Page 29 of Gardening and Gargoyles

Oh, God, he’s so good at this. He’s a philosopher with a kilt and horns. “And what I know, I love. And there will be time to find more and more to love,” I say, half to myself, realizing it is true. I loved little things about Duncan almost instantly. I was so distraught at the thought of him leaving because it felt like my oldest, most trusted friend, my protector, would leave.

I pull him back in for a kiss, this one much steamier because I’m leading it, and I know that I might be his lady, but I’m not some “lady” who has to act all refined. Especially not when I’m alone with him. “We can work out the pace we want to go,” I reassure between kisses.

“Aye, I’ll be content as long as it’s with you,” he promises, his hands lifting me, one huge forearm going under my bottom so that I’m at an easier height for kissing. His mouth leaves my lips and goes searching for new territory to conquer—throat, collarbone, cleavage.

My thighs squeeze together as my pussy throbs again, that soft, slick feeling starting to make itself known. Duncan lifts his head and inhales the night air—then grins at me in wonder.

“What?”

“Your scent.”

“I showered, I promise.”

“You smell divine—especially where you need me most,” Duncan’s hand slowly, lightly caresses my chest and heads down to the waistband of my raggedy cut-offs.

“You can smell that?”

“Mm. A hunter uses all of his senses.” His lips move over my covered breasts, thumb teasing over a nipple. He puts me down and stares for a moment, breathing hard.

“What is it?”

“I want things that I don’t know how to ask for. If they’d offend you. Or harm you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure most things won’t harm me or offend me, especially because I know you love me. You don’t want to do those things, so it’s okay to just be honest and say what you want. I will, too.”

Duncan nods, but he still looks nervous, and that’s just too adorable for me to stand. “Come on. Let’s go into the house. Into the bedroom. It’s easier to say things in private spacessometimes.” I grab his hand, and we march to the car to grab my phone and shut the lid, and then race inside.

Duncan’s bravery comes back once I shut the bedroom door and face him, lit only by the glow of the bedside reading lamp. His hands stroke over my face and neck, and I haul him down for a kiss, this time letting my other hand squeeze his muscular bicep, then roam over the cords of muscle I can feel in his neck and chest.

“I want to taste you. Every inch. And bury myself inside of you. That’s what I want, my lady. My June.”

“Oh, God. Yes, that’s what I want, too,” I whisper.

“That’s not wrong?”

“To ‘taste’ each other? Nope.” I pop my lips over the last word and love the way his chest rises and falls more rapidly as I lick my lips. “Want me to show you that it’s a very enjoyable act between lovers?”

“You mean—”

I gently stroke his tail, which is still holding onto the hem of his kilt, and Duncan lets out a low, ragged sound. “Oooh, wait? Tails are sexy spots?”

“If that means it feels wickedly good to be touched there, then yes, love.”

“Good to know.” I move my hand along the smooth, gray, whiplike tail several times, watching Duncan’s eyes roll back, then close. When they’re shut, my other hand softly starts to brush up and down his length through the fabric of his kilt. “Is it okay if we take things off and get on the bed?” I suggest.

He nods, swallowing audibly.

“I’ll be careful of your wing.”

“It’s better each day. You are good medicine. Your cooking. Your smile. The air here... It’s not the Highlands, but it feels like home when you’re nearby.”

I’m going to melt. Parts of me already seem to be liquid, something I’m obviously aware of when I brush my fingers down Duncan’s chest and he helps me untuck the folds of fabric that hold up his kilt. I don’t want things to be unbalanced and one of us to be more vulnerable than the other (which sounds funny when you consider one of us could literally knock over an oak tree, and the other could probably snap off a branch). But even with Duncan’s size, I don’t feel worried.

Just horny. Excited.

Loving. This is all new to him. I drop my shorts and the cute thong that was under them, remembering he’s seen me before, but only accidentally. This is different. This is romance. Love.

My hands move back to his hipbones, fingers slowly walking his skin, trailing around to his cock before I let myself look.