He gestured down. If anything, he had gotten harder. Preshea swallowed, uncomfortable. She wasn’t certain she liked the reminder. That particular part of a man’s anatomy had never brought her much pleasure. But then, neither had a man’s hands. He distracted her by pinching her nipples again, a little harder this time.

There came that tingling flash in response.

I must want him. Strange sensation – a thrill of anticipation combined with moisture between her legs. She had never felt it before.

Unexpectedly, he dropped to his knees before her. It was perfect.

He unlaced her boots, one at a time, then slid them off. Hands squeezed away the ache of confinement. She braced herself easily on his broad shoulders, and he looked up at her, eyes filled with joy at her casual use of him.

Boots placed carefully aside, he rested his head against her stomach, above the ties to her drawers. He seemed to want to breathe her in. He closed his eyes, rubbing the roughness of his cheek against her belly. Preshea ran her fingers through his thick hair.

“Gavin?” She didn’t know what she was asking, but she must break the tension; it was too much.

“Aye?” His voice was a low rumble.

“What do you want?”

“Ask me that tomorrow.” He pulled back a little to untie her drawers; fingers poised and eyes questioning, he waited.

“You may.”

He pulled the laces and smoothed the silk down her legs to pool on the floor. His hands slid back up, caressing her legs with the same long strokes he had used on her back. His thumbs leisurely circled her hipbones. She jerked, sensitive there.

“Someday,” he said, “you will stand like this and I will lick you here until you come apart above me.” He touched her very softly at her apex with one finger.

It was an utterly startling offer. Preshea was humiliated to find herself become wet enough for him to feel it with that light touch.

“Good.” He grinned up at her. “You like that idea.”

“Not tonight?” she questioned, looking down to see his cock twitch eagerly. He likes the idea as much as I do. She had to admit, it was nice to have the evidence of his interest on display.

“We aim to find what you enjoy. Not what I want.”

“But I like that idea.”

“And I like it too much. I wish to make this last.”

He stood and she was only a little disappointed. He tilted his head at the bed. She took the suggestion as wise; after all, her knees were becoming most unreliable.

She moved away from him towards the bed and then paused, feeling impish.

“It’s so very high.”

He gave a low chuckle and came over swiftly, kneeling to offer her his cupped hands. She placed one stockinged foot in and he tossed her easily into the very center of the bed.

She giggled, actually giggled! Then dampened that inclination and arranged herself as her other husbands had expected – on her back, legs wide, passive.

Still kneeling beside the bed, he looked up at her prostrate form, and then stood in that fluid way of his. He claimed to be clumsy, but she thought he was quite the opposite. Or perhaps it was simply that his grace was all expended here, in the bedchamber.

She expected him to cast himself atop her and take her then. From the glassy sheen of desire in his eyes, it was what he wanted. It must be. To plunder.

But when she put her arms up and open to receive him, he shook his head and remained standing.

“Nay, lass. Remember, I am no taker.”

“Oh.”

He reached over, powerful arm muscles coiled as he arranged her a little upright with the pillows tucked underneath, solicitous, as if she were ill.

“Why?”

“So you can watch me.”

“Oh, dear.” Preshea wasn’t certain she wanted such intimacy. The anticipation, too, was risky. Never before had anyone taken so long with her, for any reason. It was gratifying… and frightening. For there, under all his care, was the certain knowledge of what he really wanted from her.

“You want me to lose control.”

“In pleasure. Yes.”

“That would require trust.”

“And you dinna trust anyone.”

She stared with wide eyes as he walked to the foot of the bed and sat on the counterpane, scooting close to her. He picked up one stockinged foot and began to rub it. Her foot began to forget the high-heeled slippers of earlier that night. It felt so good, she gave a little “oh” of delight.

“I don’t trust anyone enough for that.”

“Aye. A sadness, that. So, I work for your pleasure tonight, your trust later.”

There he goes again, assuming there will be a later.

Preshea could not deny that she was wildly curious. Desperate to know what he might do next. So far, it had all been so warm and wonderful. So, she let herself trust him, with her body at least. For this one night.

He moved to the other foot, and then began to work his way up her leg. First with hands and then with his lips. Through her silk stockings, his touch made her skin feel tight and sensitive. His lips were feather soft, broken by the occasional brush of teeth, the flick of a tongue, until eventually he had worked his way up to the tops of her stockings. There, the white flesh of her thighs quivered under his mouth. And he would keep moving up.

“No! You said tomorrow.”

He laughed then. “I said standing tomorrow. Tonight, lie back. Watch.”

He dipped down between her legs, nuzzling against her. She protested, embarrassed that he would want to do such a scandalous thing. Until that moment, Preshea had thought she was the most scandalous person she knew. Now she was beginning to think this self-effacing Scotsman had hidden depths. And, as it turned out, hidden skills.