Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) by Suz deMello

around her shoulders and gave her a winning smile.
    She drew back a little to regard him and put a tentative hand on his hard, broad chest. “In truth, I do not know where to start.” The chest she’d admired through his whisky-wet shirt at the inn was sculpted like one of the statues she’d seen at the university, and as white but for the dark hair scattered over his admirable muscles. Flat nipples, slightly darker than his flesh, ornamented his torso.
    Below, more muscles ridged his belly. And then, of course, there was his cock. She touched it and it leaped in her hand, like the fish at dawn. She curled her fingers around it to hold him still while she looked lower. A furry sac with two balls. His cods. Ah. Legs, long and muscled, with the same midnight hair that dusted him elsewhere.
    She raised her eyes to his face and found that he was examining her as closely as she’d been looking at him. His hands also roved, up and down her sides, one coming to rest between her legs to caress her cunny while the other fondled her breasts, paying special attention to her nipples. Usually pale pink, she noticed that their tips had reddened.
    “I’ll swim,” he told her, “and then I would lie with ye.”
    Her eyes widened.
    “I willnae come to ye dirtied by the roiseán of that foul nest.” He released her, turned and strode into the sea. When he was waist-deep, he dived forward into an oncoming wave, swimming ably as a dolphin.
    She shivered and walked out of the water onto the sand, stretching her arms up toward the light. Not very warm, but she’d let the sun dry her rather than getting salty water all over her clothes.
    Dugald emerged from the ocean, long dark hair streaming with water, the flat planes of his body gleaming in the pale dawn light. Like Poseidon, but with a spear between his legs not in his hands. She stifled a giggle at the thought, but his tool was far less threatening after a drenching in cold seawater.
    How had a drab like her attracted a man like Dugald Kilburn?
    Mayhap he had other women. The thought was deflating but logical. He hadn’t said a word about marriage, merely stating, “I’m your man.” Though that statement was quite definitive.
    She swallowed her hesitation and stepped toward him, meeting him with outstretched arms and a willing kiss. His embrace was colder than the ocean but as ardent as the crashing waves. He crushed her to his wet body, dampening her, and as they kissed, her body undulated against his like an eel, smooth and sleek.
    She felt beautiful when she was with him like this, naked and free, beautiful and bold as the morning. He pushed his tongue into her mouth as he picked her up, one hand on her shoulders and one beneath her rump. She wrapped her legs around his waist to support herself.
    He gave a rumble of agreement. “Aye, that’s right, lass.”
    Her cunny rubbed against his burgeoning cock. She hadn’t planned the action but welcomed it nevertheless. Welcomed it but was surprised when his rod’s round head slipped inside her with little warning. She had not known she was so open to him, so ready.
    He lifted her a bit before letting her down and her channel, tight and wet from the seawater, parted to admit his length. She gasped at the unaccustomed intrusion. Again, he stopped and waited. She breathed heavily, moved tentatively and, following his lead, also waited. Waited until her body said yes to his, a condition heralded by a tingling sensitivity in her cunny, a feeling that drove her to grip his shoulders and slide herself up and down on his pole.
    Ahhh…she flung her head back and panted, pleasure washing through her like the waves sweeping the sand. His hand slipped, its side resting in the crack dividing her bottom.
    He gripped one buttock firmly. Again a new feeling, the side of his hand nestled deeply into tender flesh no one else had ever touched.
    Her first instinct was to protest. Wasn’t that place dirty? But another part of her argued, not on