Chapter 10 #2
Stop the delightful movements she was so clearly enjoying.
His cock was rock-hard. It would have been standing straight up, had it not been pressed against his stomach by the woman above him. The woman whose cunny—her hot, dripping cunny—was rubbing up and down his hard length.
And each time she rocked in her erotic dreaming, she whimpered with pleasure.
His Rose’s lips were parted against his skin, and as she gyrated, eyes closed and lost in the dream, one hand moved down his side and the other to his upper arm, squeezing. Holding him in place.
As if he’d move? Bull swallowed down his groan, resisting the urge to flex his hips up, thrusting his cock against her sweet, soaked curls.
Instead, he fisted the sheets in his hands, trying desperately to keep from reaching for her, waking her.
That’s right, lass. Use my cock. Make yerself feel good.
His Rose moaned again, her breaths coming faster as she rocked against him. Her palm reached his hip, and when her fingers curled around it to hold herself in place, he shuddered.
This was almost too much.
Thank fook she was wearing—what the shite was she wearing? Something soft and billowy, something which was still between them. If he’d been able to feel her soft curls directly? If his cock had been able to slide along her wetness, instead of just feeling the sticky patch of the linen?
Christ, he would have come then and there.
As it was, Bull was struggling hard to remember why he shouldn’t take control of this. Shouldn’t roll her over and press her into the mattress and wake her and show her how he felt with his tongue and his lips and his cock. Show her how special she was.
Because she was special. This was Rose Hayle—his Rose. Sometime during that masquerade ball—fook him, had it only been a few days ago?—he’d stopped thinking of her as a younger cousin. He’d stopped thinking of her as a lassie.
It had been that kiss.
His fingers tightened in the sheets. Why the fook had he gone and thought about that kiss? Because now he was even closer to the edge and if this didn’t end soon—
Miracle of miracles Rose stiffened, pressed herself against him with her hold on his hip, and bucked once—twice, with a soft little cry.
She was coming against his cock, coming apart on his length and he couldn’t even feel it.
All he knew was the feel of her mouth against his skin, the sound of her pleasure, the sweet sleepy agony of her release…
It was fooking magical, is what it was.
Bull wondered how he was supposed to go back to sleep—was he? She’d just climaxed in his arms—he’d made her climax—and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless. Wanted to taste her in all places.
“Bull?” she murmured, and he stiffened.
Stiffened more.
Because she’d sounded confused…out of sorts. Had she been entirely unaware through that? Nay, surely not. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing regular…and felt her push herself up, her breathing still stuttered as she woke up and realized what she’d done.
What she’d enjoyed.
And she thought he was still asleep, and wasn’t sure what to do.
So Bull, thinking fast, began to move slightly and smack his lips and twist his head side to side; all the not-quite-romantic motions of a man just waking up.
He made a show of stretching his arms, twisting his neck, and by the time he’d hummed, “Mmm, Rose?” she’d scrambled to roll off him and place a respectable distance between them.
And he wondered if she was thinking about that wet spot on her bloomers as hard as he was.
“Bull?” She sounded hesitant, but not at all asleep. “Are you—”
“Good morning,” he announced, then made a show of realizing it was still dark. “Or is it the middle of the night?”
“Are you hungry?” Ignoring his question—or perhaps not knowing herself, his Rose clambered to the edge of the bed and rolled from the mattress. “I will build up the fire.”
Beneath the covers Bull reached for the towel, and in wrapping himself up, his palm brushed against his throbbing cock. The sound of pain he made had her whirling about.
“Are you hurt?”
“Nay.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do ye…” Christ, just that glimpse of her, silhouetted by the embers of the fire, that linen shift billowing around her, making her look so sweet and innocent even as he spotted that wet patch… “Is—is yer gown dry?”
“Oh.” There was embarrassment in her voice as she said quietly, “Yes, of course. Give me a moment.”
By the time he rolled out of bed—feeling lower than low—and padded barefoot behind the dressing screen with a clean set of smalls and a shirt and trousers, Rose was fully dressed.
He joined her at the small table to eat the still crusty bread and surprisingly good cheese, and through it all, she watched him silently.
Too silently.
Finally, unable to stand the awkwardness, Bull captured her hand. “Thank ye, Rose. Thank ye for saving me.”
In the light from the fire, her cheeks pinked. “I…it was nothing.”
“Nay, it was no’, and I’ll be forever grateful.
Ye are…” He took a deep breath and admitted the truth.
“Ye are competent, and quick-thinking, and I was a fool to think ye should no’ have joined me in my investigation from the verra beginning.
” He thought of his assumptions about her at Hogmanay. “I didnae ken ye. No’ really.”
His Rose glanced down to where his thumb was tracing small circles on the back of her hand, and he wondered if she was thinking of the pleasure she’d just taken from his cock.
But her nod was small. Certain. “You did not know me then, Bull.” Her green eyes switched to his, wide and full of…something. “Thank you for being willing to admit it now.”
His lips curled wryly. “Ye have a puir opinion of men, then, to think I might no’? Or is it just me in particular?”
“Oh, Bull…” His Rose sighed as she shook her head and glanced away. “I have never had a poor opinion of you.”
“Ye should, lass. If ye kenned half the things I’ve done—”
“I would likely admire you more.” Rose’s chin rose as she met his eyes stalwartly. “I have only ever wanted you to see me, Bull. Really see me. Understand me.”
Unable to help himself, Bull swayed toward her. He wanted to kiss her—Christ, he wanted to kiss her! But he knew that if he kissed her, with the scent of her pleasure so recently filling the room, the feel of her wetness against his cock, they would end up on that bed.
Happy, and entirely ruined.
But here in this inn, they were merely pretending to be betrothed. That was the lie they’d told Lord Tittle-Tattle, aye? Unbidden, his gaze dropped to her hand.
To the simple ring she wore on her fourth finger. For the first time, Bull realized the emerald in the radiant gold setting was a perfect match for her eyes.
What had Lady Mistree told him when she’d given him his inheritance? When you meet the right woman, that ring will fit perfectly on her finger. Rose didn’t have to curl her fingers to keep it in place, nor struggle with a too-tight discomfort; the gold band did fit perfectly.
Without thinking, Bull lifted her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckle, right above that ring. The ring which fit perfectly.
Just like her.