“‘Jamie,’ I panted. He pushed his kilt out of the way and pressed my hand against him.
‘Bloody Christ,’ I said, impressed despite myself. My sense of propriety slipped another notch.
‘Fighting gives ye a terrible cockstand, after. Ye want me, do ye no?’ he said, pulling back a little to look at me. It seemed pointless to deny it, what with all the evidence to hand. He was hard as a brass rod against my bared thigh.
‘Er … yes … but …’
He took a firm grip on my shoulders with both hands.
‘Be quiet, Sassenach,’ he said with authority. ‘It isna going to take verra long.’”
