Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  She pouted. “You’re not being very nice.”

  “I’m not feeling very nice.” He took off his jacket and hung it behind the door on a handy peg. He also hung up her skirt and bodice, shaking them out before he did so.

  “How are you feeling then?” She made an ineffective attempt to cover herself but it failed. She gave up and dried her legs, giving Ian a perfect view of just about everything.

  And it was perfect.

  Her skin was a wash of creamy silk, with one small beauty spot just below her left breast. Her nipples were deep rose, a little puckered now, hinting at those taut buds so ready to protrude.

  As she moved, he caught tantalizing glimpses of her woman’s hair, tight dark curls hiding her sex, and contrasting with the smooth belly above.

  Then she turned around, managing to get one foot dry and out of the tub. The view changed from magnificent to sublime.

  Ian caught his breath at the sight of her bottom, rosy from the hot water, and full—just the way he liked a woman’s arse to be. His hands itched to caress those cheeks, and his mouth watered from the urge to nibble them and then delve down deeper into the secrets hidden from his gaze.

  His shirt was off before he knew it, and his boots hit the floor with a resounding thud.

  She kept her back to him, put the cloth aside, and reached up to unfasten her hair. As it tumbled down over the ivory of her skin, Ian surrendered. He couldn’t fight his instincts—and her desires—any more.

  He stepped to her, cock hard, heart thundering, and placed his hands on her waist. “It’s time, Amelia. I canna wait longer.”

  She turned, her breasts grazing his chest like tiny twin firebrands. “Neither can I.”

  *~~*~~*

  It was what the past weeks and months had been leading up to, ever since she’d first seen him at DeVere House in London.

  He’d stayed in the back of her mind, haunted her in odd ways, behaved unlike any of the suitors she’d experienced and generally irritated her. He’d also aroused her on a level that put the rest of her lovers to shame.

  And now, finally, after baring herself to him—by ‘accident’ of course—she’d finally achieved her goal. He was desperate for her. And that’s how she liked her men.

  She slid her arms up around his neck and waited for his embrace.

  And waited.

  She coyly glanced upward.

  He was watching her, his gaze roaming over her face and down over her shoulders. His hands traced an idle tickling pattern over her spine, but other than that, he didn’t touch her.

  He was hard…he pressed into her belly, a cock of iron ready for action. So what was the delay?

  “Ian?” She reached to pull his head to hers.

  “Not yet.” He grasped her wrist, grabbed the other arm, and locked both her arms together with one of his. He had her helpless, hands behind her back, and although she tried to move a little, he’d have none of it.

  “Not until we’re ready.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, following that with a nip to her earlobe.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered.

  “I know. But not ready enough.”

  He tugged on her wrists, pulling her backward a little, arching her spine and letting her bend against him. This thrust her breasts out and upward and her loins pushed into his. He speared her with his cock and she sighed. It was so strong, and she could feel how well-endowed he was.

  Then he bent to her breasts. And went to work. The laving of his tongue was wonderful—warm, tender, teasing and arousing. He took his time and she was glad of it, since it gave her a rare chance to experience each phase of her arousal one by one.

  His tongue grew more demanding, suckling now, sometimes gently, sometimes roughly, forcing her to bend even further as he sucked as much of her breast as he could fit into his mouth.

  His other hand rubbed a nipple, harshly, making her writhe and moan as pleasure and pain grew closer to each other.

  Then he bit, not hard, but enough to shock her and send bolts of shock to her pussy. She staggered and he let her fall, wheeling her so that the bed was beneath her.

  “God, Ian…” she whispered the words as she dropped, only to have him follow her and steal what was left of her breath with his mouth. He took her lips, tongue inside, teeth grazing teeth, a savage, lust-filled kiss that swept her up and into his passion.

  He rubbed her body with his, abrading sensitive nipples with the planes of his chest, and forcing her legs apart with his leg. As he continued to plunge his tongue deeply into her mouth, his thigh found her sex and pressed into the tender folds, adding even more sensation to her exploding arousal.

  She rode him, feeling the juices already leaking from her body to turn his skin slick with her silk. She moaned, low and deep, as the pressure to come grew more insistent and her hips followed his leg in a vain attempt to keep the pressure where she wanted it.

  He pulled away.

  “Not yet.”

  “Ian, fuck me…please…”

  “Not yet.”

  She was going to have to kill him. If he didn’t fuck her soon, she would come, alone and empty. She did not want that. If he said not yet once more, she’d sink her teeth into his neck, tear his throat out—and probably come at the same moment.

  He ripped his mouth from hers, rolled away from her body and gripped her, turning her onto her stomach. He straddled her, cock hard where it landed on her skin, and hands stroking down her sides, teasing already tormented breasts where they squashed out against the bedding.

  “God, ye’re perfect, woman.”

  His nails raked down her spine to her backside. He cupped her buttocks and she felt him move lower as he bent to lick from neck to tailbone and then nip her arse cheeks.

  He followed that with a sharp slap.

  “Ow…” She jumped, then moaned again as his tongue soothed the sting away. Again, and once more, a sharp slap preceded a heated caress…her head was swimming now, her body awash in her own arousal and her pussy aching for attention.

  His weight disappeared and he lifted her to her hands and knees. She gasped, dizzy, her eyes closed as the feelings he was arousing overwhelmed her and her head sank into the pillows.

  His cock touched her, rubbing through her hot honey, teasing the lips that wanted to part just for him. She spread her legs, a silent invitation, a sign of welcome he’d be hard pressed to miss.

  She groaned as the tip pressed inward, finally stretching the opening to her body.

  And then it stopped.

  Her brain formed wordless oaths as this man, who had some kind of iron will and the patience to match, teased her shuddering pussy with the tip of his cock. Never going deep enough to please her, nor pulling out completely and leaving her bereft.

  “Aaargh…Jesus…” The shattered sob of a plea failed to move him, but brought another stinging slap that nearly pushed her over the edge. She felt her orgasm tense her entire body…but then the bastard pulled out and everything slid to a stop.

  Tingling, soaked, needy, ready to scream like the proverbial banshee and wake half of Scotland, Amelia finally opened her eyes as he rolled her onto her back. “Ian, I can’t…”

  “You can.” He looked down at her. His cheeks were flushed, his eyelids heavy with passion. “You can, and you will.”

  His hands slid beneath her legs and he pulled them wide as he knelt, sliding up between them and lifting her buttocks onto his thighs. She was open, vulnerable and so blind with desire that he could have hung her upside down and she wouldn’t have cared.

  As long as he fucked her.

  Now.

  At long last, with a soft sigh she barely heard, Amelia was pleased to receive the entire length of Ian McPherson in one massive thrust.

  He was huge, harder than steel and shaped to fit her like a sword in its scabbard.

  She exploded around him with a force that shook her back teeth. The world ended, collapsed in on itself, and turned into a maelstrom of tiny lights
whirling behind her eyelids.

  He moved and she cried out, coming again, or continuing to come, or something insanely incredible she’d never imagined. His thrusts became even more powerful, shifting her, throwing another sensation into the vortex, until finally he froze, his body rigid as the Scottish mountains, and his hands holding her so tightly she could do nothing else but fly with him. Again.

  His long groan of pleasure rumbled through her bones, as the spasms still trembled and his cock throbbed, spurting his seed deep and strong, into the waiting emptiness within her.

  And just like that, Amelia surfaced.

  Oh dear God. What had they done?

  Chapter Ten

  Ian lay sated, an exhausted heap of manhood, sticky, sweating and feeling about as good as it was possible to feel. Ever.

  Amelia was oddly silent next to him, and he reached for the covers, pulling them up and over their nakedness. “Are you all right?”

  She snorted into his shoulder as he snuggled her into his arms. “Better than all right and you know it.”

  “Well, I don’t like to brag…”

  She punched him.

  “Ouch.”

  “You deserved that.”

  “So what’s worrying you?” He turned to look at her, her face dimly lit by the candles that had burned low.

  “I am not quite sure how to raise this issue.” She ran a finger over his chest.

  “How about just saying it right out? ‘T’is usually the best way.”

  She sighed. “Very well.” There was a little fidgeting with the covers. “You spent your seed inside me, Ian.”

  “I did. It was amazing.”

  “But it could have…undesirable results.” She cleared her throat. “I might become with child.”

  For an instant, Ian had a vision of Amelia suckling his babe. It was stunning in its beauty, and he knew that for him, the rightness of it could never be argued.

  “Aye, you might. Had you not worried about this kind of thing before?”

  She shook her head. “I have tried to insist that…that…” there was a pause. “God this is difficult.”

  “I’m going to repeat myself, sweeting. Just say it.”

  “Before now, I have insisted that people withdraw prior to that point. Or use some form of prevention.”

  “French letters?” Ian referred to the sheath for the cock that trapped a man’s seed. Some were silk, others were made from sheep guts.

  “Yes.”

  “And they worked?”

  “Obviously.” Amelia shrugged. “Or I was lucky. I’m not sure which.”

  “But I’m the first man to come inside you…”

  There was a moment’s silence. “Yes.”

  Ian smiled. Another indicator of how perfectly suited for each other they were.

  “Well, now. There’s no point in us worrying about what’s already done, is there?” He lay back and put his hands behind his head. “But if such a thing should come to pass, you can rest assured I’ll make an honest woman o’ ye.”

  She went rigid. “You arrogant oaf.” The exclamation was followed by a swift thudding smash of knuckles against ribs and Ian woofed out a breath.

  Then he took his revenge by tickling Amelia until she cried for mercy. “Enough…” she gasped out the words just as a knock sounded on their door. “Now see what you’ve done.” She sat up crossly and pulled a sheet up to her neck. “Probably the innkeeper complaining about the noise.

  “Dinna worry.” Ian left the bed, grabbed her damp drying cloth and wrapped it around his waist. Then he opened the door.

  “Here ye—guid God, Ian McPherson. Put some clothes on, ye daft bugger.”

  “Hetty. Pudding. Bless your sweet heart. And we haven’t quite started on the stew yet.”

  A loud snort answered his words. “I’ll just bet ma last guinea ye an’ yer new lady wife forgot all about ma stew.”

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “We won’t forget yer puddin’, lass. My thanks to ye.” She chuckled and he shut the door, turning back to the bed where an irate beauty was giving him looks that should have fried him on the spot.

  “Are ye hungry, sweetheart?” He put the pudding next to the tray and lifted the lid on one of the pots. The scent of stew filled the room.

  “Oh my.” Amelia slithered from the bed. “That is tempting.”

  “Wait…” Ian hurried to their bags and found a warm length of fabric. “Here, wrap yersel’. I don’t need you falling ill on me from the cold.”

  She glanced at him and tore off a piece of fresh bread. “I’m never sick.” She raised an arm to eat and looked at the wool. “This is a plaid isn’t it? A tartan?”

  “A tartan, right enough. Been in my family for generations.”

  “Hmm.” She chewed. “This is the McPherson tartan? Named after your family?”

  Sensing he was on dangerous ground, he simply nodded and ate some stew. There were times when the less said, the better. This—in his opinion—was one of those times.

  *~~*~~*

  They ate, slept, woke to touch and taste and love again, and this time Amelia found her legs wrapped around Ian’s hips, holding him tightly against her as he emptied himself on a groan of pleasure.

  It was an amazing sensation, this heated flow of lava filling her to the brim. Ian was inexhaustible, it seemed, and she had re-discovered her energy with him. Her leg cramps were a thing of the past and they reached for each other without words, knowing that this night might well change their lives.

  For Amelia it was a time of magic.

  She didn’t need to orchestrate their mating…Ian seemed to know instinctively what would arouse her. He knew how to tease, to tantalize and to control, and do it all with an innate gentleness that made him irresistible.

  She felt free, free to talk to him, to tell him of her pleasure, to urge him on and cry out her joy at her peak. Her inhibitions had fled and for the first time she was a woman lost in the passions and desires of sensual loving.

  All her other experiences faded away as Ian drove everything and everyone from her mind. Everyone but him.

  She smiled as she finally fell asleep, surrounded by the scent of their loving, an excellent stew and the unique musk and leather fragrance of the man holding her to him.

  When she awoke, however, to find herself alone in the bed, her thoughts were less pleasant.

  If he had deserted her…

  But before that idea could fully form, he came into the room, bearing a tray with a teapot and dishes on it.

  “Good morning, love. And a fine day it is indeed.”

  She wasn’t at her best immediately after wakening. “Easy for you to say.” She glared at his cheerful demeanor.

  “I wondered if ye’d be a ray of sunshine or a thundercloud first thing.” He grinned and poured tea. “Now I know.”

  She took the tea and sipped, surprised that it was exactly as she liked it.

  “Now had we time, I’d be in there wi’ ye, makin’ yer scream out ma name all over again. But ‘t’is market day and there’s a man who may be selling some gems. If he doesn’t have the ruby, he may know who does.”

  Torn between the urge to tell him to take his confidence and his cock and do something physically impossible with both—since she didn’t care to be touched in the mornings—and the desire to find out more about her ruby, Amelia simmered.

  She was unused to this casual affection, the little touches and the quick kisses Ian bestowed on her as she dressed. He buttoned her buttons and tied her laces with consummate ease, then kissed her with undeniable heat and brought the roses to her cheeks.

  He kept her off guard and she found that quite unsettling. But since they were now on the trail of a thief, she kept her personal opinions under wraps as he led her from the inn and toward the marketplace.

  “Mornin’ Ian, Mrs. McPherson.”

  “Guid day t’ ye,” answered Ian.

  Amelia smiled politely at a couple she’d never met, then pinched Ia
n’s arm. “Who were they?”

  “Friends.”

  “Of yours?”

  He looked at her quizzically and she cursed herself for asking a stupid question. She tried again. “Why did they call me Mrs. McPherson?”

  “Because as far as most everyone here thinks, you and I are married.” He looked down at her briefly. “Now if you’d prefer to tell them otherwise, go right ahead.”

  She took a breath and stared straight ahead. “Never mind.” She wasn’t quite sure that his lack of response pleased her, since she could have sworn she heard him whisper “I thought so.”

  However, the market place loomed near and she looked around with interest at the large variety of goods offered and the bargaining that was already well underway.

  “Over on the dais is where they’ll declare this year’s harvest prices.” Ian told her of the process and she nodded.

  “A solid way of establishing a fair price, I should imagine.”

  “But I’m told I need to be looking for a man named Royce.” He paused next to a cart displaying sumptuously ripe apples, and feigned looking them over. “I’m going to ask you for something, Amelia.” He picked out one and showed it to her, then returned it to the cart.

  “If I can find this man, I’m going to ask you to return to the inn as quickly as you can.”

  She opened her mouth but he dropped a quick kiss on it, silencing her. Then he bought her an apple.

  “There’s two reasons. First, I don’t want any whisper of you connected to the ruby today. And your beauty will give you away should anyone here be from London. Secondly, I will be askin’ the gentleman some serious questions and making sure I get truthful answers. I’ll need a bit of time and quiet to conduct my interrogation.”

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” She stared him straight in the eye. “I’m not afraid of a little blood.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “What a lass you are. Rarer than any jewel.”

  Then his face sobered. “I think I’ve found him. Will ye go, now, lass? Wait in our room? Please?”

  It was the “please” that swayed Amelia. He wasn’t asking for anything stupid or absurd. He was treating her as an equal, explaining what was to happen and asking for her help in giving him room to do his job and bring a thief to justice.