by Sabrina York
“Are you all right?” Andrew asked. His hand was warm, comforting as he stroked her back. She leaned into his strength.
“Aye. But that man is so…”
“Aggravating?”
“That’s one word for it. Can you believe the nerve of that man?”
“Indeed. As though you would marry him.”
She rather liked the way he spat that. “I was talking about his veiled threats. That without him, my people are no’ safe. My daughter isna safe. And did you see the way he touched her?”
“If you like, I could follow him and chop off the offending hand.”
She peeped up at him. “Would you do that? For me?”
He chuckled. “Indeed, I would.”
“How romantic.” She nestled closer, enjoying their banter. Somehow, it calmed her. Of course, that could be the weight of his arms around her, or the drugging skim of his palm on her back.
“I would do anything to keep you safe, Susana. I’m here to protect you and Isobel, no matter what.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Something clogged her throat.
It might have been her heart.
* * *
Andrew sprawled on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and aching. With the recent threats to Isobel, he knew he wouldn’t have a chance to be with Susana for the foreseeable future, unless they met for trysts like the one in the study today. That had been incredible. As he thought of it, it didn’t take long for his hand to drift down under the covers and start stroking his cock.
He closed his eyes and thought about her—her eyes, her hair, her tempting thighs—as his hand moved in a familiar rhythm.
With his passion high and his release nigh, the knock on the door was inconvenient.
He considered ignoring it, but only for a moment. Something could have happened. Susana might need him.
The knock came again, more insistently.
“One moment,” he called as he tugged on his breeks.
Whoever it was, was not patient. Another series of raps issued forth before he could cross the room. He flung open the door. “What is it—?”
His words stalled in his throat. Susana, draped in a cloak, hovered in the hallway.
He gaped at her.
She was the last person he’d expected. Tonight. In a cloak.
Inexplicably, she glared at him as she slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. Her brow furrowed. “Well, for pity’s sake, what took you so long? I could have been seen.” Her voice was sharp. Sharper than it should have been for a late-night visit like this.
He waved at the bed. “I was … um … Susana? What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.” She untied her cloak and swung it off, draping it over a chair.
“Why did you wear a cloak?” Indoors?
“I was skulking.”
He couldn’t stop his lips from tweaking. “Skulking?”
“Aye. I needed to see you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her smile was wicked. Ah. There it was. “I needed to see you.”
God, he needed to see her, too. But he didn’t sweep her into his arms as he wanted to. Not yet. “And Isobel?” For some reason, he needed the reassurance that she was all right before he could relax.
“She’s fine. She’s sleeping. She insisted on staying in her own room tonight.”
“That is promising.”
“Aye.”
“But we should set a guard.”
“I already have. One of yours and one of mine, in fact.” She stepped into his arms and tipped back her head so she could smile at him. When her groin nudged his, she frowned and wriggled against him. “What is this?”
“Do you no’ know?”
“I have an idea.” Her brows furrowed. “Why are you so hard?”
He considered his options—and the interest in her eyes—and decided he should tell her the truth. “I was thinking of you.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Are you always hard when you think of me?”
“Usually.”
“I want to see.” Though he protested, she pushed him back toward the chair by the fire. He sat with a thud and she knelt between his knees. Now, he should have stopped her—indeed, he intended to—but she reached for the placket of his breeks, opened them, and found his cock. And when she took it in her hands and stroked it as she studied it, he found himself unable to protest at all.
“It’s verra hard.”
He shuddered as she drew a questing finger around the thick head and then traced the fat vein along his length.
“And verra soft.” He shivered as she wrapped her hand around him and gave him a tentative pump.
“Ah, Susana. You’d better not,” he said.
Her enthusiastic expression crumpled. “Do you no’ like this?”
“I like it verra much, but I’m … God, doona do that.” He lurched as she began tickling his balls.
“Why not?”
He took her by the shoulders and then, upon second thought, caged her wrists. “Because I have been thinking about you,” he said meaningfully. “For a while.”
Her eyes went wide, as though she didn’t understand. He sighed. “Didn’t your husband … touch himself sometimes?”
She blinked up at him. “I … I doona know.” She glanced at his lap. “Were you touching yourself?”
He ignored her question. “You doona know?” How could a wife not know? Especially if she and Gilley had shared a bed … If they’d shared a bed. He narrowed his gaze on her. For a woman who had been married, she did seem rather ignorant of the ways of men.
Her chin firmed. She took hold of him again and countered with, “Were you touching yourself?”
“Aye.”
“I want to see.”
He gaped at her. “Susana…”
“Please, Andrew. Show me. I want to see.”
Heat crawled up his neck. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of his embarrassment or his desire. Or if it mattered in the least. “Susana, I want to make love to you.”
“Show me first.”
He sighed. “If I show you, it may be the end of me. I willna be able to make love to you … and I’d really rather make love to you.”
She issued a snort. “Do you no’ have any self-control?”
He snorted right back. “Nae.” Not with her, he didn’t. “You are a verra beautiful woman, Susana. I find myself lacking in any kind of control around you.”
Her lips curled. “I’m sure you can hold back.”
“I doona know from where you have acquired this foolish confidence in me.”
“Just show me a little.”
“All right.” He closed his eyes—because looking at her would surely incite disaster—and began to polish his knob. He did it slowly, because he couldn’t bear to move quickly.
He flinched when a whisper skated over the head of his cock. His eyes flew open and he eeped. No! Please God, no!
That something was her breath, warm and damp.
He hissed as her mouth closed over him. Of their own accord his eyes closed, his head fell back. Heaven and hell rained down on him as she sucked the tip of his cock. “Susana. Please.”
She released him with a plop. “You can hold back,” she whispered. “You’re a big, strong man,” She punctuated each word with a heinous pump.
“I canna.”
“You can. And you will.” The words were infused with an imperious tone that sent shivers through him. Her fist began moving faster, her mouth retook him, sucking him in.
Agony coiled at the base of his balls. Need rose within him, blinding and savage.
“Susana.” A plea.
She only tightened her grip. She added a little twist to each pass. Took him deeper, until her hand met her mouth, until she had him fully encased in one or the other. And then she sucked.
Insanity swelled. Bliss and glory and excruciating pleasure exploded within him, flooded his heart and mind and soul,
as he released into her mouth.
He didn’t intend to, God help him he didn’t intend to, but she was far more woman than he could ever resist.
He gazed down at her as she lapped at her lips—and damned if that didn’t stir his ardor again. “Why did you do that?” he asked. He was certain there was no petulance in his tone.
Her smile was as satisfied as the cat that got the cream. “Because I wanted to know.”
“Know what?”
“Know what you taste like.”
A thousand questions spun in his head—including the most prominent: Had she ever done that for Gilley?—but he settled for, “What did you think?”
“What did I think?”
“Aye.” He swallowed heavily, waiting for her response on bated breath. Though this was not what he’d intended to happen, he had enjoyed it immensely.
“I think you are delicious.” Her expression lit a flame in his belly. “And I think I would verra much like to do that again sometime.”
Though she’d drained him utterly, his cock stirred.
God help him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The scorching look in Andrew’s eyes stole Susana’s breath. He closed the placket of his breeks and took her hand. He helped her to her feet and then stood beside her, staring down at her face. His attention locked on her lips, and he kissed her. It was a slow, sweet, delicious kiss that made her knees shake.
“Come.” He tugged her hand, leading her to the bed.
“I should go,” she said, but only because she thought she should.
He chuckled. The sound rounded the room. “Do you really think I’m going to let you go? After that?”
“But…” What more could they do? She had finished him.
“Hush.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and cupped her face. His thumb traced her mouth in a warm trail. “Hush.”
When he guided her down onto the mattress, she allowed it. His expression made clear he had plans for her, plans she would greatly enjoy. But he didn’t join her. Instead, he did what he’d done once before, easing off one slipper and then the other. A memory, a shudder racked her.
He sat on the bed at her feet and nibbled on her toes, her ankle, her calf. He licked his way up her thighs, nudging up her skirts as he moved. He did it slowly, with an agonizing thoroughness, not missing so much as a spot.
It seemed to take forever for him to reach the nubbin throbbing between her legs. She stiffened as he touched her, but he did it so lightly, it made her want to scream.
“What are you doing?” she asked, surely not with impatience.
“What do you think?” He opened her, gazed down at her, blew on her with a soft breath.
The juxtaposition of his cool breath and the heat of her core sent sensation and arousal careening through her. She was already damp. Already ready for him, but his slow seduction ratcheted up her tension. She wriggled a little, hoping to encourage him to move more quickly.
He did not.
He dipped his head—she caught her breath—but it was only to place a soft kiss on the inside of her thigh. His hands, broad and warm, skimmed across her hip, sending ripples over her skin.
She spread her legs, just slightly, and only to encourage him.
He pushed her hem up farther and kissed her stomach. All the while he toyed with her curls, almost touching her—almost really touching her—but not quite.
She arched up into his caress and he pulled back with a smile.
“Stop teasing me.”
“It’s only fair.”
She frowned at him. “I doona tease you.”
“You tease me every moment of every day. With each glance and every smile.”
“I most certainly do not.”
“You do, Susana. You do.”
To her dismay, he sat up. She was about to complain, but before she could make her mouth form the words, he said, “I want you naked.”
She swallowed. “N-Naked?”
“I’ve never seen you naked, Susana.”
The thought thrilled her, even as it frightened her. She had no idea why it frightened her. She trusted him. She wanted him.
Ah. That was likely the source of the fear. How much she wanted him.
“You first.”
Without pause, he whipped off his tunic. His body was sheer perfection, carved from stone and perfectly formed from the bulging biceps of his arms to the hard planes of his abdomen. His muscles rippled in the dim glow of the lamp. As she stared at him, saliva pooling in her mouth, aching to explore, he grinned. His expression was one of confidence, not arrogance, which she appreciated. Though he had every right to be arrogant. He was, in a word, beautiful.
“The breeks, too.”
His gaze warmed as he slowly unfastened the placket and let his breeks fall.
Her heart pattered in her chest.
Och. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
She’d seen his cock. Touched it, tasted it, been filled by it. But she’d never seen it like this.
A magnificent man stood proudly before her. Naked. Aroused.
His face was perfection, handsome, adorable. His hair flowed over his shoulders in a silver shimmer. And those shoulders, broad and thick and strong. His chest, slabs of muscle covered by tanned skin. His belly flat and hard. His legs as thick as tree trunks and between them, his cock … Heavy and full, it rose from its nest, though the weight of it tipped it to the side. Even as she stared, it stirred.
His grin was dimpled, naughty. “Susana…” A warning tone. “Your turn.”
Quivering, she slid off the bed and stood before him. She worked the buttons of her kirtle and let it fall until she stood in nothing but her thin chemise. He watched with avid attention as she fumbled for the hem and lifted it.
He hissed a breath as she bared her hips, her stomach, and her abdomen. His tongue peeped out as she lifted it higher, to show her breasts.
They were just breasts, and just hers, but his reaction when she exposed herself was delicious.
He swallowed. His fingers twitched. He made a little noise, something wistful and aching. His cock rose to full attention, a slow slick slide along his belly, a glistening pearl at the tip.
Ah. He liked her breasts. It was gratifying.
She whipped off the chemise, because she’d become impatient with that reveal. When he stepped toward her, palms cupped, as though he would test their weight, she held up a finger. “Ah, ah, ah.”
He stopped. Blinked. Opened his mouth, to protest, perhaps.
Her smile was fiendish. “Not just yet,” she purred. And then she cupped herself.
They were just breasts and just hers, but it was astounding how sensual they felt in her hands as she stroked them, rubbed them, played with them … for him.
His features went taut, though his mouth went slack, which was, she found, an amusing combination. “Och,” she murmured. “So soft.” She nudged a nipple, circled it, reveling in the wave of sensation her own touch sent through her body, straight to the nub at her core.
“Susana.” A whisper. A hiss. A plea.
“Oh, Andrew. This feels so good.”
“Susana.”
His muscles were locked. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. He trembled as she stroked her body before him. When her hand eased down, over her stomach, to the nest between her legs, he made a strangled sound.
“Ohh,” she purred as she stroked herself. Her crease was creamy, sensitive, the button hidden within the folds, hard and hungry. And aye, she would have much preferred having him touch her, but holding him captive like this was far more scintillating.
Also, he was a tease. When he touched her, she writhed in frustration. When she touched herself, she found, there was no wandering road to passion. It was direct, and intense, and immediate.
Her breath caught as she found a rhythm, a pressure, a rotation that pleased her. Desire rose like a bonfire within her. She moved faster, harder, with far more desperation than she’d ever felt. H
er body tightened from the outside in.
He stared, lips damp, eyes glittering, hands clenched in furious fists.
When she broke, he caught her. When the ecstasy washed over her like a raging tide and her knees locked and her body succumbed, he caught her and laid her gently on the bed.
But that was his last moment of gentility.
Once she was on her back, he thrust her legs apart with his knees and wrenched her arms above her head, holding on to her wrists with one hand. He hovered over her, leaning on one side as, with his free hand, he fisted his cock and guided it home. “Susana,” he growled, “you drive me wild with need.” And he thrust in.
The glory, which had not yet abated, flared again, this time winging her to higher heights, to a pinnacle of bliss she’d never experienced. It stole her breath. Her heart pounded madly. Her mind spun, her body sang.
He filled her with his beautiful cock, shoving in like an enraged beast, stretching her, invigorating her, stoking her fire with each maddened thrust.
As he moved over her and in her, he scraped her sanity. The annoying rub of his fat head against a bundle of nerves at her core drove her wild. The hairs of his chest abraded her nipples with each lunge. Each time he seated himself, their groins met and ground together in an agonizingly brief kiss.
It didn’t take long for her to succumb again. Her orgasm was a beautiful flower, unfolding within her, nudged incessantly by his movements. But he, though maddened as he was, lasted much longer.
He lifted her legs and held her up and pounded into her at a new angle, which sent drizzles of pleasure showering through her. As he worked her, slamming into her with hard thrusts, he stared at her breasts, bounding with each lunge. Unable to resist, he leaned down and seized them, licking, lapping, stroking—even pinching—as his hips continued to move.
The sensations drove her mad and though it was beyond belief, beyond sanity, she felt her body tighten again. She was close. So close. She clutched at him, raking her fingers over his back, yanking on his hair, howling her need as her crisis neared.
To her astonishment, he yanked out just as she was about to crest.
