Chapter 22 Robyn #3
And of course, I’d never gotten an eyeful of what was between his legs until now. I’d had him inside me, but I hadn’t seen him because of his kilt.
“Whoa.” I licked my lips, wondering how he’d fit last time.
“It’s been like this since the ceilidh,” he admitted, giving me a roguish grin as he reached for my right leg, lifting my ankle to his lips. “And as much as I want to jump on you like a wild thing, we will be taking our time.”
“But I’m supposed to be meeting Mac.” I sighed, melting into the bed as Lachlan trailed shivery kisses up my calf. I thanked God I’d shaved that morning.
“Mac can wait.”
It took me a minute to gather my thoughts again.
“I’m not sure he—” I cut off my delayed response with a low moan as Lachlan’s mouth reached my inner thigh and his hand caressed my stomach, fingers tantalizingly close to where I wanted them.
My breath hitched as he licked the crease of my leg.
The bristles of his beard tickled sensitive skin as he scattered kisses over my stomach and down my other thigh.
Deliberately avoiding the spot.
Frustrated, I arched my hips. “Lachlan.”
He lifted his head, eyes full of mischief. “Problem?”
I grunted in irritation. “Stop torturing me.”
“I didn’t realize I was,” the bastard lied, and then pushed my thighs wide, eyes a smoky cerulean with lust as he bowed his head between them. “Is this what you want?”
I nodded, trying to push up into his mouth, but he had my hips pinned.
“Say it.”
I flushed at the demand. None of my sex partners had ever been particularly loquacious in bed. “I want your mouth.”
“Is that it?” His breath whispered over me, increasing my excitement. “No special instructions?”
“I’m pretty sure you know what to do,” I huffed, growing more agitated. My fingers fisted into the bedsheets.
Lachlan laughed, and then I was in heaven.
As he worshipped me, his hands smoothed up my stomach to cup my breasts and squeeze. I was overwhelmed by him, writhing on that bed, lost in nothing but passion. My moans grew to groans and cries, no longer cognizant of anything other than him and the pleasure he wrung from my body.
I came on a loud, hoarse cry of release that echoed around his room as he moved up my body, mapping it with his kisses.
Still breathless, blown away by the best orgasm of my life, it took me a minute to realize that Lachlan was paying particular attention to the three scars on the right side of my chest: one near my right collarbone, another close to it just above my breast, and the third lower down just beneath my breast.
But then he was distracted by my nipple, for which I was grateful, and I wrapped my legs around his back to encourage him to come closer.
My fingers worked through his thick, silky hair and moved down his back, touching and exploring him as he sucked at my breasts, taking his sweet time until both nipples were swollen and sensitive.
I wanted him inside me. I could feel him throbbing against my stomach, and I kept trying to hitch my hips to bring him where he was currently very much required.
Lachlan chuckled at my efforts, his bearded cheeks grazing my breasts as he caressed my hips and ass and continued loving me with his mouth.
His head dipped downward again, and I thought I was going to get a second orgasm via his tongue when his kisses did a U-turn.
Back to my lowest scar.
He kissed it tenderly.
And then lifted his head to study it.
The scars were easy to hide with clothes, but I only hid them because I didn’t want people to ask questions. I wasn’t self-conscious about them, and I didn’t think they were ugly.
While what happened had put me in therapy, it was also one of the things I’d done in my life that I was most proud of. I’d saved my friend’s life, and the scars were my badges of honor.
Still, what did Lachlan think of them? Running my fingers through his hair, I asked him.
“I know what they are,” he said, meeting my gaze. “I’ve seen bullet-wound scars before.”
I nodded, hoping the mood wasn’t about to be spoiled.
His brows puckered. “What happened?”
I shook my head, trying to signal with my body that I just wanted to have sex. When he didn’t catch on, I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “At least tell me Mac knows.”
“He does.”
“Then I guess that’s what matters,” he bit out, seeming pissed off before his mouth took mine, his kisses hard, searching and breath stealing.
He broke the kiss only to grab a condom from his bedside-table drawer. Suited up, Lachlan caught me under the arms and hauled me farther up the bed as if I weighed nothing. Then he was over me, one hand braced at the side of my head, the other curled around my thigh.
He glided in, eased by my desire, and I gasped at the delicious, full sensation of him.
Lachlan held my gaze as he took his time, gentle, slow, deliberate flexes of his hips as he built a torturous friction between us.
“More,” I demanded, dragging my nails down his hard chest, my thumbs catching on his nipples. “Lachlan, more.”
In answer, he took hold of my hands and pinned them at either side of my head.
The sensation was unexpectedly erotic, and he bared his teeth in a savage, satisfied grin as he felt my reaction and kept up the slow lovemaking that was driving me wild with impatience.
Just when I felt my climax nearing, Lachlan stopped. He held himself over me, not moving.
“What are you doing?” I gasped in outrage.
In answer, he kissed me, lazy, sweet, sexy kisses that had me canting my hips in the hope of restarting the good stuff. But Lachlan withheld all but his mouth. I whimpered in exasperation, pushing against his hold on my wrists.
Lachlan groaned and to my utter relief began to move.
Breaking our kiss, Lachlan watched me as he started his torture all over again.
There was no other word for it but exquisite torture because just as before, as I hovered on the peak, he halted.
My protests were swallowed in his kisses, holding everything but his lips still as he explored my mouth and then trailed slow, hungry kisses down my neck to my breasts. When I tried to push my hips into his, he nipped lightly at my collarbone and shot me a warning look.
“You’re a bastard.” It would’ve sounded more convincing if it hadn’t ended in a moan of pleasure as he covered my nipple with his mouth.
What was he doing to me?
I found myself murmuring gibberish, pleading, begging for him to keep moving.
He did.
But then he repeated his cycle of torment.
Finally, my body could take no more. I was strung so taut, I was almost on the verge of tears, something I’d never experienced before. My body trembled with the need for release, and I wasn’t alone. Lachlan’s expression was harsh with need, the muscles in his arms straining as he held me down.
“Please,” I whispered, vulnerable beneath his hot eyes. “Please, Lachlan.”
Whatever impressive control he’d mastered snapped and he began to thrust. Hard, powerful drives. Savage, desperate, his face etched with fierce want.
Each drive tightened the need inside me, tighter, higher, the tension a coiling promise of bliss.
Then I shattered.
The single most out-of-this-world orgasm exploded through me.
I screamed with release as I came around him, my inner muscles rippling in wave after wave after wave …
Lachlan’s hoarse yell of climax thundered around the room chasing my cries, and he collapsed over me, releasing my wrists as he shuddered and groaned into my ear.
The room was silent except for the sounds of our heavy breathing, but I could still hear my scream and his yell in my head.
What the holy heck was that?
I slapped a hand over my forehead as I tried to recover from the extreme pleasure.
Sex with anyone else was officially forever tainted by this moment.
That wasn’t good! This was temporary! I glared at his ceiling as he pressed a sweet kiss to my shoulder. I did not want to get addicted to sex with someone who was temporary.
Remembering my pleas, the vulnerability, of being putty in his goddamn hands, enjoying the bastard holding me captive beneath his powerful body and talented hips, I stiffened.
Scrambling for the best reason to end this now, I gently shoved Lachlan onto his side to get him off. But he wasn’t ready to detach, his hands reaching for me, touching me, caressing my stomach, my breasts … and making it very difficult to leave his bed.
I glowered at him, confused by my warring desires.
His expression was soft with satisfaction, but his eyes were alert. “What is it?”
I fought hard against the impulse to just lie back down and let him continue touching me. Instead, I took hold of his hand at my breast and pushed it away.
Lachlan scowled, repeating his question silently as he sat up.
“This is too complicated. We should stop,” I said.
The man huffed with disbelief. “Eh, pretty sure neither of us have come harder in our lives. Why stop now?”
Pretending I wasn’t affected by his confession (though secretly delighted I’d given that to him too), I replied, “Because of Mac. I don’t want to come between you two.”
“I thought we went over this? It’s just sex. If we’re both on the same page, then it won’t be a problem. Unless we’re not on the same page?”
No, it was just sex. For now. But even sex could be addictive, and I didn’t want to be constantly comparing him to my future lovers.
Think that ship sailed an orgasm ago.
Okay, I conceded that was most likely true.
If this was just sex, though, then I planned to avoid the guy outside the bedroom. “You’re right. We’re both on the same page. Just sex.” I patted him on the shoulder. “This was great.” And rolled away from him to get out of bed.
Lachlan hauled me back into his chest, and his wandering hand dipped between my legs. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”
“I can’t,” I groaned, leaning back into him, my body übersensitive.
But then his fingers worked their magic, and pleasure flooded me. I arched into his touch, seeking more.
“Oh, but I think you can,” he murmured darkly in my ear.