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He popped that cherry between his lips, then he leaned in and started tracing wet outlines against her neck. The cool touch of the cherry followed by his hot breath, and the soft touch of his lips sketched erotic images against Helen’s skin. Gooseflesh covered her body, and pleasant heaviness took over her limbs. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to.

He moved lower, the juice from the cherry dripping down her breast and even lower, adding to the seductive sensations. Helen couldn’t help but let out another moan.

McAllistair paused on the swell of her breast before proceeding further down, then swirled the cherry around her nipple.

It hardened, almost painfully, and Helen couldn’t help but nudge it forward. The cherry dipped into McAlliastair’s mouth, and for a moment, his lips were against her aching tip. Helen’s head fell back, and her breath left her on a moan, her hands clutching his shoulders.

He let out a hoarse chuckle before moving away from her, leaving her bare nipple open to the cool air. He straightened, his eyes still on her, her arms still clutching at his shoulders, his arm still around her waist.

Helen’s head was tilted back, her neck and chest bared to his gaze. She watched him beneath her hooded eyelids, her breaths frantic.

McAllistair glanced into her eyes and the next moment, he tipped the other sleeve off her shoulder. The silk of her nightgown slid against her skin before pooling at her waist, baring her to his gaze.

Helen gasped, and before she knew it, he was lowering her to the plush rug, his body towering over her.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

Helen shook her head. “I am not.”

His eyes glinted with satisfaction, although the smile didn’t reach his lips. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and he watched her, his breaths uneven, as if battling with himself over whether to break the promise of no kisses or not.

Helen’s mind was muddled. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. The only thing she knew was that whatever it was, she wanted it from the man in front of her.

Lord Ian McAllistair.

Ian.

He moved away, disappearing from her point of view for a moment, leaving her to stare at the ceiling and catch her breath. When he appeared again, he held out another cherry and repeated the previous actions, by feeding her one half and pressing the other half between his lips.

Just as Helen swallowed her juicy half, he glided lower and traced her body with his mouth again, a wet cherry between his lips.

He swirled it around her other breast, moistening her nipple until it stood proudly and painfully, begging for his touch. Helen tried, unsuccessfully, to hold herself still, but her body moved with his touch.

His hands roamed lower, his hot palms tracing her shape.

His fingers dipped inside her gown, and he tugged it lower, baring her flat stomach.

Helen held her breath. Her nipples hardened from the cool air touching her wet skin, the gooseflesh now a permanent guest on her body, the fire running in her veins now a familiar sensation. The butterflies invaded her stomach, flapping their wings, tickling her from the inside as Ian’s hands moved lower and lower.

His mouth followed, the cherry between his lips still tracing the topography of her body. He dropped the cherry into her belly button, the tickling feeling making Helen chuckle, causing the cherry to leave its designated nook.

Ian shook his head and tsked. “You’re quite the rebel, my bonnie lass. But I am not done with you yet.” He caught the cherry between his lips, then with a lick of his tongue gathered it into his mouth.

Helen tensed and whimpered, her fingers digging into Ian’s flesh. He took her gown and tugged it down in one quick motion.

He discarded the gown, leaving Helen completely uncovered, all of her most sacred parts bared to his gaze.

Helen lay still, not knowing what she was supposed to do.

His gaze traversed her body with a look of hunger in his eyes.

He pressed a finger against her lower belly, then traced it lower, leaving chills scattering around her skin.

He moved lower until he touched her hidden helm. Helen’s pelvis shot up, her breath leaving her mouth on a sigh or a whimper, perhaps both. Then his finger moved lower, splitting her feminine lips, and tracing her slit up and down.

Helen didn’t know what was going on. Her legs fell open, giving him all the access he desired as he watched her center, his gaze not moving an inch while his finger traced wicked shapes, tickled and teased, making her cry and whimper.

The hot liquid left her center, slicking his fingers in her juices, and he gathered it, spreading it around more. He massaged her there enthusiastically, grunting in approval every time she moved or whimpered, which was all the time.