THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

pull away, to explore some uncharted territory, she pulled his mouth back to hers. She’d never been kissed before-—not like this at any rate—and found she wanted her fill before she had to put a stop to it. Surely, just a wee bit of kissing couldn’t hurt? Surely.
    To Duncan’s relief his once reluctant ladywife had started moving beneath him. ‘Twas a most encouraging sign, but having loosened the lacing of her gown, he was most anxious to dine on her breasts. And still he couldn’t get to them, for every time he tried, she’d pull him back to her mouth. He felt inordinately pleased that she wanted his kisses, for no wife before her ever had, but there were times when a man just had to do what a man had to do. And now, with her panting setting her little globes to wobbling before his hungry perusal, was one such time. He recaptured her hands.
    Her mewing protest as his lips left hers played like music on his ears and in his soul, but knowing she should garner as much pleasure from his next effort, he paid no heed.
    With the palm of his right hand he slipped her bodice off the prize he sought and growled in deep satisfaction. Aye, her breasts were as he imagined: perfect creamy-white cones with deep rose crests, like tiny mountains tipped with jam. As his mouth closed over the first peak, he entered heaven.
    She moaned and arched her back, giving him full access. “Aye, lass,” he murmured, “’tis truly wondrous, is it not?” He suckled, enjoying her texture, the way her breath began to hitch, the way her hips began to rock in response. He lapped gently at her slopes, licking his way to the top so he could suckle once again.
    “Duncan...my hands...please...”
    He released his hold. Her hands immediate burrowed into his hair and she arched once again.
    “Perfect, lass,” he groaned as he ran his tongue around the rosy crown then pulled it into his mouth. He slowly released it. “So perfect, my eyes ache.”
    He slid her arms free of the gown as his lips moved from peak to peak. Her anxious hands tugged at his shirt. “Help me, lass.”
    And she did, her eyes becoming glassy as she ran her hands over his chest. He rolled onto his side and draped a tree-trunk thigh gently over her more slender ones. His mouth again captured hers as he slid a hand down her leg and lifted her gown.
    Lady Beth, now flushed and mewing, was all his heart had ever hoped for in a wife and never had.
    Her skin felt oddly smooth, like new porcelain, as his fingers glided along her legs, seeking the warm moist place hidden deep within her skirts. She groaned into his mouth when his hand finally brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs. “Aye, lass, open for me.”
    When her legs slowly spread he slipped the clasp from his kilt, and it fell away.
    His hand slowly ruffled her downy thatch, and he wondered at the color. He dared not slip the gown from her hips just yet, not until his hands were slick with her woman’s dew. Aye, he wanted her on the brink of ecstasy before he stripped her naked and drank his fill.
    His joy in her response knew no bounds as his hand drew slow circles on the inside of her thighs, each circle easing closer to the heat. Her hips ground against his swollen manhood, her breath coming in pants into his mouth. His fingers did as her body asked.
    They slipped though the dense soft curls in search of the magic place. Finding her nub, they lingered to massage, which caused her to gasp, then groan. Her thighs started to quiver, and he slipped a finger into the pearly, moist heat.
    Her cry made him pulse with need. He pressed against her hips as his finger entered the sacred pathway to her womb. With gentle, rapid movements, his thumb began to massage.
    Her hips began to grind in earnest. “Please...now.”
    He kissed her eyelids, having found her tighter than expected. Much tighter. “Not yet, dearest, but soon.” He continued to stroke her, easing her open, wanting release as badly as she apparently did.
    “Now, Duncan, love... please!
    Love? Had she said love? His heart tripped with excitement never having heard a woman call him thus. Aye, she had, surely. Knowing—-hoping—her to be as ready as she’d ever be, he settled between her thighs. Her hips came up to meet him.
    “Now!” Her hands pressed down, her nails digging into his flesh.
    “Aye, lass,” he whispered into her mouth, as he rubbed his swollen tip against her, once, twice, gathering as much moisture as her body would offer.