“No. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Màiri. Your body is as beautiful as the rest of you, more perfect than you realize.”
She’d never felt so exposed.
Likely because she had never been nude except in the company of her maid.
“I love your smile.”
The muscles in Ian’s arms flexed as he ran his hands from her calves upward.
“You’re so fucking perfect. I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”
She could almost believe him.
“What happened downstairs was not a proper induction into the club.”
Màiri opened her mouth to ask what, precisely, he meant, but only a gasp escaped her lips. Ian had leaned forward to kiss the inside of her leg just above her knee.
It was indescribably delicious, and if she’d felt exposed before, it was nothing to how she felt now.
“I apologize,” he murmured, looking up at her as his lips trailed a path upward. “For ignoring those beautiful breasts, for not giving you fair warning. But there’s no fucking way I’m going to leave you thinking that’s how it should be.”
Màiri’s heart skipped when he saidleave you, but she pushed the thought aside.
“You say that word often.” She pretended it was completely acceptable to have a man’s lips on her inner thigh.
“Fuck?”
Màiri grabbed the coverlet with both hands as Ian continued upward.
“It’s an extremely versatile word. Verb, adjective, adverb, noun, interjection.”
She finally realized what he intended. The thought of him doing that, of him touching her there with no cloth between them . . .
When Màiri instinctively closed her legs, Ian pressed them back open.
“It also happens to describe, in my time, what I’d dearly love to do with you at the moment.”
He was lying down now, and . . .
“To be honest, it’s a bit of a crude word for making love. But I find it empowering too. Go on. Say it.”
Màiri shook her head as his hands moved toward her core. Ian’s thumbs were there and then . . . he kissed her. There! Nay, not kissed precisely. But used his tongue to . . .
“Ian. I do not believe this is allowed.”
In fact, she knew it was not. Father Abernethy had said clearly, many times in fact, that any touching between a man and woman should be solely to produce a child. And even she knew she could not get with child from what Ian did to her now.
But Màiri would sooner summon the devil than tell him to stop. Too embarrassed to watch, she laid her head down on the pillow. Nay, she could not do that either. It was impossible to lie still while he moved his lips and tongue against her. Gripping the coverlet even tighter, she finally lifted her head.
And caught his eyes. Ian watched her. She could even feel him smile against her. Almost against her own will, Màiri’s hips rose to meet him until a somewhat familiar building of intensity inside her threatened to bubble over.
“Ian,” she called. In response, he circled his tongue in such a way that her arse shot up from the bed. Màiri’s arms and legs and everything inside of her tensed and squeezed as that same sensation overcame every part of her body.
As her core pulsed, Ian was suddenly over her, his lips now on her breasts. “Say my name again,” he coaxed. “Fuck. Go ahead.”
She did. Screamed it, in fact. And before he could move away, Màiri grabbed the back of her husband’s head and held it there, the effect of what he’d just done to her only now edging away.
When she opened her eyes, surprised to find she’d closed them, Ian was leaning over her. Màiri licked her suddenly dry lips.
