“Aye, it is. Don’t you hear the birds?”
“That’s the nightingale.”
I chuckled. “Not even Shakespeare will save you from waking up, my beauty. Come on, out of bed with you. Mum will have breakfast on the table before long. You don’t want to end our trip without tasting haggis at least once. She’ll never forgive you.”
“If you weren’t so sexy, I’d throw my shoe at you.”
“Would ye?”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re a Scot now. We don’t say yes.”
“Aye, then. I’d throw my shoe at your handsome face to shut you up.”
Pulling the covers away from her, I groaned at the sight of her soft, curvy frame, barely covered in one of my old uni shirts. Her round arse peeked out from under the hem. No knickers. God, I loved this woman.
I had to touch her. That silky skin, the warmth of her, all of it.
“Mmm,” she hummed as she rolled onto her back and parted her thighs. “Maybe I can be persuaded to wake up if this is the prize I get.”
“Sit up for me, lovely. Take off that fucking shirt.”
My chest tightened as she did what I asked, her full tits drawing my eye immediately. Perfectly teardrop shaped, I loved how they fit in my palms, but most of all, I loved how she moaned when I touched her. I wanted to make her moan here and now.
So I did.
I climbed over her on the bed and slid my hands around her waist, then up until I cupped her breasts. Brushing my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, I leaned in and kissed her once, twice, a third time, until she lay back and welcomed me between her thighs. I was hard as a rock and ready to be inside her. Who was I kidding? I was always ready to be inside her. Bloody hell, I could live there and die happy.
“Your turn to take off the shirt, Mr. Savage.”
“My pleasure, lass.” I tugged the fabric over my head, exposing the ink I knew she loved so much.
She reached out and ran her fingers along my back, her nails scraping along my spine until she reached the waist of my boxers. The way she stared at me, eyes seeing into my fucking soul, had me fighting the urge to help her as she brought her hands around to the front of my jeans and began working my fly open.
“I need you, Taylor.”
“Then you’ll have me. You’ll have everything you want.”
When her hot little hand wrapped around my shaft, I couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped me. My lips found hers again as my arms trembled from the effort to hold myself over her as she worked me. In moments, she had me reduced to a creature of primal need, dick leaking pre-cum, balls tight and aching, mind focused on one thing. Filling her.
She shoved the fabric down my thighs, that one action giving me the freedom I needed to bury myself deep within her. All it took was one long thrust, and I was sheathed in perfect, tight heat.
“Fuck, lass. You’re my heaven. I know it.”
“I love you,” she whispered. “So much.”
That snapped me out of the haze of lust and back to the reality between us. This was so much more than fucking. She was mine. My wife. My love. My everything. I cupped her cheek with one hand and drank in every little change in her expression as I rolled my hips with languid movements. The tiny furrow in her brow, the way her lips parted before she released sighs of pleasure, the flicker of frantic energy behind her irises.
My palm drifted from her face to wrap gently around the column of her throat, where I could feel the flutter of her pulse and the way her breath hitched.
“Is this okay?”
“Fuck, yes.”
“I love you, too. I never...” It was hard to continue when my throat was so tight, my chest about to burst from the overwhelming emotions. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Becca. I...” My words cut off on a groan as she wrapped her thighs around me and pulled me deeper inside her. Her walls fluttered around me, and she cried out, reaching her peak and pulling me right along with her. I spilled my release inside her, not caring that I should have pulled out. Not giving a single damn that I’d never gone bare with anyone before her.
I pulled out, my gaze riveted to the trail of cum that leaked from between her legs. On instinct, I used my fingers to push it back inside her.