Free Wild about the Witch by Cassidy Cayman

her fingertips disappearing under the sheet.
    With a low moan, he grabbed her wrist, and she turned to see him looking at her intently, his eyes clear now, and full of the same desire she knew must be shining from her own. There were so many good memories of their secret, blazing times together in London. She wanted to relive them all. Now.
    With a whimper, she turned away to rinse the sponge and get herself under control. Even without a corset, she couldn’t breathe, and she was sure he could hear her heartbeat if her gasping wasn’t so loud. He had a gunshot wound for God’s sake, and she wanted to crawl on top of him. What was wrong with her? He made her shameless.
    Quinn put his hand on her hip and she shifted back around to face him, nodding her chin down at the sheet that covered him. She shook her head, not daring to look, but instead placed her hands on the bed on either side of him and leaned down so their noses almost touched. He lifted his head off the pillow to capture her mouth with his, weaving his fingers into her hair, tossing the few remaining pins.
    She didn’t understand what it meant, only cared that his lips were pressed to hers, his tongue claiming her, his hands— oh God, his hands. Going without his touch the last week had been worse than the lack of food. She pulled away from his kiss and straddled him, taking his hands and pressing them to her waist. He laughed low in his throat and ran them up her sides and around her back. There was no way she could handle the amount of time it would take to get out of her gown. She wanted his hands on her. It was imperative.
    “Please, Quinn,” she gasped, shoving away the sheet that separated their bodies and yanking up her skirts.
    The way he looked at her with his beautiful face, she let go of her dress, only wanting to kiss him again. As he worked at the laces, she leaned over again and kissed him almost violently, biting his lower lip. He dropped his hands to her hips to press her downward against him, and as much as she liked the hard feel of him, that wasn’t getting her out of her clothes.
    “No,” she cried, sitting up again and moving his hands back to the laces, while pulling at the neckline of her gown. She was going mad wanting everything at once and unable to get any of it.
    “Ye have to make up your mind,” he said.
    He reached up and trailed his fingers down the sides of her neck, tracing the exposed skin at her throat. Did he have a fever? She didn’t know how steam wasn’t rising off of them, she felt so hot.
    “I need you to touch me,” she said, grinding against his hips.
    His eyes darkened and he took hold of her dress from the top, tearing it open and sliding his big hands inside to cup her breasts. His calloused fingers tracing her tender flesh set her further aflame. Unable to look away, she hurriedly got the rest of her skirts out of the way and reached down to grasp him. His eyes closed and he shoved her torn dress down her shoulders, pushing himself up close to her to take her nipple in his mouth. She positioned herself and slid over his hard length, loving the hot, smooth feel of him against her.
    “Ah, Christ,” he murmured, falling back onto the pillow.
    She stopped moving, and grappled for his neck to check for a pulse. His eyes flew open.
    “Why did ye stop?” he asked, his voice ragged.
    “I thought I killed you,” she admitted, leaning down to kiss him slowly and fully before starting her movement again.
    “This is exactly how I want to die,” he said.
    Staring down at him, she finally lowered herself fully, taking him into her in one swift movement. She couldn’t grab his shoulders, and almost fell over from the intense, perfect pleasure that rushed through her. He held onto her hips to steady her, making a low growling noise as he moved with her.
    Lizzie felt like she herself had died and now resided in the best part of heaven as his strong hands wandered over her body. She wanted to drag it out forever,