Chapter 6 #3
Bonnie was glorious like this—flushed, wanton, her lips parted and her eyes dark with need. He couldn’t look away.
This was her first kiss, and Lyon was determined to make it as magnificent as she was.
His mouth crashed back onto hers as his hands found her breasts again, stroking, teasing, pinching just hard enough to make her cry out into the kiss. Her hips rolled against him, seeking friction, and he groaned when her thigh pressed against the rigid length of his cock beneath his kilt.
But this wasn’t about him.
His fingers slid from her breast, trailing down the trembling plane of her belly before dipping beneath the hem of her skirts. The air was cool against his knuckles as he pushed upward, gathering fabric until his palm met the bare, silken skin of her inner thigh.
She was trembling.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her lips. “Spread yer legs for me, lass.”
She obeyed without hesitation, her thighs falling open, and his fingers found her immediately—soaked, swollen, ready.
He groaned at the first touch, his cock throbbing painfully as he drew his fingers through her slick folds.
She was drenched, her arousal coating his skin, and when he circled her entrance, she jerked against his hand with a broken moan.
“Lyon, please—”
He didn’t make her beg again.
One finger slid inside her, slow and careful, testing.
She was tight—so tight—and her inner walls clenched around him, pulsing.
He cursed under his breath, his thumb finding the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.
She bucked against his hand with a cry, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Just like that, my bonnie lass.”
He added a second finger, stretching her gently, his thumb never ceasing its slow, firm circles over her clit.
Her breath came in sharp little gasps, her body tensing with every stroke.
He could feel her building, could see the way her lips parted on a silent scream, her eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze locking onto his just as he curled his fingers inside her, pressing against that rough patch of flesh that made her entire body jerk.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb moving faster now, his fingers stroking deep. “Let yerself go, Bonnie. I’ve got ye.”
Her breath hitched. Her back arched. And then—
She came with a broken cry, her body bowing against his, her inner walls clamping down around his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his thumb working her through it as she shuddered and gasped, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving his.
There was wonder in her expression, and he glowed with pride that she was allowing him to experience this.
Only when her body went limp against his, her breaths slow and shuddering, did he finally still his hand. He pressed one last, gentle kiss to her lips, tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her breath.
“There’s my good lass,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
She was boneless in his arms, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses. When she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes were dark and dazed, her expression miraculous.
He couldn’t help the way his lips curled upward.
Almost reluctantly, he pulled his fingers gently from between her swollen folds, and Bonnie surged forward. Before he understood her intent, she grasped him on either side of his face—ignoring the scars, as she always had, as if they were irrelevant—and pulled his lips to hers.
Her second kiss.
Her inexperience was intoxicating, and Lyon knew that it would take little prompting to bend her over one of these chairs, to flip up his kilt and plunge into her warm, welcoming cunny. He could make it so good for her, and knew she would match him.
But nay, this wasn’t some whore, or a jaded lass eager for a rough tumble and a story to tell her friends about the Beast of the Oliphants.
This was Bonnie.
As much as he wanted to taste all of her, as much as he wanted to explore her body and make her cry out his name in pleasure, he’d already gone too far and risked too much.
With a groan which almost matched his earlier one, he forced himself to release her and set her away from him.
Her hands were shaking as she lifted both sets of fingertips to her lips. Not in shock, but in…awe? The dazed look in her eyes as she touched herself gently made it seem as if she were marveling at the kiss they’d just shared.
As was he.
Breathing heavily, he stood, holding her upright until he was certain she could stand on her own.
Then he smoothed down her skirts, tucked her breasts back into her bodice in as smooth a motion as he could manage under the circumstances, and stepped back, trying to get his heart—and his cock—under control.
“My goodness.”
Mutely, he nodded at her assessment of what they’d just shared.
But apparently, she was speaking of something else. “No wonder you prefer to wear kilts.”
Frowning, he tilted his head and opened his eyes, to see her staring down at the front of his kilt, which was tented ridiculously. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stood in profile.
Cursing softly, he shifted his stance, although that didn’t seem to help. Her attention was still on his cock, and her eyes were now sparkling with wicked contemplation.
“That would not fit so well in trousers, would it?”
He knew he was a large man—large all over—but it wasn’t as if he’d never worn trousers. “I manage, somehow,” he growled.
Her smile bloomed again as she dragged her eyes up to meet his. “That was my first kiss, you know.”
Gruffly, he nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldnae have—”
“I am not sorry, not at all. It was magnificent.”
It really had been, hadn’t it?
But he was still a gentleman, despite his reputation. “If ye want to leave, since I attacked ye, I’ll arrange—”
Again, she interrupted him. “Are you mad?” Her smile belied her insult as she darted forward to twine her fingers through his. “After you have given me access to this glorious library? And I cannot leave, not until ye sketch the medieval embroideries for me—I mean, for my book.”
He stared down at her, unable to believe this woman, this glorious lass, was real. “Even the one with the, ye ken…the fellatio?”
Her wink didn’t quite take him by surprise. “Especially that one.” And then she was tugging him toward the door. “Come along! We need to fetch your paper and pens!”
Weakly, Lyon followed. He suspected, despite knowing exactly how bad he’d be for her, he’d follow Bonnie Oliphant anywhere.