Poison or Protect
Page 30
He smiled at the weight.
“Such a canny lass you are, leannan sìth.”
He was standing before her now, his eyes warm as they flicked over her face and neck, her bare arms, and her fine silk underpinnings. His skin was warm too, as his hands stroked the path of his gaze – the side of her throat, the turn of her shoulder, memorizing her with his fingertips. Even that damnable spicy scent of his was warm, inviting. He was one massive, muscled invitation.
He made quick work of her corset cover so that finally she stood before him in nothing but chemise and stays, stockings, drawers, and boots.
Well, I suppose that’s still quite a bit of clothing.
“Wait.” She stopped him before he could continue.
He froze gratifyingly quickly, a slight panic in his eyes. As if he were afraid she would flee.
“You first,” she said instead, accepting his invitation.
He flashed one of those big sincere smiles and, without hesitation, shrugged out of his robe. He was, indeed, quite bare underneath it.
“Oh, my.” Preshea’s prior experience in such matters had all been beneath nightclothes, at best uncomfortable, and at worst agonizing. She had neither seen nor wanted to see any of her husbands naked.
Gavin was different. Whatever he’d done with the Coldsteam Guards had clearly involved a deal of physical labor. The hair on his chest shaped down to a single line over his stomach. She would not allow her eyes to follow it farther, not just yet.
If I’m going to take advantage of this man, by George, I shall do it properly. I’m no lily-livered milk-water miss!
She stroked his chest with one hand. Not quite daring enough to go lower. Although she did want to know what he felt like everywhere. Soon. No doubt he would allow it. Soft. His chest hair was very soft. He closed his eyes to savor her touch. Preshea allowed herself to look at everything he offered. He was not a particularly small man anywhere, as it turned out.
She glanced up to find him watching her. Eyes still so warm, crinkled at the corners in delight at her appraisal. At her obvious interest. At her desire. So, she looked her fill again, flushed but sure. If he was hers for the taking, he should know that.
He was not embarrassed to be naked while she remained clothed. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it, if his cock was anything to judge by.
She found herself smiling. An odd sensation right now. Strange that humor should accompany such an act. But she couldn’t help it; she was delighted with him. And with herself. And with her power over him. She stepped away slightly and turned around, presenting her back to him and drawing her hair forward over her shoulder. “My laces.”
He loosened them quickly. Showing a depth of experience with corsetry that belied only two paramours. Or perhaps each had been for a long duration. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the titillation of undressing his lover.
He guided her around to face him once again so he could pop open the busk. Pulling the corset off and laying it aside, he loosely encircled her in his arms. Instead of pulling her into a full embrace, he rubbed her back, strong and firm, stroking the places where the lacing had bit through her chemise to mark her skin with wrinkles.
It felt so glorious, she moaned and relaxed forward. Her focus shifted to those big hands massaging through the thin silk, although she was acutely aware of his eager flesh pressing against her stomach. She let herself melt, pressing against him. Warm.
Tentatively, she nuzzled her nose into his chest hair, soft and only a little pricking against her face. His breath was rougher now, and his heart, under her cheek, was racing. That plus his stroking hands were causing her own breath to hitch, her body to ache in ways both pleasant and anxious. She was bathed in the scent of him now, and she did not care that it could overwhelm her. She knew she could stop this at any time, the moment she felt close to drowning. And he would let her. But for now, she would be warm.
After a long moment, he judged his ministrations complete and let his hands drift up her back, into her hair, to cradle her head against his chest.
She grinned. She had his measure now. “My chemise,” she ordered.
He lifted the garment easily over her head. He was so much taller than she that he barely had to stretch. This one was her best chemise and she saw him finger the fine silk admiringly.
Now she was standing before him in stockings and drawers, feeling exposed but also even more powerful, for his breath was uneven and his eyes dilated.
“You are so verra bonnie.” His voice was roughened by need.
She opened her mouth to say something flippant, but…
“Aye, you know it weel. But you dinna know it from me.”
He began petting her naked skin with those big hands. The length of her arm. The base of her throat. He stroked down to her breasts. They were not very big but, she thought, they were well shaped. He seemed to agree, weighing and cupping them in an appreciative way, not critical. It was odd; they felt heavier at his touch, swollen. Her nipples peaked and burned. He pinched them both, very slightly. A sensation, a little like electricity, sparked through her and down to her groin, and she gasped. Her knees actually became weak. It was ridiculous; she was stronger than this.
“You like that.”
Preshea only stared at him, eyes wide.
“You may ask me anything you like, lass. And, in truth, ask anything of me.”
“May I do it to you?”
“Aye, I should like that.”
So she did, pinching his nipples, gasping in surprise when they tightened under her fingertips.
“I enjoy it. As I enjoy the little noises you make. See?”
“Such a canny lass you are, leannan sìth.”
He was standing before her now, his eyes warm as they flicked over her face and neck, her bare arms, and her fine silk underpinnings. His skin was warm too, as his hands stroked the path of his gaze – the side of her throat, the turn of her shoulder, memorizing her with his fingertips. Even that damnable spicy scent of his was warm, inviting. He was one massive, muscled invitation.
He made quick work of her corset cover so that finally she stood before him in nothing but chemise and stays, stockings, drawers, and boots.
Well, I suppose that’s still quite a bit of clothing.
“Wait.” She stopped him before he could continue.
He froze gratifyingly quickly, a slight panic in his eyes. As if he were afraid she would flee.
“You first,” she said instead, accepting his invitation.
He flashed one of those big sincere smiles and, without hesitation, shrugged out of his robe. He was, indeed, quite bare underneath it.
“Oh, my.” Preshea’s prior experience in such matters had all been beneath nightclothes, at best uncomfortable, and at worst agonizing. She had neither seen nor wanted to see any of her husbands naked.
Gavin was different. Whatever he’d done with the Coldsteam Guards had clearly involved a deal of physical labor. The hair on his chest shaped down to a single line over his stomach. She would not allow her eyes to follow it farther, not just yet.
If I’m going to take advantage of this man, by George, I shall do it properly. I’m no lily-livered milk-water miss!
She stroked his chest with one hand. Not quite daring enough to go lower. Although she did want to know what he felt like everywhere. Soon. No doubt he would allow it. Soft. His chest hair was very soft. He closed his eyes to savor her touch. Preshea allowed herself to look at everything he offered. He was not a particularly small man anywhere, as it turned out.
She glanced up to find him watching her. Eyes still so warm, crinkled at the corners in delight at her appraisal. At her obvious interest. At her desire. So, she looked her fill again, flushed but sure. If he was hers for the taking, he should know that.
He was not embarrassed to be naked while she remained clothed. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it, if his cock was anything to judge by.
She found herself smiling. An odd sensation right now. Strange that humor should accompany such an act. But she couldn’t help it; she was delighted with him. And with herself. And with her power over him. She stepped away slightly and turned around, presenting her back to him and drawing her hair forward over her shoulder. “My laces.”
He loosened them quickly. Showing a depth of experience with corsetry that belied only two paramours. Or perhaps each had been for a long duration. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the titillation of undressing his lover.
He guided her around to face him once again so he could pop open the busk. Pulling the corset off and laying it aside, he loosely encircled her in his arms. Instead of pulling her into a full embrace, he rubbed her back, strong and firm, stroking the places where the lacing had bit through her chemise to mark her skin with wrinkles.
It felt so glorious, she moaned and relaxed forward. Her focus shifted to those big hands massaging through the thin silk, although she was acutely aware of his eager flesh pressing against her stomach. She let herself melt, pressing against him. Warm.
Tentatively, she nuzzled her nose into his chest hair, soft and only a little pricking against her face. His breath was rougher now, and his heart, under her cheek, was racing. That plus his stroking hands were causing her own breath to hitch, her body to ache in ways both pleasant and anxious. She was bathed in the scent of him now, and she did not care that it could overwhelm her. She knew she could stop this at any time, the moment she felt close to drowning. And he would let her. But for now, she would be warm.
After a long moment, he judged his ministrations complete and let his hands drift up her back, into her hair, to cradle her head against his chest.
She grinned. She had his measure now. “My chemise,” she ordered.
He lifted the garment easily over her head. He was so much taller than she that he barely had to stretch. This one was her best chemise and she saw him finger the fine silk admiringly.
Now she was standing before him in stockings and drawers, feeling exposed but also even more powerful, for his breath was uneven and his eyes dilated.
“You are so verra bonnie.” His voice was roughened by need.
She opened her mouth to say something flippant, but…
“Aye, you know it weel. But you dinna know it from me.”
He began petting her naked skin with those big hands. The length of her arm. The base of her throat. He stroked down to her breasts. They were not very big but, she thought, they were well shaped. He seemed to agree, weighing and cupping them in an appreciative way, not critical. It was odd; they felt heavier at his touch, swollen. Her nipples peaked and burned. He pinched them both, very slightly. A sensation, a little like electricity, sparked through her and down to her groin, and she gasped. Her knees actually became weak. It was ridiculous; she was stronger than this.
“You like that.”
Preshea only stared at him, eyes wide.
“You may ask me anything you like, lass. And, in truth, ask anything of me.”
“May I do it to you?”
“Aye, I should like that.”
So she did, pinching his nipples, gasping in surprise when they tightened under her fingertips.
“I enjoy it. As I enjoy the little noises you make. See?”
