by Riley Moreno
“And so are you Melissa,” he said, moving closer towards her and taking her chin in his hands, “so live.” He pulled her into him and kissed her again. At first she resisted and pulled her mouth away from him, but he was eager and yearning, and as he pressed more she found herself relenting to the attraction that lingered between them. It had been there from the beginning, ever since they had first met, but only now was it being given life. It swam through their bodies like a wave of flames, and they clawed at each other's clothes.
“This is so wrong,” she said, but she didn't want to fight the feelings inside any longer. For so long she had mourned Steven and wondered how she was ever going to continue life without him and this was the only thing that made sense. Being with Mark made her feel good and made her happy, something she didn't get from any other area of her life. When she was with him she felt alive, and that's how she wanted to feel. They kissed ardently and their tongues twisted together. She strode forward and pushed him against the wall. His hands slid down her side and grabbed her hips. He turned and slammed her against the wall, driving the breath from her lungs. He attacked her neck and shoulder, pulling her top down to expose the dark, flawless skin underneath. Melissa's hands ran around his back and pulled his shirt over his head. Her fingers ran all the way down his toned torso, feeling the rippling muscles between him, tugging and teasing the hair that snaked down from his belly button to the treasure below.
Her hands ran down and felt the outline of his bulge that was waiting for her. He groaned and she felt the hot breath hit her neck as he pulled her top off, his big, strong hands running all over her soft curves. He took her breasts in his hands and massaged them as he bent down and kissed them, burying himself in her bosom, as she brought her hands up and ran them through his short hair. Mark moved away, his chest heaving, and grabbed her wrist, leading her to the bedroom. She gazed at him as he marched to their room.
“It's going to be okay,” he said, brushing the hair away from her eyes. Already sweat was prickling on her skin. She glanced at the bed and pulled away. It had been her bed. Her's and Steven's.
“Melissa, start living again. It's me and you know. This is us,” he said, taking her palm and placed it against his heart. He stepped onto the bed and started to unzip his trousers. She watched in awe as he peeled away his boxers and unleashed his long, thick erection. Her eyes widened and she was overwhelmed by desire. Her body had been screaming with frustration, and she was starting to tingle already. She moved on her knees over the bed and reached out her hand, feeling everything he had to give her. She started to stroke and rub, and Mark arched his neck back and moaned in pleasure. Melissa moved forward even more and kissed the smooth tip of his cock, then stretched her mouth open to take it all, sliding down and coating it with her saliva until it was drenched. Mark's arms reached down and pulled the hair away from her face as he watched her make love to his erection. She sucked hard and deep, and she could feel his body begin to tense, which is when he fell to his knees too, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her passionately.
Melissa knew about his former girlfriends. They'd all been supermodels or actresses, glamorous beauties that were on the covers of magazines, and yet as she passionately embraced Mark she got the impression that he'd never felt this much heat with anyone else. He pushed her down and reached up her thighs, pulling her panties down, revealing her burning wetness. He smiled at her wickedly as he started to tease her with his fingers.
“You feel amazing, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever been with,” he said, and she arched her head back as the pleasure swam through her. Her arms splayed out either side of her and she covered the bed. Mark found the natural rhythms of her body and began to control the shudders and the trembles, and Melissa's mind began to grow hazy. Small explosions erupted over her skin as Mark’s tongue joined his fingers in pleasuring her. She looked down as she writhed to see him buried in her body, and she called out his name, needing to pleasure him too. She pulled him up and they kissed as they used their hands to pleasure each other. A cacophony of moans rang around their ears as they drowned in the blistering daze.
Their bodies cried out for each other. They were hot and hard and tense, and they needed to feel each other, to be with each other, to feel that sweet surrender as their blood boiled within. Mark's hand ran around Melissa's stomach while she stroked and massaged his erection. His fingers were sticky and he moved up, catching her fingers within his, pinning her hands above her head. The rush of arousal was overwhelming and she was breathless, barely able to moan his name. He teased her with kisses, leaving his mouth mere inches away from hers and yet pulling away whenever she tried to catch them, until finally he gave her what he craved and kissed her so deeply that she thought he was going to reach her very soul. At the same time he pushed her legs apart with his knee and she could feel his burning desire slide across her inner thigh, then suddenly her eyes shot open at the sensation of him entering her, and all at once they were one.
A long, guttural moan escaped his lips as he plunged himself inside her, and their hands gripped each other tightly until their knuckles were white. They bit and teased each other, burying each other into the napes of their neck.
“Oh Melissa, you're so sexy, I've wanted this for so long, you're a goddess,” he murmured. He released her arms and allowed them to roam along his back. She traced a line down his spine as his body moved in a slow, steady rhythm, collecting drops of sweat on her fingertips, and then, as he thrust deeper, she dug her nails into him. The pain blurred with pleasure and only caused things to get more intense and more heated. They lost themselves to the ecstasy of delirium as their minds cracked. All they could feel was each other's body heat, the passion and intensity that was wrapped up inside their souls. An orgasmic tsunami built up inside them as Mark thrust hard and faster, pinning her down with all his dominating strength. She clung to him dearly, feeling her body scream for him. The breath was driven from her lungs as she felt him tense. Sweat poured down their bodies. Their complexions mixed and they created a potent cocktail of lust and desire. All the pain and loneliness burst out of her in a blaze of passion, and for the first time since Steven died she didn't feel guilty about having pleasure.
Their bodies shuddered and writhed together and Melissa could feel herself getting closer and closer to sweet delight. Her soft moans drifted through the air and she held on tightly to Mark's body, watching his face contort with pleasure. She could feel him tense and pulse inside her, and as he increased the tempo she cried out for him to keep going, getting deeper inside her, faster, harder, and it was coming, she could feel it so badly, so close, she was on the brink and it would only take another second...with a burst of light she felt the warm release flood through her. Her body convulsed as a broad smile came over her face, then Mark jerked violently, and rocked her body again for a second wave of orgasmic delight that hit her like a tsunami. The thunderous sensations left them a mass of sweaty, soaked flesh, breathing heavily, trying to regain their sanity after their minds and souls had been drained. They locked eyes and kissed each other deeply again, feeling the sizzling sweat on each other's skin.
“That was amazing,” Melissa gasped. Mark wrapped his hands around her as their arms and legs entwined together. The affection poured out of them as the sexual heat dissipated. Their chests heaved as they sought to catch their breath, and they still had to moan as they replayed the intense session in their minds. Through the window the moonlight shone and danced on their skin, and for the first time Melissa didn't feel like she was being haunted by what used to be.
“I know this is going to take some getting used to, but we can make it work, right?” Mark said. Melissa kissed his chest and draped her arm over him.
“Yes. It actually helps me to know that he's out there somewhere, I just can't believe your parents would do something like that.”
“We'll make them pay for what they've done to him, don't worry about that.”
“I made my peac
e with his death...I just wish he'd have stayed so we could help him.”
“I think he knew that we couldn't help him, he just wanted to see you one last time, that's all.” Melissa cuddled closer to Mark, enjoying the safety and security of his embrace. She didn't know if she'd be able to love again but she knew she could at least be happy. That's what Steven's last request to her had been, and she was going to see that she made it come true. THE END.
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HIGHLAND CAPTOR
(Highlander Romance)
By Riley Moreno
CHAPTER I
Ashley woke to the sound of bagpipes. She turned over on her side, basking in a shaft of light that slipped in through the window. Outside, the wide stretch of green merged with the sea. She could hear the waves. She rolled over onto her back and lay against the pillows, remembering the circumstances that had brought her there – the sudden death of her mother who had struggled to make ends meet after her father left them; and the hardships of living in England in 1815. ‘Promise me you will go back and claim what is rightfully yours,’ her mother had told her, lying on her deathbed, racked with consumption. Ashley had promised, though she didn’t know how she would be able to do her mother’s bidding. All she had in the world was a small purse of money that her mother had given her before she died, and Ashley had made the journey to Scotland partly by stagecoach and partly on foot; joining a group of travelers bound for the Games. She had found lodging in a farmhouse not far from Inverness, but had no clear plan as to how she would fulfill her mother’s wishes.
She sat up in bed, running her fingers through her red-gold hair, her senses alive to the smells of the ocean, and the wild, heady fragrance of the Scottish highlands. She washed and dressed, donning a long plaid skirt and arisaid; brushing her hair and letting it fall across her shoulders. She slipped on a pair of ghillies, lacing them carefully, a thrill of excitement rippling down her spine.
She tried not to run joyfully down the wooden staircase to the farmhouse kitchen, slowing her pace to a sedate walk. The aromas of a hearty Scottish breakfast lured her to a table by the window, where she was soon sitting down to a meal of eggs and tattie scones which she ate with relish. The kitchen was large, with eight tables laid haphazardly. These quickly filled up with other guests, who greeted Ashley as they passed by. One young girl, perhaps close to her age, asked if she could join Ashley and the two admired each other’s arisaids while they drank mugs of milk and discussed the event they were to attend that day.
Men in kilts were everywhere, and Ashley and her new friend Julie played a game trying to match the different tartans with the clans they represented – Gordon, Chisholm, McDuff, Wallace, Lumsden…
‘Where are you from?’ Julie asked.
‘I live in London,’ Ashley answered, ‘But my mother grew up here. She was Scottish.’
‘And she bequeathed you her fiery hair!’ Julie laughed.
‘Yes!’ Ashley smiled, revealing two deep dimples in her cheeks.
‘Which clan did your mother’s family belong to?’ Julie asked, looking around.
‘McKenzie…but I don’t see it represented here. Perhaps I will see my mother’s clansmen at the Games.’
The two girls finished their breakfast and left the farmhouse. Outside the air was bracing, cooling the rays of the August sun as it slanted down. The undulating moorland was dotted with people – contestants who had come to participate in the Games, and onlookers. Ashley slung a bag over her shoulders. Inside it had the envelope her mother had given her.
‘What are the colours of the McKenzie tartan?’ Julie asked, squinting at the kilted men that surged about them.
‘Blue…and green,’ Ashley replied, a trifle downcast at the absence of her mother’s clan.
Julie called out, attracting the attention of a middle aged Scotsman. ‘Could you tell me where I might find someone from the McKenzie clan?’ The man halted in his tracks and looked keenly at the two girls. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘For my friend here. Her mother was a McKenzie.’
The man walked up to Ashley. ‘You’d best not mention that you’re looking for the McKenzie clan or that your mother was one of them. Enjoy the Games, my bonnie lassie, and then return to where you’ve come from. This isn’t the place for someone like you.’
‘Oh? And why is that?’ Ashley could ill hide her indignation at the man’s response. She was also struggling to conceal her consternation about the absence of the McKenzie clan.
The plaintive sounds of a hundred bagpipes filled the skies and Ashley felt her spirits lift. Around them were the heather clad moors with the mountains in the distance, and beyond them the sea, as they walked towards the stretch of moorland where the Games would take place.
The clans circled the cordoned off arena, one by one, each clan playing a different tune on their bagpipes. There was pride in the ceremony and everyone stood back with respect. It was a moment when Ashley felt the call of her ancestors pulsate through her veins and a primal awakening deep within her.
When the Games began, Ashley and Julie pushed their way to the front of the crowds for a better view, nudging each other as one dashing Scotsman after another put their prowess on display through the caber toss, stone put, hammer throw and sheaf toss. There was one in particular who caught Ashley’s eye - he wore a kilt of green, red and black tartan, with a grey shirt and sporran. His long dark hair was tied back and his blue eyes sparkled victoriously as he won first the caber toss, then the stone put and hammer throw. The sheaf toss was like child’s play to him, it would seem. Women openly made their admiration felt and men threw him looks filled with envy. Ashley’s eyes were riveted to him – his tall strapping body, and the glimpse of his muscular thighs as he effortlessly won the weight throw and leaped into the air.
‘What a show-off!’ Ashley breathed, her tone conveying disapproval but her eyes lit up with awe.
Julie laughed, ‘And yet you haven’t taken your eyes off him this whole time.’
‘Only because he won with barely any effort,’ Ashley said, her eyes still following the man as he joined the tug of war. He had thrown off his shirt and wore a waistcoat that was open to reveal the hardness of his chest and the muscles that bulged and rippled through his strong arms.
‘Kincaid against MacDougall!’ Ashley told Julie.
‘And which clan does that devastatingly good looking man belong to?’
‘Kincaid,’ Ashley replied as the two girls moved to watch the tug of war.
‘You are certainly well informed about clan tartans,’ Julie observed, but Ashley’s attention was on the display of strength before her. The crowd was cheering for their favourite team and Julie joined in, but Ashley was silent, seeing beyond the innocence of the Games, a larger rivalry that went back centuries. She shivered involuntarily, and moved away from the tug of war, losing Julie in the process. Her newfound friend caught up with her as she wandered away, pulling her back. ‘Don’t go away! They’re going to dance now! Do you do the Highland Fling?’
‘Yes, my mother taught me,’ Ashley said, returning with her friend to where the tug of war was over and the winning Kincaid clan was strutting about with the girls hungrily clustering about them. The Games were to continue through the day, but Ashley felt suddenly weary – perhaps from travel and excitement, she thought.
‘I think I’ll go back to the farmhouse and lie down for a bit,’ she told Julie, but her friend was loath to let her go.
‘Stay with me, do!’ She begged. ‘The dancing is about to start, and don’t you want to see your majestic Kincaid kick up his legs in that kilt of his?’
Ashley shrugged, ‘Not really. And he isn’t my Kincaid!’
Julie and Ashley stood in the periphery watching the dancers. The man from the Kincaid clan was there, proving he was every bit as good at dancing as he was at winning. Ashley felt her spirits revived by the sound of the bagpipes and the rhythm
of the dancers’ feet on the ground. The sounds filled her ears and overflowed her heart as the dancers leaped and twirled. The music changed and the fiddlers began to play a Scottish Reel.
‘Come on Ashley!’ Julie said, ‘Let’s jump in and dance!’
If the music of the bagpipes had filled her heart, the fiddlers’ music pulsated through her veins. Ashley forgot her tiredness, and the brief flash of melancholy that had threatened to disrupt her day, as she and Julie joined a circle of eight men and women. Around them other circles formed. Ashley found herself looking for the man who had so claimed her attention all day, but he seemed nowhere in sight. She put him from her mind and kicked up her legs in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. And suddenly, there he was in their circle. How he arrived in it, Ashley did not know, but now that he was within just a few feet of her, she was nervous. He was bigger close up, and he danced the reel with the skill he had displayed at everything else he had participated in that day. Julie caught Ashley’s eye and smiled, but Ashley’s countenance gave nothing away. He was opposite her in the circle, and she wondered what she would do and how she would feel when that point in the dance came when he would be next to her and holding her hand. But she was never to know, because a sound like thunder eclipsed the joyful sound of the fiddles and the happy setting of the Highland Games in one swift moment became a scene of conflict.
Ashley’s eyes grew wide with fear, as over the horizon a sea of tartan emerged. She recognized it instantly and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ashley!’ Julie exclaimed, ‘What’s going on? Is this part of the Games?’
Ashley was rooted to the spot as cries of ‘Run! Run!’ got the crowd to their feet. The contestants, onlookers, clansmen, everyone, took to their heels and flew in different directions, but Ashley was riveted to the spot, seemingly incapable of movement.