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“Are you really Ian MacTavish?” I ask, hesitating a step forward. He nods, his heated gaze lifting to mine.
“I am.” I lick my dry lips, and he zeroes in on the movement.
I’m probably going to regret this, but right now, my pussy is weeping for this man. I move all the way toward him, my knees shaking with each step.
“Do you want to fuck me?” I whisper, and his brows lift.
“What’s…” He trails off as I grab his massive hand and place it on my waist. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly.
“Fucking?” Reaching for his other hand, I step closer and rest it on my ass. His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath.
My head tips all the way back to look up at him, my head not even reaching his shoulder. “Sex,” I say, and his eyes fly open.
“I—I canna do that. With you.”
Embarrassment floods me. What the fuck am I thinking? I try to take a step back, but his hold tightens.
“Ye not my wife, and ye don’t seem like a whore.” He eyes me again, that same unsure look from earlier.
“I’m not a whore,” I agree, and he nods like he knew that already, but is still wary. “I’m just horny.”
