Page 66 of Married to the Scottish Player
I nearly drop her. “Are we hot people now?”
“Obviously,” she says, deadpan. “We’re gorgeous.”
I laugh and shift her higher in my arms—but I’m sweating. Dizzy. The tequila is catching up with me, made more evident when her mouth latches onto my neck, sucking.
Mmm, feels so good.
“I feel like I’m floating,” she says at last.
“That’s because you’re drunk.”
“Or maybe it’syou.” Her fingers trail along my jaw. “Let’s get naked and go swimming.”
Naked.
Naked, naked, naked . . .
Fuck yeah.
Her wish is my command.
I stagger toward the lake’s edge, letting the water lap at my ankles when I step in, and she laughs when I almost lose my footing—even though I’m carrying her, still.
I set her down carefully, but the moment her bare feet touch the sand, she turns her back to me. “Unzip me?”
My fingers twitch. Stepping closer, I press a kiss to her shoulder before trailing one finger up the soft slope of her spine. The zipper is small. Delicate. I tug it down with aching slowness, watching as her shoulder blades shift beneath her skin, her breath hitching when I lean in to whisper, “This feels like unwrapping something I didn’t earn.”
She lets out a soft laugh, but it’s shaky. “Pretty sure you’ve earned it.”
My knuckles graze her lower back, and the satin surrenders—falling in one graceful swoop around her ankles.
Annabelle steps out of the dress with quiet confidence, completely bare beneath it. No bra. No panties. Just smooth, endless skin and the sway of her hips as she turns to face me and begins removing the pins from her hair. It cascades down her back, falling in soft waves.
“You look like a goddamn angel.”
A goddamn angel. How poetic.
Her tits are round. Perfect. Nipples hard as pebbles, and I want them in my mouth, and as I’m about to drop to my knees to press my mouth to her pus—
“Your turn to get naked,” she demands, stepping forward to fumble with the buttons of my shirt.
Our hands tangle—I want to be tangling them on her body. Her skin.
I swear under my breath when the buttons don’t come undone fast enough. She steps forward and helps, fingers quick and greedy, brushing my chest with knuckles that feel like sparks on skin.
My shirt hits the ground, thank Christ ...
Then she undoes my pants with the same urgency, kissing her way down my chest as she goes, until we’re both stripped bare—vulnerable and lit by silver light.
“Your chest is amazing,” she tells me as her fingers splay over my skin, nails dragging over my stomach. “I want to lick you all over.”
Please do . . .
The lake glimmers beside us, black and glossy under the moonlight, and without a word, I scoop her up again—this time not even pretending to be steady—and walk us straight into the water.
She’s laughing, legs wrapped around my waist, hair tumbling over her shoulders. Our mouths find each other again, frantic and breathless and aching, like every kiss just makes it worse. The cool water hits our skin like a shock, but we don’t stop.
Her back arches as I lower us, her body slipping against mine beneath the surface. She’s slick and soft and so goddamn beautiful I can’t think straight as my palms glide over her gorgeous breasts.
