered, “Stop.”
“No one can see us.”
Our faces say it all. “We are in public.”
“Why dinna ye say that before?” With an amused curl on his lips, half joking, half serious, he proposed, “We can go to my room.”
As his touch moved over her thigh with clear intention, her breath quickened again. His warmth drew her in and caused a stirring she couldn’t control or fight. “I don’t know . . . er, I—”
“Doona be shy,” his voice deepened. “Just say what ye want me to do.”
When his fingertips traced her collarbone, her sanity flew out the window. “I know the basics—”
“I have told you before I’ll gladly teach ye.” This was the most exciting seduction he had ever attempted.
“Promise me we won’t finish it.”
“By finish it, you mean, sexual intercourse?”
She blushed faintly and nodded. “I’m not on the pill. I don’t want to risk a preg—”
“Neither do I. That’s what condoms are for.” The words should be unsexy, but the way he whispered them, practically kissing her, made her seek air. “Besides, there are many, many ways tae make love without getting a penis inside a vagina.”
She pulled back and, grabbing her flute, gulped down the rest of her champagne. When her hand moved to pick up his half-filled flute, his fingers curled around her wrist.
He looked at her seriously. “Are we going up?”
“Yes,” she said, throwing caution to the wind.
He nodded and put the flute back on the table. “Then I want ye sober.”
The short walk to his suite was a long one. His large hand firmly planted on the small of her back, a breath away from her buttocks, left her dizzy with desire.
She hesitated for a moment when he held the door open for her, but forged on.
He lit a soft lamp on the bedside table, being inclined toward a shadowed ambience to make her comfortable.
Inside the black-and-white silk-paneled suite, she warily eyed the sitting space and the huge bed with such a comfortable silk duvet, but Tavish’s size and energy made the generous, luxurious space feel cramped. Needing a bit more air, she moved to the sofa, dropping her cloak and clutch on the armchair beside it, feigning nonchalance. She went to the window and yanked the curtains closed. When she pivoted on her heels, he had already taken off his shoes and socks and was moving his shoulders to take off his jacket. “Don’t! Wait!”
“I’m not going to pounce and devour you, Laetitia.” Although I won’t deny I like the idea more and more each passing minute. Tavish’s lips curled, but his shoulders moved up, and the jacket slid back on. He stood in the middle of the room, with his back to the bed, watching her movements closely.
Her eyes darted to one side, then the other. “Stay still.”
“As a statue?” he said, trying to get her relaxed, as she seemed torn about what to do. He had to stifle his laughter. “I was just getting comfortable.”
She walked toward Tavish, measuring her steps, not wanting to look too eager or too scared, and circled him. From behind, she pulled off his jacket, putting it on the bed. “You’re too intimidating to get comfortable so quick.”
He waited for her to step in front of him and raised that maddening brow. “Too intimidating? I thought I was too . . . intense.”
“That, too.” She put her hands gently over his face, tracing his ink-black eyebrows and all over his face, finding small scars she hadn’t noticed before. “Too handsome.”
“Well, aye, I am.” He studied her. He knew he was a sought-after man, but the way she said it made him proud of it for the first time in his life.
Their softness whispering over his neck, her palms moved down to his broad shoulders. “Too tall.”
“Six feet seven,” he said hoarsely.
Her hands moved down to his upper arms, her breaths shortening. “Too strong.”
“Used to carry a hundred pounds, at least fifteen miles per day,” he replied.
His arms rose, and she stopped whatever he was about to do by putting her small palms over his large ones. “Too broad.”
He shook his head slowly, suddenly knowing where she was heading. “Well, nae, no’ exactly.”
“Yes. Too much of everything.” She took a breath and stared up at the very masculine face hovering inches above hers. Her palms trembled slightly against his before she pushed his hands to the side, spreading out his arms. His sweater stretched even more over his torso, and her fingertips traced the well-shaped contours of his pectorals.
Tavish’s arousal felt hot and heavy as it never had before, and yet nothing had really happened. His lips parted as he took deeper, slower breaths.
“Too well defined.” Hypnotized, Laetitia leisurely caressed his abdomen muscles, which jerked in response.
If Tavish thought he was seducing her before, he knew now he was wrong: he was the one being seduced.
When she stopped just over his jeans, and he inhaled sharply, it hit her how intimate they were going to be. Her hands gripped the rim of his sweater, staring down at what was an impressive bulge pressing against the zipper.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
But she didn’t move. “You seem built fine . . .”
Ach! “Too fine?”
Her fingers tightened around the sweater rim, and light-headed, she looked up. Arms stretched out, he was holding completely still. Almost looking like a statue. Almost. In his eyes, a mischievous gleam and heated ardor swirled.
“Ah, no,” she blinked. “Sorry . . . I meant, uh, finely built.”
“Better.” He grinned, and in a blur, his hands caught her waist and turned her, his arm pressing her to his back.
She gasped, feeling every inch of his hard body against her soft one. “What are you doing?”
“My turn, Little Elf,” he whispered against her ear, undoing her braid and pushing her hair behind her ear to leisurely trace its contours with the tip of his tongue. When he smoothly brushed his fingers over her neck, her pulse leaped beneath his fingers. Her fresh, intoxicating perfume made him lick his lips, the need to taste her making him even more aroused. One hand deftly untied her silk blouse bow collar, the other unknotted the corded belt. “Relax, Laetitia. Just relax.”
But she stopped breathing altogether.
It was then that he felt why. His hands were touching her bare back. There had been nothing holding her blouse in place but the bow.
“An aingeal.” His huge hands skimmed
around the angel’s wings tattooed between her shoulder blades, which spread down her back to her waist and up again, pushing the blouse off her shoulders. The dark silk fluttered for a moment around her and fell to the floor only to be substituted by his hands on her slender hips. He moaned low in her ear, knowing her body would make a tight fit for him. He briefly closed his eyes in pleasure and whispered, “Your skin’s so damn soft. Softer than the silk ye wear.”
She shivered as he worked his hands over her body possessively.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. Her skin was creamy, shining against the straps of her black bra.
“Too pale?” she asked, striving not to notice how his gold, tanned skin glowed against hers, how dark the hair was on his forearms. Or how huge his muscled arm was against her slim waist. “Too fat?”
Fat? Only a loud grunt left his mouth. He couldn’t answer. Unbidden, his hands had moved from her waist over her rib cage to cup her full breasts in his broad palms, and his thumbs found the top edge of her areolas, not concealed by the lace.
He curled his thumbs, pressing into her nipples and getting under the lace. When a moan left her, he pushed the cups down and greedily covered her whole breasts with his hands, kneading them expertly and pinching the buds.
The sensations rushed all over her body to nestle between her thighs. Her head fell back on his shoulder. When she made a sound of frustration, one hand left her breast and pressed on her stomach.
He ground into her, making her feel how aroused he was. “Laetitia.”
“Tavish.” Her mind swayed on heated waves, her arms rose, and her fingers pulled his hair, bringing his head down so she could kiss him.
Pleasure, warm and sweet, flooded him at the sound of his name on her lips. Desire was in her voice, and need and acceptance. But he could tell she was nervous, too. As soon as her lips met his, he took control of the kiss aggressively and masterfully.
Laetitia was so distracted she didn’t notice when he unzipped her trousers, and they fell to the floor, but when his fingers dipped inside her panties, she stiffened, surprised, breaking the kiss. “You . . .”
“Shh . . . spread your legs for me.”
She closed her eyes and stood quietly, almost afraid of her own reaction. It didn’t hinder him from seeking lower and spreading her so his finger could feel her. He whispered, “So hot. So wet.”
When his finger fluttered over her clitoris, a small cry left her mouth. Then the warmth was gone, and cold wrapped around her too-heated body.
Tavish moved to stand in front of her and lazily undid the clasp of her bra and pulled it off her.
She freed herself from her trousers and pumps and stepped back.
He kicked everything to the side and stepped forward again.
When he didn’t speak, her eyes flitted up to his.
He was staring; he knew he was staring, but it was impossible not to stare at so lovely a vision. Watching her wearing only those black lacy panties, he couldn’t help but look his fill of her. She wasn’t muscled or fat but soft and fit, as he preferred women to be. She was yielding and sweet to his hard body.
Her arms moved as if to hide her breasts. “Too full?”
Something snapped inside his mind, and he growled, “Laetitia. Whoever said you weren’t exquisitely perfect is bound to have a slow death.”
With the shy smile that had conquered him, she let her arms fall away. “You are still dressed.”
But instead of undressing, he rubbed the finger that had been inside her over her lips and ordered, “Taste yourself.”
She licked his finger, and he pressed it in her mouth as he had done before. He snaked his hand on her hair, holding her firmly. “Now, suck.”
Her eyes widened; she licked and sucked on his finger, and he thrust it in and out, leaving her wet with desire.
Her breaths grew harried, and he withdrew his finger from her mouth. Crossing his hands in front of his body, he grabbed the rim of his sweater and pulled it off. Then his hands snapped the button of his black jeans and unzipped them, shoving them down his legs, and he stepped out of them.
She had known he was handsome but hadn’t truly appreciated exactly how dominant and formidable his physique was. She had heard women whispering about encountering men so devastatingly gorgeous they felt breathless. Now she understood, because she was feeling giddy under all that hunky display of maleness. “You’re . . .”
“Handsome.”
She chuckled lightly. His broad shoulders and hairless chest tapered to a muscled waist and hips that seemed tailor-made for a woman to hold on to while making love. His biceps bulged ever so slightly as if he was making an effort to hold himself back; the muscles of his torso were sharp rises and indentations, speaking of a mighty strength. All she could do was stare, dumbfounded and aroused, imagining the ways his body would move over hers, how his muscles would flex beneath her hands. She licked her lips, nervous and in anticipation, and glanced down, unable to hold her curiosity. His black boxers covered him from his hips to the middle of his thighs but didn’t hide his arousal, which pushed against the cotton.
He stepped forward. She stepped back.
“Let me . . . ah . . . learn you.”
“You have already.” He kept walking until the back of her legs were pressed against the bed.
Dear God. She swallowed and put her hands over his chest. He stopped a foot away from her.
Her eyes moved to discover, over the left side of his ribs, a large tattoo of a fierce Celtic dragon. One wing flared upward to curve over his pectoral, the other disappearing toward his back. “What’s this?”
“It’s a tattoo,” he answered, through gritted teeth. “Laetitia.”
Did he just growl? Her eyes lifted up to his. “Yes?”
“Stop looking and start doing,” he ordered. “Or I will.”
You will, will you? She brushed his small brown nipple with the tip of a finger, making it pucker. “Like this?”
He groaned low in his throat and bent to take her mouth in a kiss. His tongue darted into her mouth, parting her lips wider with insistence. His fingers glanced over her body, and with an expert move, he lowered her panties and pulled her up. Her panties fell to the ground when his hand reached around to cup a soft, round cheek, and he pressed her against him.
She couldn’t think beyond the pressure of his mouth, the mesmerizing warmth of his tongue gliding against hers.
He walked them, on his knees, to the middle of the bed, and lowering her beneath him, his rhythm turned from exploring to conquering.
She could feel the straining of his biceps when her nails dug into them, the tight control he exerted over his volatile passions and himself. His fingers danced along the crease joining her inner thigh to her hips but didn’t move any closer. “Aah, ye enjoy that. Your body is so sensitive tae the touch. I like that. I like that you respond to me.”
Laetitia’s mouth was dry; she felt the hot length of his arousal against her stomach. She hadn’t seen him take off his boxers.
“Open your legs,” he commanded. “I’ll bury my face in you and make ye scream with pleasure.”
“But . . . . . . . are you sure?” Laetitia whimpered, and she felt his cheek shift. He was grinning. Experience-wise, she was out of her element. The way his body moved, the confidence in which he spoke, said that he was well practiced in the bedroom.
His mouth traveled the path his fingers had made earlier.
She felt him tonguing her nipple to take it in his mouth and suck, while his fingers swirled and pinched the other nipple.
“Tavish,” she panted and bucked on the bed, her hands buried in his hair, running through the silky length.
He moved to the other breast, ignoring her writhing under him, until it seemed she could take no more. He raised his head. Both nipples were taut and red; her face was flushed with pleasure. He smiled wickedly at her. “Are ye ready for my mouth?”
“Yes, yes.” Pure instinct, raw and primal, took over. She
pushed his head down, wanting to feel his kisses against her most sensitive flesh.
Tavish chuckled, the vibration rumbling over her. He plied her thighs apart slowly, angled his body to hers, and nuzzled his lips along her inner thigh, up and down. Leaning down, he parted her folds, and his tongue did a long and leisurely stroke over her sensitive flesh.
“Aah, Tavish,” she cried. Her stomach contracted, and she tried to sit up.
He growled possessively, pinned her hips with his hands, and put her legs over his shoulders. Her words and moans filled the room as she rode the crescendo waves of pleasure he was gradually building inside her.
“That’s right, Laetitia,” he encouraged, between quick licks and sucks. “Feel what I’m doing to you.”
Over his strong shoulders, her legs trembled as his mouth worked faster. She felt his tongue dip deep inside her before being replaced by a thick finger and then two. He halted, letting her adjust to the invasion. He gazed at her; she was staring back, lips parted, eyes wide. He started to pump slowly, but deep, his lips and tongue working her. “I want to fuck you so badly.”
Her hands buried in his hair, needing more of his tongue and his touch. “Oh, Tavish!”
“Let it go. Give yourself tae me.”
“Tavish.” Her muscles contracted against his hand and mouth. She felt the end coming and mindlessly rocked her hips onto his, her gaze on his, an intense orgasm racking through her. “Tavish, oh yes, Tavish.”
When he’d drawn the last tremor from her, he pulled away and dragged his body up to kiss her. Holding himself on an elbow, he let his free hand cup the back of her head, anchoring it. “You should have seen yourself. It was glorious.” His lips crushed hers with a thoroughness that left her beyond rational, his arousal heavy on her stomach.
She’d never felt so alive. She’d never imagined it could be so good. She pushed on his shoulder, and he let her roll him onto his back. Her hand hovered over his chest. “Can I . . .”
He let out a strained laugh. “Do your worst.”
He could see her perfectly in the dim light, sitting on her knees, beside him, looking up as if needing instructions. His hand brushed back a lock of her hair, pushing it off her forehead, and he propped himself on his elbows but otherwise didn’t say anything or move, giving her complete access to his body.