Follow Me by Leslie Hachtel

Author:Leslie Hachtel [Hachtel, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-13T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Waiting had never been one of Harper’s virtues and as the hour grew later, worry clutched at her. With no clocks, she had to guess the time, but she was certain it had to be near midnight. Stepping to the window, she looked up to see the moon high in the sky. Yes, definitely midnight.

Maybe he would not appear. Maybe he did regret being with her. Maybe she wasn’t good enough. “Stop it!” she admonished herself out loud. She could hear Skye in her head and knowing what her friend would say. “That’s your ex talking. Banish him!”

A noise caught her attention. Was that a tap at the door? She hurried over to it and, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Harper cracked it open to peer out into the hall. Daimh stood there, actually looking as nervous as a small child caught in the act of doing something he knew was wrong. Harper stifled a laugh and swung the door wide, ushering him inside, then leaning back against the closed door.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then, he slowly drifted toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. Like two magnets, they were drawn together. His hands wrapped themselves in her hair, holding her head as his mouth crashed down, plundering hers, demanding, seeking, exploring.

Responding in kind, she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted to feel this man’s naked skin against her, his body becoming a part of her own.

She quickly stripped her night shift away. Daimh reached for his own clothing when she stopped him. She wanted to look at him, somewhere deep in her soul hoping he would think her as desirable as she found him. She needed to know. And she desperately wanted this to last, to become a memory embedded in her heart, in her body and bones.

With aching slowness, she released his belt and unwrapped his plaid, holding his gaze as they dropped to the floor. His manhood stood erect against her thigh beneath the hem of his linen shirt, evidence of her effect on him, and she inhaled with joy. Lifting the shirt over his head and throwing it aside, her hands stroked his cheeks, his neck, his thickly muscled chest. Her fingers absorbed the feel of him as they slipped behind to cup his shoulders, his back, his buttocks.

He was perfect. His torso broad, tapering to narrow hips, dark hair sprinkled on his chest and trailed down to his manhood. Scars stood out in vivid relief against his sun-darkened skin, and she ached for the pain they must have caused him.

She moved her palms over his hips to his shoulders, then back again, finally curling a hand around his hard shaft. Using a single finger, she stroked the length of it, then slipped her finger between her lips to wet it and resume her attention to him.

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