And then his finger joined his tongue, and she sat up again.
He huffed against her core, a noise which might’ve been a chuckle in another man, and she felt it.
“Down, Fenella,” he commanded, his lips forming the words against her folds.
Well, what was she supposed to do? Of course she obeyed, releasing a little sigh as he went back to his ministrations.
His tongue was likely the most talented tongue in creation, she decided. He licked, he lapped, he suckled. His lips fastened around the pearl of her pleasure, hidden among her curls, and made her squirm.
Each touch sent her closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Each stroke pushed her…
Unbidden, her hands rose from the cot to cup her own breasts, and she heard him hum in approval. Her gaze was locked on the wooden beams of the ceiling, and dimly, she felt one of his hands move away from her.
She imagined that hand stroking himself, trying to capture the sensation of her lips on his cock. As she had that thought, her fingers found her nipples, and she squeezed them the way he had done, which had driven her mad.
It worked. As his teeth grazed her clitoris, he pushed two fingers deep inside her…and she toppled forward over that edge into sheer bliss.
He continued to lap at her as her inner muscles spasmed around him, a keening moan slipping from her mouth. Her pelvis rose from the bed, straining to be even closer to him.
Then he pulled his lips from her and gave a great groan, which seemed to stretch for some time.
Panting, she dropped her elbows to the bed and lifted her head.
His eyes were closed, his fingers still inside her. His head was thrown back, and his other hand…
His other hand was indeed wrapped around his cock and was now covered in intriguing rivulets of white.
Her breathing was still harsh, when she asked. “What is that?”
His eyes flashed opened, and he followed her gaze, huffing out an amused breath when he saw what she was asking about.
He pulled his fingers from inside her. “I’ve never met a more curious lass,” he murmured, reaching for one corner of his plaid to clean himself.
Suddenly self-conscious, Fen began to close her legs. He’d brought her pleasure with his mouth, he’d found his own pleasure, so now…what? Would he leave?
Nay, ye’re in his room. Ye should be the one to leave.
Finished now, he glanced up at her, and his brows drew together. “Och, I dinnae love this gray-eyed worrier. Bring back my green temptress.”
She had no idea what he was talking about.
But before she could ask, he’d planted his hand against the bed and levered himself up, as she scrambled to press her knees together, out of his way. But instead of standing, he made it only as far as the mattress where she reclined. He grunted as he turned to lay beside her and gathered her in his arms.
It was awkward. It was strange.
It was perfect.
He didn’t speak, but just tucked her head up under his chin. She felt exposed lying there with her skirt around her hips, but he didn’t seem to mind. His kilt was still on the floor, and he didn’t seem at all self-conscious. Still, she turned toward him just slightly and pulled her knees up, as if she could curl into a ball against him.
And his arms tightened, as if he wanted her to.
“’Tis semen, lass,” he finally said. “When a man finds his pleasure— Ye ken what that means?”
She sniffed slightly. “I’m no’ an idiot. I just never expected it to be…” So obvious. “What does it taste like?”
Brodie’s body jerked and a choking noise emerged from his throat. She pulled back enough to see his expression locked in a grimace.
He’s laughing.