by Caroline Lee
“Is that answer enough, love?” he murmured.
“Nay, but this is.” She ground her pelvis against his hardening manhood, proving she knew exactly what she wanted. “Ye’ll have to tell me, in detail, yer answer. Once we’re inside.”
She pulled away and began feeling along the wall.
With raised brows he watched her, expecting her to be able to pull the door open as simply as she did with the one to the solar.
“So? When can we get inside?”
“Just as soon…” With a grunt, she lifted herself up on her toes, stretching for the top of the door. “Damnation! I cannae reach it.”
Curious now, he placed the candle on the floor and stepped up behind her. “What is it?”
“My mother worries for me, ye ken.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, Lara turned, practically in his arms. “Years ago, she had my brother install a latch on this side of the door, to make it harder for someone to enter the room from the passages. She kens where ‘tis, and it made her feel better about leaving me alone, I think.”
He hummed and stretched up to feel along the top of the jamb, but she stopped him.
“Nay, I ken where ‘tis, let me.”
“Aright.” This was simple. He bent his knees, reached down, and wrapped his arms around her hips.
She squealed when he lifted her up, then laughed as—with a grunt—he shifted his grip lower. When he was ready, his arms were around her thighs, her soft stomach was level with his mouth, and her head towered over his.
Still giggling, she directed him toward the jamb. “Just a little farther. Just— There! Hold on.”
“Oh, I’m holding,” he murmured against her belly. Was it his imagination, or was she growing warmer? His lips were so close to her core, and he wondered if she was aching as much as he was.
“Push me a little closer— Oh!”
She must’ve become over-balanced because they both began to tip to one side. He scrambled and ended up catching her half-over his shoulder.
Laughing, he swung her around until she rested in his arms.
“What are ye giggling about?” she demanded, squirming.
“Giggling? A man doesnae giggle. He laughs. Occasionally chuckles. Guffaws even. On verra rare occasions, he might chortle, but ‘tis nae something we talk about in polite company.”
She was smiling. “Fine. Why are ye laughing then?” She poked his chest. “And ye can put me down.”
“I’m laughing, love, because ‘tis been an odd sennight. For some reason, my twin brother keeps trying to catch me unawares and drop things on my head as I walk through doorways.”
She lifted a brow. “Kiergan is a jokester, I suppose.”
“Aye,” he drawled, lifting her higher, until he could press his lips against his hair. “But I was just thinking that, of all the things which have threatened to be dropped on my head”—a bucket of water, a plate of tarts, a goat—“ye are by far my favorite.”
Chuckling now, she slapped his shoulder. “Ye make a lass feel appreciated, Alistair.”
“Good,” he murmured, dragging his lips to her temple. “Because I have some other ideas on how to make ye feel appreciated.”
He heard her catch her breath. Her, “Do ye now?” sounded a bit strangled.
“Did ye find the latch, lass?”
Mutely, she nodded.
Good.
He pushed the door open with his foot and, still carrying her, stepped into her chamber. It looked the same as it had the last time he was here, and St. Elzear help him, but the memory of that night had him somehow growing even harder.
He dropped her on the bed—she was as breathless as he was—and stalked back to the passageway to scoop up the candle. When he stepped back into the room and pulled the door closed, she was watching him with wide eyes.
Smiling wolfishly, he crossed to the door, placing the candle on the bedside table as he passed, and engaged the lock on that one as well.
There. Now they would not be disturbed.
He turned back to her and found her gaze glued to the front of his kilt. Even better.
“Lara,” he began, in a low voice, “do ye recall how ye taught me about giving up control?”
Her pink tongue dragged across her lower lip as she lifted her gaze to his. “Aye,” she breathed.
“Ye were right. I’ve never felt as free as I have since I learned that.” His orgasms since then were the most intense, most incredible of his life. Or mayhap it had been because of her. “I’ve found myself craving that feeling again.”
Slowly, her lips curled upward. “Then we should continue to practice. Take off yer clothes.”
That feeling, that freedom, coursed through him. ‘Twas like a weight being lifted from his shoulders when he gave her the control. He was happy to let her lead.
“Gladly,” he growled, then reached for his belt.
Chapter 11
Lara knew she should probably be taking her own clothing off, but watching Alistair was such a treat, she couldn’t turn away. She loved how the muscles in his thighs bunched as he bent to remove his boots, and when he jerked his shirt over his head, and that expanse of delicious chest appeared, she thought she might swoon.
Oh, wait, nay. ‘Tis because I forgot to breathe.
Right.
Sucking in a breath so fast it made her lightheaded, she fumbled for her gown’s laces. Mam made sure the castle’s secret passages were kept clean, so at least neither of them had to worry about dusty clothes.
They came together in the center of the room, lips tangling and breaths mixing. He was nude, and Lara couldn’t help dropping her hand to feel his hard length. ‘Twas like steel encased in velvet—not at all like Treenis—and when he groaned, she caught the sound with her lips.
She was still wearing her chemise, although it hung off one shoulder. Alistair made short work of that, peeling it down so he could cup her breast and brush a pad of his thumb over her nipple. Mewling, she arched against him.
He held her with one strong arm, and somehow she’d lost her hold on him and was instead gripping and tugging, trying to pull him closer. But when he dropped his mouth to her other breast—the one still covered with the thin linen of her chemise—she blurted his name.
Chuckling, he continued his gentle torture, suckling at her nipple through the material. The wet linen clung to her in the most intriguing ways, and when he blew a cool breath across it, she shivered in need.
‘Twas him. She needed him.
He stripped the chemise from her shoulder, allowing it to pool around her waist. Then he shifted and it fell to the floor, and his hand was cupping her curls. One finger unerringly found the bud of her pleasure, and when he pressed against it, she jerked and almost came undone in his arms.
She wanted this. She needed this.
But first…
With a gasp, she planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed. Obviously, she caught him by surprise, because when he lifted his head, his eyes were still hazy from passion.
“I have to show ye something.”
He blinked. “Aye?”
Squirming, she convinced him to release her, although it took a moment to remember how to stand on her own—her knees were so weak and the ache between her legs so fierce. Why, on her way to the bed, where she kept her personal things in a box under the mattress, she had to press her thighs together to keep the liquid need from soaking her legs.
He’d moved closer, and when she straightened, carrying her secret, he stopped and frowned down at the object in her hands.
‘Twas made of highly polished wood, rubbed lovingly with wax to make it as smooth as the ridges would allow. Other than those gentle ribs, ‘twas the size and shape of her forearm.
And looked exactly like a cock.
“Is that what I think ‘tis?” he murmured, raising a brow at her.
“This…”—she lifted the object, as if presenting a medal—“is Treenis.”
“Treenis,” he repeated blan
dly. Then again, “This is Treenis?”
She smiled impishly. “A penis made from wood. Treenis.”
Eyeing the thing with speculation, Alistair hummed. “It looks to have been made from an entire tree. Treenis.”
Her smile grew as she waggled the thing. “And ‘tis ribbed for my pleasure!”
Between one blink and the next, Alistair’s expression turned wolfish. “Show me,” he commanded, and she was glad for the chance.
She scrambled up on the bed and placed one hand behind her to support herself. Then she lifted her legs, planted her bare feet on the coverlet, and spread her knees. She knew from the way he sucked in a breath that the image she presented was as erotic as she suspected.
With her free hand, she dragged Treenis along her dripping core, spreading her arousal over the fake cock to make its entry easier. And then, holding his gaze, she slid the thick object into her entrance.
He sucked in a breath the same time she did.
“Ye see?” she moaned, pulling Treenis most of the way back out again. “Ye have nae reason to be jealous of my little friend here.”
He wasn’t looking at her face. “I dinnae ken,” he murmured, reaching for his own cock and stroking it a few times, his gaze intent on where she slid Treenis in and out of her dripping entrance, “I’m suddenly feeling verra jealous.”
“Of this?” Teasing him, she dropped back against the bed, so that she could use her other hand to touch herself. As she watched him, she played with the nub of her pleasure with one set of fingers and kept time with the fake penis with the other.
The need built to the point where, with a groan, she thrust her arse off the bed, her weight balanced on her shoulders and the balls of her feet.
“Is that enough?” Alistair was panting now, his fist pumping around his cock as he watched her. “Is that all ye want?”
“Nay,” she moaned, and pulled Treenis from her entrance. “I need ye, Alistair. Now!” she commanded, tossing the wooden cock away and reaching for him.
‘Twas apparently all the encouragement he needed. With a muttered curse, he reached for her, falling atop her, and then he was in her. They both froze for a moment, then loosened.
“Aye, love,” he murmured. “Just relax and let me take command.”
“But ye dinnae—” She gasped, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and her legs around his hips. “Ye dinnae like—”
He was smiling above her. “I think I can manage this, Lara. Trust me.”
So she did, and neither of them lasted very long. She felt her own muscles clenching, tightening, pulling, moments before he roared her name. They both found bliss together, his strokes getting shallower and shallower, until at last, they lay, panting, in one another’s arms.
‘Twas a long moment before he rolled off her with a groan, pulling her with him. She ended up splayed across his chest, their legs tangled, as he pulled the coverlet from underneath his arse.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair, one hand stroking her arm. “I’m sorry I made assumptions about ye.”
She smiled against his skin, knowing she’d already forgiven him. “I’m no’ sure why it mattered. Ye werenae a virgin.” Technically, she hadn’t been a virgin either, but she’d never been with a man before him.
“Nay, no’ about that.” He blew out a breath, which ruffled her hair. “ ’Twas no’ like I had a claim on yer virginity or something—that belonged to ye. But I was just so damnably angry at the thought of ye being disrespected. I kenned ye loved someone, and I assumed ye’d given yerself to him, and he’d cast ye aside.”
He’d been angry on her behalf…not at her.
Lara took a moment to process that, then she shifted, pushing herself up, until she could smile at him from within his arms. “There was nae other man, Alistair. I’ve always loved ye.”
“Then I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
She shrugged and dropped a kiss to his chin. “How could ye have? I only got around to telling ye this evening.” And only because Nessa and Agatha gave her the kick in the arse she’d needed.
Under her, his chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “I love ye too, Lara.”
Her scoff was immediate, and she let him see it. “Ye dinnae need to pretend to love me just because I’ve confessed my feelings—”
“Nay, let me explain.”
Part of her wanted to interrupt him again, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stand the heartbreak if it turned out he was just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. But the other part, the part which had desperately hoped for his love for so long, and who needed his words to be true, told the first part to shut up and go sit in the corner.
She pressed her lips together and watched Alistair gather his thoughts.
He was frowning thoughtfully as he stroked his fingertips down her arm, then across the back of her hand. She willingly turned her own hand over to take his, twining their fingers together, while he studied them. He kept his gaze on their joined hands as he began to speak.
“This evening, ye found me in my solar thinking about my father’s words about love. And then ye burst in and confessed ye loved me, and I was…well, I guess I was in shock. But,”—he sucked in a breath and turned a rueful smile her way—“I’ve just had a walk through the walls of my home, in passages I didnae ken existed, so I’ve had some time to consider this. I keep coming back to what ye said.”
When he paused, she prompted, “About loving ye?”
“About loving me for years. Are—are ye certain, Lara? This is no’ just a childish fantasy?”
Her brows rose. They lay in bed, their naked bodies entwined, the evidence of their lovemaking drying on each other’s skin, and he had the audacity to ask if he were just a childish fantasy?
Nay, this was very much an adult fantasy, thankyeverramuch.
Resting her weight on her elbow, she untangled her hand from his and reached up to cup his cheek. When she was certain she had his attention, she took a deep breath.
“I love ye, Alistair Oliphant. I’ve loved ye for years, aye, but the last fortnight, spending time with ye as we plan yer father’s celebration…I’ve come to love ye more. I love how uptight and firm ye try to be around yer clan, but ye cannae hide yer true self from me. I love the way we can laugh, and I can tease ye into showing me yer smiles and yer wit. I love how devoted ye are, and I love yer drive to do good things. I love yer sense of honor and fairness, and how everyone kens ye can be trusted to do the right thing for everyone. But I also love that ye’ve remembered how to let it go, how to relax, how to have fun. I love ye.”
Through her blabbering, his smile had grown. Now, when she paused for breath, he grabbed her hand and pulled her palm to his lips, brushing a kiss there. She could feel him smile against her skin. The sensation made her shiver and reminded her they were still wrapped together, and the night was young.
“I think I ought to explain too.”
She blinked; her mind having already moved on to the pleasure they could bring one another. “Explain what?”
His grin grew. “Since ye didnae believe me when I told ye the first time, I ought to explain my reasoning.”
“For what?”
In one, smooth movement, he flipped her over onto her back. It happened so quickly, she didn’t even have the chance to gasp. One moment she was atop him, the next, she was holding onto his shoulders as he loomed over her. She ran her hands across his muscles, remembering how he looked when he exercised in his room, and was pleased he hadn’t minded her voyeurism.
After all, it landed us here in bed, did it no’?
“I love ye, Lara Oliphant.”
That statement, from out of the blue like that, had her gaze slamming upward into his. “What?” she croaked.
He smiled wickedly. “I love ye. I love how ye care for everyone around ye, but especially for me. I love that ye went through so much trouble to show me what I needed to see—which is proof of yer love. I love th
e way I can relax around ye and show ye my true self. I love the way ye tease me and keep reminding me what’s important.” He paused, holding her gaze. Then he said, “I love the person I am when I’m with ye. Thank ye for helping me to become that person.”
Oh.
Oh, heart, calm down.
But ‘twas impossible. Her heart was skipping gleefully all over the place, as thrilled to hear Alistair’s words as she was.
“Really?” she breathed, searching the depths of his eyes to make sure she wasn’t imagining this.
“Really, Lara. I love ye. And I understand what ye’ve been trying to tell me about the lairdship. I ken I’d make a good laird. I ken that. But…” He shifted his weight to one arm so he could brush a curl out of her face. “But ye’ve shown me it doesnae have to be my only goal. If I can have ye as my wife, and mayhap a bairn or two or three…that would be a life worth living. Ye will make my life a good one and being with ye is all I’ll need. Even if one of my brothers becomes laird, I’ll be content.”
That was it.
That was all she’d been waiting for him to understand.
Moving her hands from his shoulders, she cupped his cheeks. “Ask me now,” she whispered.
Under her palms, his cheeks moved as he grinned, and he knew what she wanted.
“Lara, will ye be my wife? Will ye marry me?”
And the knowledge she finally had the words she’d longed for—for the right reasons!—made her joy bubble up inside her and spill out with a laugh. “Aye! Aye, I’ll marry ye, Alistair!”
She tugged him down to her, sealing her promise with a kiss which left them both breathless and laughing at the same time. She rolled under him, hooking her leg around the back of his knee so he couldn’t escape her.
“Now,” she murmured against his lips, “make love to me.”
“Are ye certain? Ye’re no’ sore?”
She grinned. “Look, Alistair, tomorrow’s yer da’s celebration. I need to be up before dawn to start baking his favorite treats and tarts. We only have a few hours, and if I’m no’ sore and walking funny tomorrow, I’ll no’ feel properly loved. So get on with it!”