Page 30 of His Beauty
The desperation in her voice snapped the last of his restraint.
He surged forward, stumbling in his haste, and half-dragged her toward one of the deep leather chairs by the fireplace. He fell into it, pulling her down onto his lap. She fell into his lap without hesitation, her skirts riding up around her thighs, her breath coming in ragged little pants.
Bonnie was glorious like this—flushed, wanton, her lips parted and her eyes dark with need. He couldn’t look away.
This was her first kiss, and Lyon was determined to make it as magnificent as she was.
His mouth crashed back onto hers as his hands found her breasts again, stroking, teasing, pinching just hard enough to make her cry out into the kiss. Her hips rolled against him, seeking friction, and he groaned when her thigh pressed against the rigid length of his cock beneath his kilt.
But this wasn’t about him.
His fingers slid from her breast, trailing down the trembling plane of her belly before dipping beneath the hem of her skirts. The air was cool against his knuckles as he pushed upward, gathering fabric until his palm met the bare, silken skin of her inner thigh.
She was trembling.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her lips. “Spread yer legs for me, lass.”
She obeyed without hesitation, her thighs falling open, and his fingers found her immediately—soaked, swollen, ready. He groaned at the first touch, his cock throbbing painfully as he drew his fingers through her slick folds. She was drenched, her arousal coating his skin, and when he circledher entrance, she jerked against his hand with a broken moan.
“Lyon, please?—”
He didn’t make her beg again.
One finger slid inside her, slow and careful, testing. She was tight—so tight—and her inner walls clenched around him, pulsing. He cursed under his breath, his thumb finding the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She bucked against his hand with a cry, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Just like that, my bonnie lass.”
He added a second finger, stretching her gently, his thumb never ceasing its slow, firm circles over her clit. Her breath came in sharp little gasps, her body tensing with every stroke. He could feel her building, could see the way her lips parted on a silent scream, her eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze locking onto his just as he curled his fingers inside her, pressing against that rough patch of flesh that made her entire body jerk.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb moving faster now, his fingers stroking deep. “Let yerself go, Bonnie. I’ve got ye.”
Her breath hitched. Her back arched. And then?—
She came with a broken cry, her body bowing against his, her inner walls clamping down around his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his thumbworking her through it as she shuddered and gasped, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving his.
There was wonder in her expression, and he glowed with pride that she was allowing him to experience this.
Only when her body went limp against his, her breaths slow and shuddering, did he finally still his hand. He pressed one last, gentle kiss to her lips, tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her breath.
“There’s my good lass,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
She was boneless in his arms, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses. When she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes were dark and dazed, her expression miraculous.
He couldn’t help the way his lips curled upward.
Almost reluctantly, he pulled his fingers gently from between her swollen folds, and Bonnie surged forward. Before he understood her intent, she grasped him on either side of his face—ignoring the scars, as she always had, as if they were irrelevant—and pulled his lips to hers.
Hersecondkiss.
Her inexperience was intoxicating, and Lyon knew that it would take little prompting to bend her over one of these chairs, to flip up his kilt and plunge into her warm, welcoming cunny. He could make itso goodfor her, and knew she would match him.
But nay, this wasn’t some whore, or a jaded lass eager for a rough tumble and a story to tell her friends about the Beast of the Oliphants.
This wasBonnie.
