Page 24 of The Laird's Secret Bairn

She didn’t press further, sensing the careful edges around the subject and letting it settle instead. Perhaps after she had spent more time here, she could find out more, but for now, she felt it was better to let things be. It was safer that way for everyone.

“Me turn, then. Truth.”

“Why do ye write about me?”

She should have expected that.

“Because everyone whispered about ye, and nobody ever told the whole story. I wanted to imagine the rest of it.”

“And what have ye imagined so far?”

She hesitated, then reached for the pages beside her. “I’ve imagined ye weren’t the villain they made ye out to be. I can read it if ye’d like.”

“I would.”

She read aloud, her voice unsteady at first, then steadier as she reached the part where the Lion caught the lass he’d pursued through moonlit halls, restraining her gently against the wall of his chamber. She trailed off where her pen had stopped.

“And then, what does he do to her?”

“I… I daenae ken. I hadnae decided.”

“Hmm.” Dougal rose to his feet, slow and deliberate, and crossed the small distance between them. “Maybe I can help ye decide.”

Before she could answer, his hands closed gently around her wrists and pinned them lightly against the armrests, making her breath catch in her throat.

“No kissing,” she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No kissing,” he agreed easily and knelt down before her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then let me do this.”

His hands moved to the hem of her skirts, slow enough that she had every chance to stop him, but she didn’t. She only had to say no, and he would stop, but she didn’t want him to.

That was what scared her the most.

Dougal lowered himself between her thighs and slid his hand over her sex. He chuckled as his fingers slid easily through her wetness.

It was the same wetness she felt between her thighs whenever she woke up from those dreams, panting loudly, her chest rising and falling erratically.

“Oh,” she whimpered, grinding against the finger he slipped inside her.

It was a bit of a stretch. Dougal had thick fingers, but he went slow, giving her time to adjust. A second finger followed, and she let out a soft gasp, feeling full.

He slid his thick fingers deeper into her sensitive sex, and she clapped one hand over her mouth, terrified the needy sounds building in her throat would escape. Her other hand shot down, fingers twisting desperately into the fabric of her skirts before moving to clutch at his hair, pulling him closer without thinking.

The slow, deliberate slide of his fingers stretched her so perfectly it made her toes curl. Every flex and stroke brushed that sensitive spot inside her, sending sharp bursts of pleasure radiating through her belly and up her spine.

She rocked her hips frantically, grinding against his touch, silently begging him to pump his fingers harder, faster, to chase the building heat that threatened to consume her.

It felt dangerous to want more. Felt so wrong to ache for this from him, the man she should fear. Yet her body betrayed her completely.

He stroked a calloused thumb over her swollen bud, circling it with firm pressure. The added sensation tore a series of broken cries and whimpers from her throat.

Her hips moved wildly of their own accord now, grinding shamelessly against his hand as waves of pleasure crashed through her. She couldn’t control them anymore; her thighs trembling, lost in the rising tide of ecstasy.

The pleasure hit her suddenly.

She clutched at him, burying her face in his shoulder and letting out whimpers of pleasure.

The sounds were music to his ears, he might say. She didn’t even know why she was imagining what he might say. His breath went ragged, watching the little gasps of pleasure that escaped her as he slowly pulled out his fingers.