Chapter 13 I’ll Like You Better Naked
I’LL LIKE YOU BETTER NAKED
With both hands back on me, he sweeps us inside a quiet room and tracks across another, softer sounding floor.
The scent of fresh flowers and sunlight eases me a little.
I have no idea what this palatial place looks like inside so my mind has conjured the darkest, scariest, coldest castle I can imagine.
Lachlan stops and leans forward. The front of my legs press against something quilted and soft. A bed?
“I’m going to let you go,” he says, voice stern, breath heated. “Don’t even think about running.”
I huff and puff hair from my face. Instead of dropping me on the mattress like I expect, he turns and sits, pulling me onto his lap.
My arms are still pinned under his. This is a much gentler way to put me down than how he did at the hotel, but I can’t fathom why he didn’t just drop me again.
“What’s your plan?” I ask. “Hold me here until I concede? Tie me to the bed and leave me until I beg to be your slave?”
He chuckles near my ear, his breath blowing strands of my hair. “I don’t need to tie you to anything to make you beg.”
“You wish.”
Securing me to him with one arm, he slides the jacket out from between us, tosses it aside, and brushes my hair from my face.
“I don’t need to wish. I know,” he says the last word against my neck as the tip of his nose glides along my skin. He presses a kiss under my ear and then sucks on my tender lobe.
Oh god. I shiver as my desire flares again. “It’s not you,” I blurt. “I’ve been deprived of anything sexual for so long, a moth could land on my boob and give me an orgasm.”
He chuckles again. “For a literature major, you have an interesting way with words.”
“You know my major?”
“Former major,” he reminds me and kisses my shoulder. “I know everything about you.”
“You can’t know everything.” Like an idiot, I turn my face his way.
He looks up from where his lips caress my shoulder. Those aqua eyes burn with lust. He cups my cheek and drags me to him for one of his mind-blowing kisses.
I try to pull away. Sort of. And by sort of, I mean, I lean closer.
I even try to ignore his hot tongue when it sweeps across my lips begging for entrance.
I am in charge here. I could bite him, but he’d like that.
I could scream too, but he’d muffle my mouth.
I could refuse him and turn away. I really could. I should.
“Open, Cat-fiadhaich,” he says that word again, his tone tender and longing.
I open my mouth to argue, and he uses it to plunge his tongue deep. Hot, sweeping strokes have my core pulsing and my breath racing. Damn him. The sneak!
Bite him. Push him away. I will after one more lick, taste, and tangle. One more. Maybe two.
A moan escapes me as Lachlan uses his expert kissing skills to turn me into mush. My head grows light and tingles dance over my lips.
“Lachlan,” I breathe his name, certain I’m about to black out.
In one swift move, he flips me onto my back on the mattress and pins my wrists above my head with one hand while straddling my hips on his knees.
“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” he says in a sweet command.
“Look at me, Emery.” His English accent sounds stronger.
Nerves? “Give me those light caramel eyes.”
That one word—caramel—pulls me from my oxygen-deprived depths. “You know about that too?” If he calls me Chewy, I’ll die. I open my eyes halfway and try to argue in my weakened state.
His brows tighten for a moment, then he smirks from the corner of his mouth.
“I know my kisses cause you to forget to breathe. Makes me wonder…” He kisses my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, and the top of my breasts.
“If I were to kiss you here”—he draws a circle with his finger around my dress-covered nipple—“how would it affect you?”
“Wait!” It comes out weaker than intended. “I… I…” Nervousness pushes the cloud in my brain out of the way. “You can’t,” I say, more alert now.
“I can.” His mouth hovers over my nipple, which is puckered under the thin fabric of the dress.
“But…” How do I explain my insecurities about my breasts and how I can’t bear sharing this embarrassing part of myself with someone else?
As if he understands my train of thought, he closes his eyes. “I won’t look, but I’m going to taste you. I’m dying to.” Longing and desire ring in his voice.
Heat rushes through my veins.
His eyes might be closed, but mine remain open. I watch as his mouth covers my nipple through the fabric of my dress and lace bra.
He sucks hard, soaking through to my skin.
My breath catches, the pleasure making me lightheaded again. Had I known it would feel this good, I might not have been so adamant about over-the-bra hand play in the past.
A trickle of panic sweeps through me at the thought of getting caught. It can’t happen here and with Lachlan—we’re married—but the fear comes anyway. I stiffen.
“Emery, look at me,” Lachlan purrs.
My eyes find his.
Those aqua blues twinkle with a smirk that doesn’t show on his face. I’m thankful for whatever devious scheme he’s planning—anything to keep me in the present.
“Watch.” He orders in a gentle command and unhooks the connecting fabric to my dress. Slowly, he peels away the panels.
A heated blush crawls up my cheeks.
“These beautiful breasts are mine. In order for me to fuck them, I need to see them.” That smirk stays in his eyes.
His words keep me in the moment, despite my lack of understanding. How can he fuck my breasts?
“I promise you I’ll like it.”
I nod, uncertain. “What about me? Will I like it?”
“You will love everything I do to you.”
So arrogant. “You can’t order me to like it. That’s not how it works.”
“Trust me. I know all about how it works.” Holding my gaze, he unties the sash to my wrap dress and opens it completely, exposing my bra and panties.
“White.” He takes me in, and I try not to fidget. “I like you in white.” He hooks a finger over the tiny bow on the center of my strapless bra. “I’ll like you better naked.” Slowly, he tugs it down, bearing my oversized boobs and light pink nipples.
He hisses a curse and runs his tongue over his lips. “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”
Until now, he’s never sounded that British to me.
I must like it because I ask, “How do you fuck breasts?”
That half smirk appears, revealing part of his white teeth. That smile!
“First, I feast like this.” He covers my nipple with his wet mouth and sucks like he’s giving me a passionate kiss, pulling and kissing and pulling more.
My eyes roll back into my head at the sensation, so much better than when fabric was between us.
He takes the tip of the bud into his teeth and bites enough to make me squeal with a hint of pain that adds to my pleasure. Then he sucks on it again—hard.
I buck my hips and pant. “Again.”
That aqua gaze darkens. He does the same to the other nipple then flicks the tip like you’d flick a crumb. The snap of pain has the same effect at surging my pleasure and flooding my core.
He pinches my nipple, flicks it, then sucks on it and groans as if the act turns him on as much as it does me.
I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Soon, my hands are in his hair—I don’t remember putting them there—and I’m chanting his name between pants.
Abruptly, he’s up and stripping off his clothes, showing zero care about his nakedness in front of me. I try to take in his sculpted body. His ropes of abs and firm pecs. The tattoos. His hipbones and the trail of hair leading to his—holy hell, that thing is huge.
He takes his hard length into his hand and strokes it from base to tip. The sight seems unreal. I can’t say seems like a dream, because I’ve never dreamed this. A David statue in human form ready to what…? Ravish me?
It’s then I notice I’m naked except for my underwear. While he feasted on my breasts, he removed my bra and slid away my dress without my knowledge. That’s talent.
He climbs onto the bed. I can’t tear my gaze from his body, not an ounce of fat to obstruct his muscles as they flex with his movements. That massive cock between his legs points in my direction as if it too is saying, “You’re mine.”
There’s no way he gets this body from working all day. You only get that sculpted at the gym. His muscular arms look like they belong on a boxer. I don’t know much at all about this man, but I’m about to let him fuck my breasts.
“Um…”
“Nope.” On his knees, he straddles my body again, his face near mine. “Lips or tits?”
“What?”
“Where do you want me to kiss? Your lips or your tits?” He enunciates each word.
“I…” Which? Um…?
“Three seconds. Two. One…”
He swoops down and kisses my lips, plunging his tongue in and swirling it with mine until I nearly lose my breath again.
As soon as my mouth starts to tingle, he kisses a path to my breast and devours my nipple.
Sucking, twisting, flicking it with his tongue and his finger, biting it, and sucking it again.
He alternates between each, giving them the same sweet torture.
I’m sore and sensitive in the best way. I’m also writhing under him again, panting for air.
Something builds deep in my core, begging to be released. This isn’t how it felt the one time I tried to get myself off when I was drunk. What’s growing inside me now feels bigger, monstrous, like a dragon ready to scorch me from within.
“Lachlan, I need…” Dragon something. Fire. Hot.
“Told you you’d beg,” he murmurs across my breasts.
I don’t even care that he’s right.
“Tell me what you need?”
I buck my hips.
“Ahh.” He kisses my lips and slides his hand down my stomach and slips it into my panties.
“Bloody hell, you’re soaked.” He bites my bottom lip then kisses a path to my sensitive nipple, feasting again.
At the same time, he rubs his hand against my core, then works his thumb over my clit, drawing a needy squeal from my lips.