Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
That smug, amused smile creeps back over his chiseled jaw.
“I could quite easily tear that cloth from you.”
It’s like lightning teasing through me, and the heat in my face only grows at the wicked, wicked image of this rough, powerful lord tearing the cloth away from me and demanding my nakedness—putting his hands on me however he chooses. I bite my lip, squeezing my thighs together and trying to push away the filthy, impure thoughts that ravage through my head. I swallow thickly again and force myself to look up into his piercing gaze.
“You wouldn’t.”
I’m not sure if the hardness in my voice is a reassurance to me or a dare to him.
…Perhaps it’s both.
“Wouldn’t I?”
I shake my head. “You’re too much of a gentleman.”
Lord Ballentyne smiles again. “You don’t know me, little queen.”
I swallow, my breath coming thick in the heavy, steamy air, and with him standing looming over me.
“Well, but you’re—”
“I promise you, I’m not,” he growls, silencing me with a heated look that sends tingles from my cheeks down to my toes, and everywhere in between. I shiver, and his eyes drink me in.
“But I won’t,” he growls softly. He reaches out, and my breath catches as the back of his powerful hand strokes gently across my cheek. I clamp my mouth shut, stopping the sigh that threatens to tumble from my lips. But even closing my mouth doesn’t stop the impure thoughts from tumbling through my mind. Thoughts of this huge, dominant, powerful lord grabbing me and kissing me—like in some of the more… inappropriate books I’ve managed to get my hands on. I imagine him tearing this cloth away, his big hands touching me wherever he chooses… even there.
Heat pools between my thighs, even as I try and scold those horrible, dirty thoughts from my mind.
“I won’t,” he purrs, one brow arched as he drinks me in with the torchlight flickering around us.
“Because you’re going to show me.”
I square my jaw defiantly as he grins that amused, smug smile again, which only helps me wrest control back of my thoughts.
“And what would your lordship do if I strolled into his bathroom and asked to inspect him?” I say primly, my voice high and pitched.
Lord Ballentyne grins a downright roguish smile, and instantly, I can feel the heat blooming through my face.
“I’d be most happy to oblige,” he growls, eyeing me hungrily. “Are you asking?”
Somehow, the blush on my face grows even hotter.
“I—I…” I chew at my bottom lip, breathing in a trembling breath as I shake my head quickly. “No!”
Lord Ballentyne chuckles, and suddenly, my eyes go wide as I watch his hand drop to the fold of his kilt. His fingers grip the edge, and my jaw drops as he begins to pull it open.
“Are you sure, little queen?”
His voice is thick, and low, and the sound of it has my breath catching as it rumbles through me. I look up into his beautiful face—those piercing dark eyes, the swath of beard covering his perfect jaw. Those lips that make me wet mine. I look into his eyes and I feel myself start to fall. My head swims, my chest rising and falling as I breathe deeper and deeper, the flickering of the firelight playing across his face hypnotically.
He starts to tug his kilt open, and when my eyes drop and go wide at the sight of his bare, muscled thigh and the groove of his hip, my heart starts to thunder in my chest.
“My lord…” I breath.
“Perhaps,” he growls lowly. “Perhaps you should tell me to stop.”
There’s nothing “perhaps” about it. I should. We aren’t married until later tonight. This is impure, and sinful, and wrong. God, even if we were married, this is a man who I’m being forced to take as my husband.
…Even if he is gorgeous. Even if just standing in front of him like this has my skin tingling and a fire blooming in places it ought not to.
“No?” He purrs. He moves closer, and now we’re barely a foot apart. My breath catches, my body trembles, and I swear I can feel the heat of his muscled body right through the steamy air of the bathhouse.
“Then I suppose you won’t mind if I do this.”
His hand tugs his kilt to the side, and when my eyes drop even when I’m telling them not to, my jaw positively hits the ground.
Oh my God…
I’ve seen two…members before. One, when I accidentally walked in on my father’s fat, middle-aged cook mid-bath in the river behind our village, and I sorely wish I could’ve unseen that. The second was the prisoner being marched through the streets that we were joking about earlier. And while he might have been all muscle and brawn, and certainly carrying something more eye-catching between his legs than the cook, I suddenly realize just how unimpressive it was as well.