Scottish Brides by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

you learned what I like, and you’re using it against me.”
    He chuckled, his amusement wisps of cool air on her heated flesh. “I’m not using it against you.” Between her legs, his fingers slid back and forth in a sweet friction. “I’m using it for you. And for me, too. You’re going to give me what I want.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” she snapped. “Satisfaction?”
    â€œYes.” His thumb rubbed her until heat radiated along nerve ways already sizzling with fury. “ Your satisfaction.”
    She wanted to give a crushing retort, she really did, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would moan. He made her feel good. He made her feel more. More than last time, more than ever before, more and fabulous.
    Shocking, to be so angry yet so aroused.
    He wasn’t shocked. He was aroused, too. She could tell by the rocking motion he used when he moved. The table rocked, his fingers rocked, he rocked, and something inside her responded to the rhythm she felt inside and out. Her muscles within rippled without her volition, and Hadden touched her ear with his tongue.
    She convulsed.
    She didn’t give herself up to the soul-searing pleasure. No, she fought it, but neither Hadden nor her body gave her a choice. She shuddered, maintaining silence, clutching at the edge of the table. She wanted his relentless fingers to stop, but when they did, and pressed against her hard, she convulsed again.
    â€œBeautiful,” he whispered. “Just what I wanted.”
    She breathed in short gasps. “Just what . . . you wanted?”
    He hadn’t kissed her mouth or touched her breasts or massaged her skin. He hadn’t taken time or done any of the things he’d done that first time when she’d crept into his bed. He’d just grabbed her between the legs, a crude, over-grown lout of a man, and in a few minutes brought her to ecstasy.
    Not even the light of the setting sun softened the thrust of his chin or the impudence of his gaze. Such a deceptive thaw would have reassured her, and she wanted to make a statement, to refuse him in some definitive manner.
    But this blatant assault had robbed her of wit, and the sight of him irritated her more than she could bear. Incited her more than she could wish. So she shut her eyes against him.
    Slowly he withdrew his fingers. He fumbled at her waist with that hand. The other hand moved along her back.
    Her eyes popped open, and she grasped his wrists. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI’m unhooking your gown.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo I can do this.” He slid her bodice down.
    â€œNo!” She clutched at the neckline, but he was opening her chemise, and she dropped the gown and tried to save her frail modesty.
    Too late. He had her undone, and, cupping her breasts in his palms, he lifted them until they pressed together, then buried his head in the seam. His tongue flicked back and forth, wetting one breast, then the other, raising goose bumps on her flesh and bringing her nipples to hard, aching awareness—awareness that he hadn’t yet given them the attention they thought they deserved.
    Even her nipples rebelled against her control, and she clenched her fists and tried to smack him away before he realized how he aroused her.
    That didn’t help. Her gown dropped into her lap. He caught the stool with his foot and dragged it close, then knelt before her like a mortal before a goddess. He gave her belly the attention she wouldn’t allow him to give her rigid nipples. A day’s growth of whiskers rasped the tender skin.
    Earlier, he hadn’t touched her in any affectionate manner at all; he had simply crammed his fingers inside her and demanded a response. This time, he hadn’t touched her most intimate place, and still she went under.
    His mouth captured one nipple and he suckled, drawing her helplessly into orgasm. Grasping a handful of blond hair,