The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,62
soul,” he growled.
“And mine,” she added, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing the soap with her breasts.
Ciar dropped his head back and moaned.
Emma stiffened. “Am I hurting you?”
“Lord, no.”
She scooped a handful of water and let it dribble atop his shoulder. “It feels good, then?”
“Like I’m drifting among the stars.”
“I think the lather is—um—sensuous.”
“Do it again.”
This time Emma took even longer, exploring every part of his body, first making him sit forward so she could wash his back. She ran the cake under his arms and around his neck. Then she rocked away and covered herself with rose-scented bubbles. A pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as she drew the soap around her breast torturously slowly. “It feels…”
“Hmm?”
“Good.”
“Have you ever touched yourself like this before?”
She shook her head. “You bring out the Jezebel in me.”
He tsked his tongue. “You are shameless, and I adore it.”
Laughing, Emma pressed her soapy body against him and buried her face in his neck. She trailed kisses along his jaw until Ciar tilted her chin upward and captured her mouth. Still, Emma set a fervent tempo as she writhed against him. Back and forth and, holy Moses, when she rubbed herself up and down along his length, his eyes crossed.
Somewhere in the midst of the frenzy, she took hold of his shaft and rose to her knees, teasing herself, teasing him.
Ciar wanted to thrust into her so badly, he tried to think of anything to keep himself from taking her. The cattle, the accounts, Wilcox, the bloody bastard dragoons…Emma’s wet quim sliding around my cock.
God yes, he wanted her now. He palmed her breasts and suckled each nipple, thrusting his hips upward while hot, wet woman surrounded him.
“Aaaaahhhh.” A high-pitched sigh squeaked from Emma’s throat—one of utter ecstasy yet of pain as well.
Ciar opened his eyes and froze.
Oh, God.
She’d done it so fast.
And he’d let her.
His bum cheeks clenched. “Are you hurting, lass?” he asked, barely able to utter a sound.
“A bit,” she peeped, clinging to him, her eyes squeezed shut.
“But we agreed not to…”
“You deemed it so. I do not recall agreeing.” She moved a bit. “Are you angry with me?”
How in God’s name could he ever grow irritated with this selfless, talented, effervescent creature? “Never.”
“T-then show me what to do next.”
“Relax,” he whispered, letting the muscles in his arse ease.
Emma’s grip softened while she exhaled with a long sigh.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mm hmm.” She wriggled a bit. “What now?”
“I think it comes naturally to you, lass.” He sank his fingers into her hips. “If you want to ride me, rock your hips to and fro as you were doing. But ride slow, like you’re on a well-broke horse, not a colt fresh off his ma’s teat.”
Emma moved slowly at first, the corners of her mouth drawn downward.
“You don’t have to keep going—not if it hurts.”
“Sh.” She plied him with a kiss, her hips working faster.
Ciar tried to let her take the reins, but when she took his nipple between her fingertips and tempted him, a shot of seed burst straight through the tip of his cock. He needed to thrust, to bury himself deep inside this woman and take her to heaven. He grabbed her hips and urged her faster, urged her to rock and swirl and…
As Emma cried out, he roared with the power of his release, clinging to her as if he’d never let go.
“God, woman, you have bewitched me mind, body, and soul.”
“Och…” Still panting, she collapsed onto his shoulder. “I wish this adventure would never end.”
Chapter Twenty
The days blurred together. They took Albert for long walks through the cover of the glen, and Ciar even let Emma accompany him on a visit to Archie and Nettie’s cottage. The passionate nights made it seem as if they were living in a dream. He chuckled every time he thought about how long he had known Emma and how he’d always pushed aside his feelings for her. Had he been in love with the woman since she was a wee lass of seven?
Most likely.
No woman in all of Scotland was remotely like Emma Grant. She was curious about everything and looked at the world as though every day held something magical. And it did because she was alive in it.
Ciar almost forgot about the charge of murder hanging over his head until Livingstone returned.
Emma was practicing with Albert on the lead. The dog stopped in front of a log, but rather than tap forward with her walking stick, she