by Lily Harlem
Within minutes he was nearly there. Sweat caught on his forehead. The sound of friction on flesh filled his ears, competing with his wild pulse. He gritted his teeth and stared down at the tip of his glans as it appeared from his fist with each rapid movement.
And then it was there. He held his breath, chest fully expanded, and gave in to the pleasure of release. Cum shot from the tip of his cock, dragging ecstasy with it.
“Ah, Isla…” He screwed his eyes shut and tipped his head to the moon. “Let this be a spell I’ve cast upon you, to make you mine. To have your total and absolute soul-consuming surrender.”
He was breathing fast as two more thick ropes of semen landed on the grass where Isla had been lying. He wished she was still there, watching him, kneeling with her mouth open, taking him, taking his seed on her lips, her tongue, her face.
Another groan caught in his chest and bubbled upward. He let it go, float into the night. He was in love. There was no doubt about it. Never before had he felt this way. It was a combination of protectiveness, fascination, obsession, and lust.
“I will have you,” he murmured. “And sooner rather than later, and I will have you forever, Miss Isla Dunoon.”
He stepped back, opened his eyes, and let his kilt fall into place. Although his cock felt better, he was still needy. Until he came inside the lass who’d stolen his heart, he wouldn’t truly rest. It was a damn shame he had to leave for Edinburgh so soon, but perhaps there’d be a chance at Kendal’s wedding, the next day, to have a few minutes alone with her, and explain his intentions.
God, he wanted her. And he would have her.
He slept well, his time in the forest seeming to finally persuade his body to rest.
When he woke to the sound of the castle preparing for a wedding, he stretched, naked, and looked out of the window. Beneath him the courtyard was a flurry of activity. Guests arriving along with yet more casks of ale. Horses were being brushed and fed and a carriage polished.
He sighed and reached for his kilt, pulled it on. He had other things to do but had assured the laird he’d be delighted to attend the wedding and delay his trip to Edinburgh. Which suited him—he wanted to see Isla, get her alone too.
He scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jawline then threw a log on the fire. A chip of wood flew out and flicked against his bare chest. He wiped it away and noticed again that the wound on the front curve of his shoulder was inflamed. Damn the foolish Red Coat who’d thought McTavish could be captured and taken south as a prisoner—a Red Coat who’d paid for his foolishness with his life.
“Damn thing,” McTavish muttered. It didn’t really pain him but common sense told him it wasn’t right.
He glanced at the table that held his soap and a towel. There was no water there. So—as he’d been instructed by the laird—he rang the bell on the wall to let staff ken he needed to perform his morning ablutions.
While he waited for warm water to arrive he studied an oil painting above the mantel. It was of Fifths Castle in the wintertime. Snow covered the ground and several crows dotted the sky. To the front of the picture was a stag, its head raised proudly and its eyes glistening.
It reminded him of his family home north of Inverness. It had been a long time since he’d left—the calling deep within him to fight for Scotland’s rightful king had kept him moving and on the road. Not a life he’d planned, but one he’d had to undertake without complaint.
He turned away, suddenly feeling weary with it all. Perhaps it would come to an end soon, this struggle his people faced. And then he could go home and be the laird of his own castle.
With Isla at my side.
That was the vision, his hope for the future. Aye, it had been fast, this new dimension to his dreams. But he wanted her smiling, laughing, talking, wearing his ring and bearing his bairns. She would no longer be a maid, she’d be Lady McTavish and have servants of her own. He’d see to that if it were the last thing he did.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The heavy oak door opened.
He caught his breath. The very woman who’d been dominating his thoughts stood there balancing a bowl of water in the crook of her arm.
“Here, let me.” He rushed to take it from her.
“It’s okay. I have it.”
He ignored her complaint and took the bowl. “Come in, shut the door.”
She did as he’d asked. “Shall I stoke the fire, sir?”
“No, it’s quite warm enough in here.”
“Aye, sir, it is warm.” She scooted to the bed and began to straighten the covers.
He watched her movements. They were fast and efficient. He wondered if she were tired after her late night trip to the forest. If she was, it didn’t show.
When she’d finished she adjusted the drapes then turned to him. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”
“Aye, come here.” He picked up a small white washcloth.
She stepped up to him, pressing her lips together and keeping her gaze firmly on his.
He liked that much better than when she hadn’t been able to look at him.
He dipped the cloth into the water, soaped it up, then wrung it out.
She watched him closely, her chest rising and falling prettily beneath her bodice.
“Here.” He held out the cloth. “Wash my back.”
“Sir?” She raised her eyebrows.
“My back. I can’t reach.”
“Er… aye, of course.”
He knew his request had surprised her and smiled as he turned to face the fire. He sensed her hesitating for a moment, then she began to gently smooth the warm wet cloth from his left shoulder to his right.
Chapter Five
Isla suppressed a tremor of delight as she wiped the warm soapy cloth over McTavish’s golden skin. Being this close to him, touching him, was the kind of moment she’d been dreaming of.
And his back was beautiful, if a man could be described that way. His shoulders broad, his spine a deep gutter lined with thick muscle. His waist was tapered and neat and two small dimples sat above the waistband of his kilt hinting at the start of the rise of his buttocks.
The cloth left a sheen on his skin, dotted with white froth of soap. After washing halfway downward, she re-soaped the cloth and continued. Several drips ran toward his kilt, then soaked onto the waistband.
He’d been unmoving as she’d worked, but seemingly upon feeling the water on his clothing, he shifted his arms, the muscles in his rounded biceps flexing.
She realized what he was doing as it happened.
He’s taking off his kilt!
It tugged to the side revealing his pert buttocks, the skin there a wee bit paler than on his back.
“I don’t want my kilt wet,” he said in a deep, throaty voice. “I need to wear it for the nuptials today.”
She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his ass. “Aye, okay.”
“You can carry on, Isla. You’re doing a grand job.”
“Aye, sir.” She set the cloth on his skin again, tracing his spine then around to his waist. Feeling bolder, she wiped over the dimples in the small of his back, then across the top of his buttocks.
Her heart was hammering and her belly tight. She was in a room, alone, with a naked Trevor McTavish. Mother Nature was moving plans for them to be together along with dizzying swiftness. Her plan had been to replace the freshly washed handkerchief that was tucked in her pocket, but now… now she was soaping his ass cheeks.
And he hadn’t complained about her bold move so she set the cloth lower, and washed each taut buttock with careful thoroughness.
After several minutes McTavish handed her a dry towel. “If you could.”
“Of course.” She dropped the wet cloth into the bowl and took the towel. She took her time drying his back and enjoyed learning the shape of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. The scent of soap filled the air but it was mixed with him too, his skin, his hair, the clothes
he usually wore, maybe leather too, from his horse.
When his back and ass were bone dry, she lifted the towel from his skin.
He turned around. His hair hung forward, his eyes flashed with heat and his wide arms hung at his sides.
Isla allowed her gaze to travel downward. She took in an angry-looking scar on the curve of his right shoulder, his wide pectoral muscles, and his hair-coated, defined abdomen. Beneath that his penis was erect and standing proud from a mass of wiry dark hair.
“Sir,” she said, her eyes widening and her breath catching in her throat.
“What did you expect?” He tipped his head and studied her. “Any Scotsman with a beautiful woman touching his ass would have the same reaction.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Aye, more than any woman I’ve ever seen.” He stepped up to the bowl, cupped his hands, and filled them with water. Stooping, he splashed his face. He repeated the action several times then held out his hand.
Quickly she placed the towel in it.
He dried his face then scrubbed the towel over his hair, forcing it back from his brow. He then fastened the towel about his waist, covering his cock though it still tented the thick material.
A tremor went through Isla. She ken, deep down in her soul, she wanted much more of McTavish in his naked state.
And if he thought her beautiful, then she’d guess he’d wanted her clothes-less too.
Once again her attention landed on the wound on his shoulder. “I should get you a sage poultice for that.”
“Aye, that would be good.” He frowned and poked at it. “Taking its time to heal.”
“I’ll fetch it now.” She lifted her skirt and turned, keen to get the sage. She reached the door and gripped the handle
But before she could open it she was aware of him behind her—his bare chest against her back and his mouth by her ear.
“Wait,” he said, his breaths hot on her skin as he set his big hand on the door.
She didn’t speak, instead she stared at a knot in the frame.
“I think it’s only fair,” he said quietly. “Since you’ve seen my ass that I see yours.”
“You want to see my ass?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“You insist on rushing away from me, my bonny lass, and each time you do the last I see of you is your rear. That’s why I’m thinking about it right now.”
He cupped her elbows and raised her arms. “So you only have yourself to blame for this.”
She set her hands, one on the door, one on the wall, flat and found herself freezing into position. Except she wasn’t cold, she was hot. Flames licked over her scalp from his breaths and where his body touched her shoulders and her ass a wild fire raged.
“Good lass,” he murmured then began to ruck up her skirt.
She held her breath as the cooler air washed over her ankles, her knees, and then her thighs.
She wasn’t wearing panties and when the dress lifted up to her waist her bare buttocks were exposed.
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmured, stepping back a little. “You’re a wee minx, you ken that?”
“Why, sir?” A quiver caught in her voice.
“No panties, that’s enough to make a man insane.”
“I… I only have one pair. They’re drying.”
“I’d like to say you should have more, as much of everything your heart desires, but panties. I’m not complaining you don’t have them, lass.”
She blew out a breath, but snapped it in again as he dropped behind her, onto his knees.
He was face level with her ass.
She screwed her eyes tight, embarrassment at being scrutinized this way flooded her, yet at the same time her cunny trembled and her breasts ached with excitement.
“So sweet,” he said, bunching her dress in one hand and holding it firmly in the small of her back. “And delicate.”
He traced her shape with the tips of his fingers. First her left buttock and then her right. He slid through the groove at the tops of her legs and then down the cleft of her cheeks.
“McTavish, sir,” she gasped.
“This sweet ass is filling my head with a hundred sweet desires.”
“I’m glad… I think.”
“Aye, you should be.”
Her eyes pinged open at the feel of his lips, his mouth, his tongue on the round of her buttocks.
He’s kissing my ass!
She’d never felt anything like it. Wherever he touched left a hot trail of lust.
A moan rumbled up from her chest as her clit seemed to pulse with the need for stimulation.
He wended his fingertips up the inside of her right thigh.
“Oh…” she gasped when he reached the damp juncture between her legs.
“Shh… just feel.” Again he kissed her, this time the softest part of her right buttock. The stubble on his chin abrading her flesh and adding to the sensation.
“You’re wet for me.” He slid between her pussy lips, spreading her with his fingers.
“Please… I…” She wanted him so badly, but not this way, not until her spell had fully worked, or at least not until she was sure it had reached its full potential.
“You want me and I want you,” he said, slipping to her entrance and then filling her with a thick finger.
She gulped back a moan of delight. His was her first male touch.
“Isla.” He stood, his chest pressing against her back, but remained inside her. “Tell me you feel the same as I do.”
She didn’t speak, just stared at the wall and battled not to shove her ass onto him for more filling.
“You’re not answering but I ken you do. A woman doesn’t get wet and breathless the way you are unless she wants the man she’s with.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “And damn it, I want you. Now.”
“Hey, McTavish, nuptial ceremony starts in five minutes,” a sudden loud voice barked through the door. It was accompanied with several loud bangs as though a fist was hammering the wood.
Isla jumped and her heart rate sped up further. If the person behind that door, one of the manservants, could see her now she’d die of mortification.
“Aye, I’ll be there,” McTavish shouted back. “Damn it,” he added, quieter. There was frustration in his voice. “This is not the time I want to get dressed up and celebrate some other man’s luck in finding a wife.”
“I have to go.” She tilted her hips forward.
He slipped his finger from her pussy but stayed pressed close. “Aye, I guess you do.” He spread his palm over her right buttock. “In just a moment.”
“What are you doing?” Having him touch her did strange things to her brain, like she couldn’t string thoughts together properly.
“Brace yourself.”
“What?”
“Don’t cry out.”
She opened her mouth to question him further, but before she could a sharp, stinging slap landed on her right buttock.
She jerked forward though he stayed close as if he’d anticipated her reaction.
“What… why did you do that?” she gasped.
“I want you to think of me all day, even when we’re not in the same room.”
“I will, I… oh…”
Another heated slap tormented her opposite buttock. Again she canted forward as the lick of flames spread. It seemed to settle in her pussy, creating yet more dampness and need. She held in a low throaty moan.
“Good lass,” he said, stepping back but still holding her dress up so her buttocks were exposed. “You took that well.”
“It hurt,” she gasped.
“It’s supposed to, if it didn’t you wouldn’t be turning this pretty red colour.”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
He was studying her ass.
Again humiliation swarmed through her, but at the same time she was enjoying the sting of his spanking as well as his obvious pleasure at seeing her this way.
He tipped his head and a smile tugged at his lips.
But then Trevor McTavish isn’t just any man.
“And my palm,” he said, holding up his hand, “will hold the sting of delivery. We’ll think of each other until we can be together uninterrupted.”
She moved away and he allowed her to, releasing her dress. It fell over her burning buttocks and settled around her ankles once more.
His white handkerchief slipped from her pocket and fluttered to the floor. It lay there, a little crumpled, the embroidered TT face up.
Oh, Fairy Queen, help me now.
She gulped.
He stared at it for a moment then picked it up and ran his fingertips over the stitching.
“I’m sorry, I…” She reached for it. She didn’t ken why. Shoving it back into her pocket wouldn’t take away the fact he’d seen it. That he now ken she’d taken it.
“No.” He circled his big fingers around her wrist. “You will explain yourself.”
“It’s nothing. I found it, yesterday, it was in need of laundering, that’s all. And now it’s clean.”
“It was freshly laundered and sitting in my room. I ken that for it is the only one I have and I had meant to take it to dinner the night before.”
Isla was aware of the colour draining from her cheeks. Her knees were weak and her heart pounding. She’d done wrong by taking his handkerchief, she ken that only too well.
“So explain yourself.” He tipped his head and held up the handkerchief. It unfolded and hung between them. “What were you doing with it?”
I can’t tell him. I can’t.
“I suggest you start talking. I have a wedding to attend.” He frowned.
“I’m sorry, I can’t…”
“Can’t talk? We both ken that’s not the case.” He glanced at the window where a large oak desk sat, then returned his attention to her.
“Please. I should go.”
“Not until I find out why you stole from me.”
“I didn’t steal from you. I promise. I was putting it back.”