“This—” he began, “this is no somethin’ to be ashamed of. It’s natural. Ye’re learnin’, and I’ll be guidin’ ye. I recall ye were quite an apt pupil.”
His smile was gentle, reassuring, and for the first time, she felt the stirrings of courage. Slowly, she allowed herself to trust him, to trust this new, strange part of herself.
She pressed forward again, more sure this time, though still trembling with the intensity of everything she was feeling.
Her breath hitched in a gasp, shallow and quick, as the unfamiliar sensations rolled through her. Fear tangled with desire, innocence with need.
Alasdair’s eyes never left hers, his voice a low murmur, “Do ye trust me, Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” she gasped, the word escaping her lips like a plea.
“Good,” he breathed. “We’ll take this slow, to make it right. Together.”
It was then that Alasdair lifted her effortlessly and laid her down on the soft bed, the weight of the moment settling over her like a shiver. Her heart thundered in her chest as he knelt before her, fingers deftly sliding the heavy skirts of her gown higher and higher until they pooled around her waist, exposing her bare skin to the cool air, and to him.
“Alasdair,” she whispered, breath trembling, a moan caught deep in her throat.
She knew, with a mixture of anticipation and nervous thrill, what was coming next.
His voice was a low, reverent murmur, thick with tenderness and something raw. “Let me show ye how precious ye are, Elizabeth.”
His lips brushed the delicate skin of her inner thighs, each kiss feather-light, slow, almost worshipful. The heat of his breath sent sparks through her, igniting nerves she didn’t know she had. Her body responded instinctively; her legs parted of their own accord, hips tilting upward in a silent plea.
She wanted more. More than this delicate teasing. More of the man who claimed her. Not just in name, but in every whisper and caress.
His mouth traveled higher, slow and deliberate, until the pressure of his lips found the secret, tender place she’d kept guarded, even from herself. She lifted her hips instinctively, aching to meet him, but her muscles clenched tight in a sudden flood of fear and unfamiliar sensation.
Her legs began to close, trembling with hesitation.
“Relax, darlin’,” his voice was a soothing balm, low and steady in the quiet room. “I’ll take care of ye. Ye’ll feel nothing but pleasure, my duchess.”
Then his mouth was there. Soft, warm, worshipping. He sucked gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves that had seemed so elusive until now, his tongue dancing and flicking with a skill that stole her breath away, unraveling every thread of tension she carried.
A sharp cry escaped her lips, half surprise, half surrender, as waves of pleasure crashed through her. This was no timid tryst hidden in shadows; this was passion laid bare, honest and fierce.
She gripped his russet hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more, aching for the exquisite torment and release only he could give. Her body undulated beneath him, hips rising and falling, matching the rhythm of his expert tongue as it traced every fold, every secret curve.
“Alasdair,” she gasped, voice trembling with need. “Oh… oh God…”
Her breath hitched as her body responded in full, craving, yearning. She begged silently for the sweet agony to consume her completely.
“Please,” she whispered, barely able to contain the fire igniting within her. “There… yes, there…”
He hummed softly against her, the vibrations a delicious pulse that sent shivers down her spine. His touch intensified, swirling and coaxing her toward the dizzying edge of bliss.
Her breaths came fast and ragged, each nerve alight with fire, every muscle trembling beneath his expert ministrations. A wild, soaring wave of pleasure built inside her, rising higher and higher until, without warning, she shattered, gasping aloud as the flood of release swept through her body in glorious waves.
Her whole being seemed to melt into the sensation, trembling uncontrollably as the release crashed over her, raw and overwhelming.
When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips clean with a satisfied smile curling his mouth.
“How was that, me Duchess?” His voice was a seductive tease, full of promise and heat. “Was it as ye imagined?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed crimson as she struggled for words, her voice a breathless stutter. “I—I…”
He cut her off with a wicked grin. “Wonderful, I hope. But I’m far from done with ye yet.”
A new chapter of desire. And oh, how she yearned to turn the page.