Chapter 19 #2
Daphne watched Hunter’s muscular back ripple in front of her as he led the way through the door. He had to duck his head and turn his shoulders ever so slightly to slip through.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Pulsing energy and excitement shot through her veins, aftershocks of the dancing.
She followed him into the room. At first glance, it looked like a little reading alcove, big enough only for a desk, a stool, and a few shelves nailed to the walls.
There wasn’t really room for the two of them. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Only the slightest stretch of her arm would bring him within touching distance.
He stared at her, unblinking, his eyes darkening slowly.
“Daenae let that man touch ye again,” he breathed.
She arched her eyebrows. “What has poor Laird Gordon done to upset ye?”
He moved forward, bringing them almost nose to nose. “He touched ye,” he responded simply.
She breathed out, her lips parting. “Oh,” she whispered.
He leaned in, his lips pressing against hers. A gentle kiss, barely a touch.
Nae enough.
She seized his shoulders, the fabric crumpling in her hands, and he wound his arms around her waist, pulling her firmly against him. She gasped aloud, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
Hunter chuckled low in his throat, and his warm palm slid up the side of her ribcage. His fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts, and an aching desire coiled at the base of her spine.
She hadn’t realized they were moving until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the desk. She squeaked, her eyes flying open, and Hunter pulled back. A flush had crept across his face, which was surprising, as he didn’t seem to be the sort of man who blushed often.
“Ye drive me bloody mad, ye ken that?” he growled.
She couldn’t respond. The words wouldn’t come.
He leaned in, kissing her once again, roughly, desperately. Then his strong arms circled her, and she found herself lifted and lowered onto the desk, her tiptoes barely brushing the floor.
Hunter moved back, and she reached for his shoulders, desperately trying to pull him closer. He chuckled low in his throat.
To her surprise, he sank down onto his knees, tilting his head to look up at her. “I cannae take it anymore, lass.”
She swallowed dryly.
He pressed his palms against her knees, his heat seeping through the fabric. He shifted, before she felt his warm fingers curl around her bare ankle.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and tracked the progress of his hand up her leg. The touch stroked up the curve of her calf, over her knee, and up her thigh. Goose pimples spread across her skin.
He leaned in, his weight coming down against her knees. Opening her eyes, she glanced down at him. Her breath caught in her throat; already she was at a loss for words.
Why does he do this to me? How can he do this to me?
He grinned at her, his eyes dark and hungry. When his fingers slid against her core, she let out a shuddering gasp, her eyes closing once more.
“Ah-Ah-Ah,” he murmured. “Daenae close yer eyes. I want ye to look at me.”
She forced her eyes open, peering down at him.
That smile still lingered on his lips. One hand still stroked between her legs, and the other pushed up the heavy layers of her skirts.
She drew her lower lip between her teeth and curled her fingers around the edge of the desk.
The wood bit into her skin, but she was only vaguely aware of the discomfort.
Hunter crawled forward, his shoulders pressing against her thighs, and placed a kiss on her stomach. She couldn’t feel it, of course, not through the layers of her dress.
Suddenly, she wished nothing more than for the dress to be gone.
Then he moved back, holding her gaze, and lowered his head. There was a split-second before her brain caught up to her body and she realized what had happened.
His tongue slid against her folds, and she gasped aloud, her back arching. She wanted to touch him, to pull at his shoulders or hair, but she was almost sure that if she released the edge of the desk, she’d topple backward, he would stop touching her, and she would… would what? Die?
His tongue twisted nimbly, sending tendrils of pleasure shooting through her spine, intense enough to make her see stars behind her lids.
Yes, behind her lids, because she’d closed her eyes despite what he’d requested, and she had put a hand on his shoulder after all, her fingertips pressing into the muscle.
She could feel his fingers around her knee, holding her in place.
His free hand trailed up her thigh once more, and his fingers slid against her core, heightening her pleasure.
It really seemed that she might explode, or that something would happen, because it was all too much and not nearly enough.
Her climax crashed over her, enough to make her cry out and tip her head back, back arching, thighs trembling. Molten heat trickled through her veins, and she let out a long, ragged breath.
Had she been holding her breath?
She had!
Hunter pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes glazed, and pressed his stubbled cheek against her thigh, panting for breath.
After a moment, he leaned back a little, tugging down her skirt to at least cover her knees.
“Well, lass,” he rasped, “I think it’s safe to say that ye liked that a good deal more than what was proper.”
If Daphne could have formed words, she would have said something witty, no doubt. A sharp retort, something clever.
Perhaps an offer to reciprocate, because that was only fair, and fairness mattered.
But she never found out what she was going to do or say, because at that moment, he surged up, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her.