Chapter 13 #3
She went eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck, not caring what his explanation was—not if it meant she could press her naked body against him. But he bent, slid his hand behind her knees, and lifted her. Surprised at the sudden change in trajectory, she squealed and tightened her hold on him.
But that didn’t stop her from flying through the air—did he throw her?—and bouncing on the mattress. Rosie was breathless from silent laughter as she pushed herself up on her elbows to face him…only to have Bull press her back down into the mattress, his mouth slamming down to cover hers.
Oh, well, if you insist…
His mouth was everywhere—her jaw, her throat, the hollow of her collarbone—as his hands mapped her body with reverent touches. Bull’s calloused palms slid over her ribs, along her waist, gripping her hips as he pressed her into the mattress with his weight.
“Ye’re so soft,” he murmured against her skin, his lips brushing the swell of her breast. “Perfection. Damnit, Rose, ye’re a masterpiece, a Monet.”
Did he not realize that, up close, Monet’s works were just a series of paint splotches? She felt like that—disjointed, frantic…
Rosie’s hands roamed over his arching back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex beneath her fingers.
She traced the ridges of his spine, found unexpected scars, dragged her nails across his shoulders, threaded her fingers through his damp hair.
Every touch seemed to make him groan, and she loved the sound of his abandon.
Bull’s mouth closed once more around her nipple, capturing the delicate bud, and she arched up off the bed with a gasp. His tongue circled the peak, flicking over it before his teeth scraped across the sensitive flesh. The sensation shot straight to her core, and she felt herself growing wetter.
Again.
“Bull, please—”
“Shhh,” he soothed, switching to her other breast, knowing how to answer her unspoken craving. “I’ve got ye, love.”
As his lips brushed over the second one, his hand slid between her legs, fingers parting her aching folds, stroking through her wetness.
Oh my—my gooey poo-nuggets!
He nuzzled her neck as two fingers slid inside her, curling upward, and she cried out, her hips rocking forward as she tightened her hold on his hair. His thumb found her clitoris, circling it in slow, deliberate movements that made her buck against his hand.
“That’s it,” he praised, lifting his head to watch her face. “Ride my fingers. Take what ye need.”
He was doing it again, bringing her pleasure without allowing any himself. Selfless, again. All Rosie could do was stroke his skin as she followed his command, rolling her hips and chasing the pressure building inside her.
And then he withdrew his hand, and she whimpered at the loss.
“Bull—”
He kissed his way down her stomach, tongue circling her navel, teeth nipping at her hip bone. He gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, and she felt his breath against her most intimate place.
Yes.
She’d read about this, but never dreamed… Yes.
“Lift yer knees for me, Rose.”
She obeyed without thinking, her devotion to him an instinct, and Bull hooked his arms under her legs, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position opened her completely to him and she felt exposed, vulnerable—and absolutely desperate for his mouth.
The first stroke of his tongue along her folds made her cry out.
Oh dear God—
He licked her slowly, thoroughly, as if savoring the taste of her. His tongue circled her entrance, once, twice, a throbbingly sweet third time, then slid inside, and she felt him moan against her flesh.
“Fook, ye taste good,” he groaned, the vibration of his voice adding to the sensations. “Could eat yer sweet cunny all day.”
His tongue found her clitoris, flicking over it, and she gasped as her body shuddered.
Her hands abandoned their stroking to fly to his hair, gripping the damp strands as he licked and sucked, pulling him closer—as if he could be closer.
He alternated between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on that bundle of nerves, driving her higher and higher.
When he slid two fingers inside her, she was already so wet they glided in easily. He pumped them slowly, curling them forward to stroke that spot that made her see stars.
“More,” she gasped, yanking at his hair. “Bull, I need—”
Rosie felt him grin against her skin as he added a third finger, stretching her with a burn that was exquisite. She welcomed it, rolling her hips to take him deeper.
Yes.
“That’s my good lass,” he praised against her folds, his voice rough. “Taking my fingers so well. Ye’re going to come on my tongue, love. And I’m going to lap you all up.”
His mouth closed around her clitoris, providing gentle pressure as his fingers thrust inside her.
Rosie could hear the wet sounds of him working her, could feel his hips rocking against the mattress in the same rhythm, beating the same time.
The realization that he was humping the bed, he was so aroused by pleasuring her, sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
They were together, properly together as she had always dreamed, and yet so far—she wanted him inside her and yet he was, his fingers, his oh-so-clever tongue…
He was moving in rhythm with his fingers, as if mimicking what he wanted to do with her, and she was already close to desperate tears. Yes! Yes! She wanted him, needed him…and he needed her as well.
The bed continued to rock from his movements, as he withdrew his tongue—but just for a moment.
“Come for me, Rose,” Bull commanded, his lips brushing against her sensitive flesh. “Soak my face. Now. I want to feel ye come apart.”
His tongue focused on her clitoris, licking in quick, firm strokes as his fingers stroked her inner muscles.
And then…and then.
His lips closed over her bud just as he slid a fourth finger inside her.
She was stretched wide now, open for all of him, his fingers mimicking his cock as his hips ground against the mattress and his free hand reached up and pinched her nipple.
And that, all of that, all of him more than any one thing, sent her over the edge.
“Bull!” Rosie screamed, her hands tightening in his hair, holding him in furious place as her climax crashed over her.
Her inner muscles clamped down around his fingers, pulsing as pleasure flooded through her body.
She was dimly aware of wetness, wetness pouring from her, wetness coating his hand, his face, as she came harder than she ever had before.
And Bull didn’t pull away—he buried his face against her and grunted, his hips giving one last buck…
he then seemed to gradually relax as her own release began to ebb.
Slowly, her muscles loosened—both her inner muscles, and those in her thighs, holding him in place—and she forced her fingers to unclench from his hair.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, sinking against the mattress. “Oh my God.”
All of her prodigious curses left her, and all that remained was praise for the Almighty. Oh my God.
Bull turned to one side, placing kisses against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and hummed in wordless agreement.
She found herself patting his head. What was she doing? Thanking him? Trying to soothe him? “Oh…oh my God.”
“Should I be flattered that I’ve stolen yer ability to remember yer colorful vocabulary?” he murmured.
And Rosie found herself smiling. “Oh my God,” she repeated yet again, tugging at his hair, trying to urge him upward.
Bull finally rose up, pushing himself on his palms, then rolling to the side so he could grin up at her. His chin and jaw—most of his face, in fact!—was covered in her wetness, and as she watched, he dragged his tongue along his lips to pull more of it into his mouth.
It should have been disgusting.
Instead, Rosie’s chest clenched, and so did her core. Oh my God.
Was it possible that she already wanted him again?
“Come here,” she whispered, and he obliged, rolling up beside her. She curled toward him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her safely against his chest. “Bull, that…that was…”
When she trailed off, he hummed. Not an agreement, not a disagreement. Since she wasn’t sure what she was saying, it would have to do for now.
Rosie’s body slowly sank into his warmth, and when she shivered slightly, he pulled the covers over them both. Were they cuddling? This was cuddling?
This is more than cuddling. This is peace.
Here, in his arms, she was safe and comfortable and felt cherished. She smiled and snuggled closer.
His hand left her shoulder, and she felt him reach between her breasts to tug on the green ribbon.
It was surprisingly difficult to wrench her eyes open, but she watched him turning the ring over between his fingers, his gaze thoughtful as he studied it.
Should she apologize for not returning it?
For continuing to wear it against her heart? For taking it off at all?
Rosie opened her mouth to ask, but most unfortunately what came out was, “Why did you not fook me?”
His gaze snapped to hers, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, as if he was smiling without his lips. “Rose mine, it wouldnae be fooking. It’d be making love.”
Oh.
Well, that was sweet, wasn’t it?
“Fine,” she yawned. “Why did we not make love?” She was, after all, alone with him and completely nude.
“Because…fook. I might be illegitimate, but I’m no’ a bastard.”
When Rosie blinked at him, unable to force her brain to comprehend what he was saying, Bull’s lips twitched upward. He bent down and kissed her, and she tasted her own release on his lips.
“Go to sleep, love,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve got ye.”
It was the most perfect vow, and she decided to obey.