Freedom by Jenn LeBlanc

muscles in his stomach to tense.
     
    He imagined dragging his fingers across her waist, letting her curls fall back to her body, sending shivers across her flesh. He stalked across the room, his eyes taking in the curve of her ankle, the dimples behind her knees, the crease that met the sumptuous curve of her buttocks.
     
    He longed to drag his fingers nimbly across that sensitive fold and, in a breath, he was kneeling before her as she turned toward him. His hands smoothed up her thighs, gathering the chemise on his forearms and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. Embracing her hips, his thumbs rested on the pulse points, which hastened with his touch at the seam between hip and belly.
     
    His breath stirred the delicate fabric of her chemise as it rested on his arms, and he felt the muscles of her abdomen tense. He nudged it aside with his nose and placed his mouth on her skin, dragging his lips from one indented hip to the other, breathing heavy sighs of warmth into the triangle of curls at his chin. She wavered slightly and he moved one hand to her backside to steady her as he drew the other hand down her leg, gently lifting it over his shoulder.
     
    She placed a hand on his head, tangling her fingers in his hair as he turned and kissed the inside of her raised thigh, stroking it with his fingers from one bend to the next. His cheek brushed against her and her hand fell to his nape, urging him on.
     
    Taking her hips, he pressed her back against the window’s edge, caressing her heated skin. The chill at her back from the window and the heat of his hands on her skin must have called forth the whimper that escaped her lips, and she dropped her head back against the fogged glass, streaking the dew.
     
    He brushed his cheek across her thigh as her hair fell away from her shoulders. From this angle he could see the slow curve of her belly rising gently to the soft, round push of her breasts, the rosy pink buds straining against the translucent chemise.
     
    The curve of her neck swept up to the defined triangle of her jaw, and he could see a swallow move her pulse, quickening in the twin veins that framed her throat as he stroked her. Her lips parted to sigh and he came undone. Standing, he felt a rush of cold flood his boots and he looked down. The room filled with icy water and she vanished with a jolt, his booted feet soaked by the water’s edge when he stood.
     
    “Ah, for fuck’s sake!” He pulled at his boots, tossing them at the sun-heated stone, then watched the patterns of water dissipate in the heat.
     
    He’d sent his mistress away in early December, not wanting to begin another year with someone who was easy to bed and slow to leave. He was determined to find a wife by the end of this year and there was no way he could do so with such trivial physical distractions. Here, at the onset of spring with this mysterious woman underfoot, he could see that the diversion of a mistress might have done him a favor in dealing with her. Had his need not been so deep, his want might be controlled.
     
    “Come,” Roxleigh grunted as he pulled his boots back on with great difficulty. Mounting the horse once more, he gave him his head to careen through the forest. He watched the trees and path closely, gently nudging the stallion with his knees to avoid any brambles that might trip him up. He did it mostly out of habit, knowing Samson would find the safest, fastest way home with no help from him.
     
    He closed his eyes, gripping the reins in his calloused hands, feeling the sheathed muscles that moved beneath him, the rise and fall of the horse’s gait, the smell of the trees, the dust and sweat rolling from his face with the wind they created. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes as they soared into the park at the base of Eildon Hill and continued at a great speed toward the manor. Roxleigh felt an electricity in the air and quickly sat back, pulling on the reins and bringing the massive beast to a