Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,21

his cock, but she stilled as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

He’d intended to lie as still as possible, allowing her the chance to bask in her afterglow, but he was betrayed by his own body. She was still holding him, her touch having loosened as she came, and his hips tensed, thrusting his cock into her grip.

It must’ve been instinct which caused her to squeeze just right, and he couldn’t stifle his groan of pleasure. St. Luke’s blessed pinky finger, how in damnation had he arrived at this moment? Naked and gasping on his bed, his fingers still being gripped by her inner muscles, when only an hour ago he’d been mourning her loss?

It hadn’t been planned, but then, neither was his second groan, when she rolled toward him, threw her leg over his—which thrust his fingers deeper into her core—and began to pump his cock.

‘Twas inexpert and awkward, but still the absolute best thing he could recall at that moment.

Giving into temptation, he wrapped his free hand around hers and showed her how to stroke, wishing he could coat his length with her wetness. Mayhap ‘twas that thought, or the way her breathing—so close to his ear—hitched, but either way, he knew he wasn’t going to last.

With one last groan, he thrust his hips off the bed to meet her hand and spilled his seed across his belly. In doing so, he curled the fingers of his hand still nestled in her curls, and she gasped, then shuddered.

“God in Heaven,” she whispered.

Indeed.

She went limp, and when he pulled his hand away, she sighed. And he, being helpless to stop, echoed the sound.

Without speaking, he cleaned himself, then gathered her in his arms. She nestled against him, her breath teasing the skin of his chest, and his ruffling her silky blonde curls.

‘Twas not the first time he’d experienced this afterglow with her, but after so many months of thinking ‘twas lost to him, this feeling was…

He sighed again. God in Heaven, indeed.

“Graham?” she whispered, and his arms instinctively tightened around her.

“Aye, love?”

She paused. “Am I? Yer love?”

The hesitancy in her voice nearly broke him. In a low voice, he growled, “Vina, if St. Luke and the angels are merciful, ye’ll never have cause to doubt it ever a—”

He was interrupted by a lusty yawn, which caused her to giggle, and he echoed it.

“I suppose we’ve both had a long day.”

Until that moment, he’d thought he’d banished his exhaustion. But as his bliss faded to contentment, he was overcome with a bone-deep weariness. He yawned and pulled her closer.

“Rest, Graham,” she whispered. “We need to talk, but no’ right now. We can rest.”

Aye, rest. Just a rest. He’d close his eyes for a moment, but as soon as he regained his strength, he had every intention of demanding her story. Why hadn’t his letters reached her? What could he do to ensure it never happened again?

Just a rest.

‘Twas his last thought before he fell into a deep, blissful sleep.

Chapter 5

When she awoke, there was light seeping through the bedcurtains. She lay still for a moment, listening, and realized she could hear distant sounds of the castle waking. Another hour, and a servant would likely come to her room to light the fire and realize she was missing.

Still, there was no way she’d hurry back to her own bed.

Her head was pillowed against Graham’s naked chest, her arm thrown across him as he held her. His breath tickled the top of her head when he murmured, “Ye always smell of flowers.”

Startled, she pushed herself upright in the dim light. “Ye’re awake?”

“I’ve been enjoying holding ye.”

She grinned, remembering how he’d touched her a few hours before. “And is that all ye’ve been thinking about while lying here?”

He half-shrugged and placed one hand behind his head. “I’ve spent months thinking of yer scent, Vina. Last spring and summer, ye smelled of flowers. But now? Even after months of snow?”

This seemed like such a mundane topic, but she obliged him. “I wash my hair with scented soap. The season has naught to do with it, and besides, ‘tis springtime again.”

“Almost. The snow is melting, but the flowers havenae begun to bloom.”

“Graham, I love ye. I never stopped loving ye.”

His expression froze, his eyes raking her features, obviously surprised by the sudden change in topic. Finally, he blew out a breath. “Ye said that last night.”

“Aye.” She nodded and pulled her legs under her for warmth. “And I meant it. I’ve sent ye