by Barbara Dan
"Thank you." He bowed, amused by her furtive peeking at his legs. "Would you like to see what's under there?" To her shock, he grinned impudently, planted one foot on a higher step and flipped his kilt to expose—incredible knees!
"Truly you are a wicked, wicked man," she gasped and bolted up the stairs, deciding flight was infinitely safer than putting up a fight.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Bruce followed her up, careful not to drop his platter of food. Reaching the landing, he saw her full skirts flutter, as she made a dash for the bedroom where she had prepared earlier for the wedding. Depositing the wine and food on a small table by the fire in the newly furnished master bedroom, he reached the connecting room in time to see her slide a dresser up against the outer bedroom door.
"Good idea, Lydia," he boomed heartily, making her jump. "Though you might use the key, if you're worried about the ladies downstairs walking in on us."
"Oh!" Completely undone, Lydia spun around, her legs as wobbly as a newborn filly. Not knowing what to expect, she backed away warily.
"May I invite you into the next room for a glass of wine?" Bruce asked with a teasing bow. His eyes raked over her in leisurely appraisal, intrigued by her schoolgirl excitement.
"Bruce, we need to talk," she said hastily, realizing the assumptions he must be making about her. After all, she was a widow!
"Lydia, we're both understandably nervous." Hoping to put her at ease, Bruce stepped forward, intending to take her in his arms.
"Don't you touch me!" Lydia squeaked and, picking up her hairbrush, hurled it with surprisingly good accuracy.
Casually, he did a one-handed catch and tossed it on the bed. As Lydia turned to the dresser for more ammunition, Bruce quickly closed the distance. Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her, struggling and kicking, into the next room.
Breathing in her scent, he ran his tongue and lips along the sensitive nerves of her neck, teasing her with tiny inflaming kisses. By the time he set her feet down on the rug before the fire, she was moaning helplessly, all resistance vanquished. He turned her in his arms and lowered his mouth to taste her softly parted lips. The dazed expression in her eyes clearly signaled victory, as sure as a flag hauled down at sea confirmed surrender. Bruce grinned, surveying the prize nearly swooning in his arms.
"You don't play fair," she gasped.
Chuckling like the reckless pirate he was, he pulled her gown from her shoulders and planted hot kisses until, trembling, she clung to him for support. "Fair?" he echoed humorously. "What we are about is sensuality, my pigeon."
She grew dizzy with excitement, as her gown suddenly parted down the back, and his fingers slipped inside against her soft skin. His ardent touch stirred a hunger long buried deep within her spirit.
"Hold me, Bruce!" she whispered, pressing closer. Twining her fingers in his black hair, she pulled loose the thong he wore at the nape of his neck.
"Aye, Lydia. I intend to hold you and make love to you all night long." A husky burr crept into his voice, and he buried his face against her neck, savoring her perfection.
Her gown fell in a crumpled whisper to the floor, and his hands ran in silent praise over curves still clad in a silken chemise, petticoats and stockings. Slowly, by excruciatingly unhurried stages, Bruce peeled her down, until at last she stood before him, a glowing, pink goddess with hair the color of spun gold.
Naked, but for the string of pearls dangling between her firm high breasts and the silk stockings held up by blue lace garters, Lydia shivered deliciously. Feeling as if she'd been stranded forever in a blizzard, she reached out, wanting him desperately, her body consumed by fire! Covering his face and neck with hungry devouring lips, she found herself drawn deeper into the pleasure of his eager embrace, until everywhere she could reach was damp with her tears and her kisses. Like a drowning woman, she clung to him, as if Bruce were her only salvation in a wild sea full of erotic passion.
"This really is happening, isn't it?" she whispered breathlessly. "I'm not just dreaming?"
"No, you're not dreaming." Bruce chuckled softly, nearly overwhelmed by the heady effects of their lovemaking. "If anything, you're coming alive—quite beautifully, I might add." His hands cupped her breasts, and his thumbs lightly flicked the rosy tips. Lydia flexed and arched against him, as he lowered his head to run his tongue over the taut nipples.
"Bruce!" Her fingers tightened on his powerful arms, and she rubbed herself against him, making the slight tug of his lips even more exquisite. "Oh, Bruce, what are you doing to me? I can barely stand . . ."
"Here, let me solve that problem," he offered, his mouth never leaving her breast.
He carried her swiftly to their wedding bed and began to explore all the curves writhing in ecstasy beneath him. Bruce marveled at the pleasure Lydia's wild responses gave him. He trailed smoldering kisses down her flat belly, his face buried in the satin heat of her skin. Blowing into her navel, he touched her there with the tip of his tongue and heard her irrepressible giggle of delight. Sighting between her cleavage, her breasts held securely in his hands, he watched her arch, her head moving languorously on the pillow. Her fingers tightened in his hair, drawing him down, as she twisted beneath his playful onslaught. Her thighs, parted by her own impatient thrashing, sprawled in open invitation.
Moving slowly, inevitably, toward the goal, Bruce smothered her soft flesh with caresses. Kisses soft as butterfly wings grazed her skin, raising gooseflesh, as he dropped lower to seek and to find. Touching her intimately, Bruce's own response to her feminine honeyed scent felt like a jolt of lightning in his loins. Fighting to hold himself in check, he kissed her thighs and Lydia lurched beneath him in wild excitement.
Whoa, Bruce, he cautioned, not wanting to rush the moment of consummation. She was ripe as a juicy peach, but this strange quivering in her limbs made him hesitate. For both their sakes, he decided to slow down a bit. They were, after all, new to each other.
Reluctantly he rose and retrieved the wine bottle across the room.
"How about that glass of wine now, Lydia?" he suggested.
She lay propped on white plumped-up pillows, clad only in her stockings, looking like a highly aroused courtesan.
She bit her lip, thinking he was already bored with her.
Catching her look of distress, Bruce paused in his pouring. "What’s troubling you, my lovely bride?" he asked gently. He came back to her and offered her a glass.
Hiding her disappointment, she accepted the wine goblet, her lashes lowered. "Why should anything be the matter?" Lydia said, tossing back her flowing golden hair. She sipped slowly, delaying the moment when she must confess all. Why had he stopped? she wondered. Was it something she had done? Or not done? Was it her? Her heart grew heavy with dread, afraid he didn't find her attractive.
"You seem a little tense, that’s all." Bruce studied her quietly, sitting next to her on the bed. Each drank a silent toast to the things most important to them.
"Of course, I'm nervous," she admitted, wondering how to broach the subject that had troubled her all evening. She gulped down her wine and lifted her chin to stare him in the eye.
Blushing, she found she didn't feel all that brave.
"Bruce," she cleared her throat, "there's something you need to know."
Agreeably he nodded. His fingertips had resumed their casual examination of her stockinged leg. "Fortunately we have a lifetime to discover each other. It will be my delight to explore every aspect of you—mind, body, and spirit."
He took her glass and set it with his own on the night table.
Without any wasted motion, he pulled his shirt over his head, peeled off his shoes and socks, and removed his kilt. Propped on her elbows, Lydia openly gaped at his magnificent naked body. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her upper lip, as with a melting smile he bent to peel down her stockings, and kissed her knees.
She uttered an incoherent throaty sound, and her head tipped back, as he nibbled distractingly, making her weak
all over. Then he moved on top, his knee parting her legs.
"Bruce—" she tried again.
The plaintive tremor in her voice never had time to register.
Bruce looked up, wanting to see her face in ecstasy when he entered her.
Instead she looked as apprehensive and frightened as a guilty child.
"We . . . really. . . must . . . talk, Bruce," she whispered.
Abruptly he changed tactics. He had missed something during foreplay, something crucial. He lowered his lips to nuzzle her neck, while his mind quickly reviewed her skittishness, her embarrassment, coupled with her obvious pleasure. Praising her physical attributes with feverish kisses and receiving her overwhelming response, he came to the startling truth in seconds.
"Trust me, Lydia," he said, trying not to sound shocked. "My first wife was a virgin, too." He tasted her breasts again. The buds were as sweet as succulent strawberries picked in early spring. His face buried in her softness, he listened for changes in her breathing to confirm his suspicions.
After a startled pause, her stiff little body gave a shudder and relaxed.
"How did you know?" she asked, barely audible.
"I didn't," he said, deciding not to lie. "'Twas but a lucky shot in the dark."
"You must think there's something terribly wrong with me," she said brokenly. "After all, I was married for eight years—"
"Call it married, if you want, Lydia." Bruce's voice was tight with anger. "I call it servitude—the cruelest kind. Frank Masters didn't deserve a beautiful wife like you."
For several minutes he held her tenderly, stroking her long hair. Her heart beat like a wild thing against his. Sensing her turmoil, he lifted her chin and kissed her, more out of compassion than desire. "Lydia, do you remember when I promised you freedom?"
She nodded. Her tear-stained cheek dampened the fur on his chest.
"God helping me, I'm going to make you forget everything your first husband ever did to you."
For a long moment he gazed earnestly into her violet-blue eyes, and then a twinkle told her he was through with serious talk. "But not because I'm such a grand fellow, mind you," he warned in his soft thick burr. "Ah, no, lass, 'tis a selfish, greedy man I am, and I plan to rob you of your sleep while I make you my passion slave."
"Oh, Bruce," Lydia giggled. Filled with longing, she ran her fingers over his face, thinking he was not only the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes on, but the noblest and the most romantic.
Drowning in his possessive kisses, she reveled in her own feminine power to excite and to rule. His touch drove her to act the wanton, utterly without restraint. She welcomed the rough and the smooth of this man, loving his gentleness and his intensity. Finally, nearly smothered by his bearhug amidst the rumpled pillows and sheets, she struggled out from under him, laughing and gasping for breath.
"Bruce, promise me something?"
"Anything, my darlin' wife. Though I don't know how much longer you can lead me on like this, without—" He laughed like a playful boy, grasped her around the waist and effortlessly lifted her in the air, watching her breasts bounce. "Ah, 'tis a grand sight you are, Lydia!"
"Put me down, you clown!" she squealed. When he lowered her onto his bare chest, she smiled and puckishly tweaked his dark chest hair. He smelled divinely male, and Lydia was nearly delirious with desire. In a quick reversal of positions, he pinned her to the mattress. Happily trapped beneath him, she felt his warm, hairy body press against hers.
"Now you're my prisoner," he declared in mock ferocity, and his lips captured hers. Like two buccaneers made drunk with love, they fenced back and forth. Their tongues parried and thrust amidst groans of delight. Finally Lydia, less experienced, though no less eager, cried surrender and awaited the fatal thrust.
"Bruce," she said nervously, "remember, I haven't a clue how to—well, you know—make love."
His weight resting on his elbows, Bruce played with a vagrant blond strand of her hair.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that, my love," he told her in that low rumbling, throaty chuckle of his. "'Tis like a golden mermaid you are, all shimmering in the moonlight. You were made to be stroked and loved."
Chapter Thirteen
As he moved over her like a mammoth wave, bathing her satiny skin with hot devouring kisses, Lydia wriggled all over with irrepressible delight. "Oh, Bruce," she sighed. "My heart wants to leap out of my chest for joy." And to prove it, she laid his hand over her left breast.
Bruce interrupted his succulent snacking on her other rosy-tipped orb, his gaze quizzical yet respectful, as he confirmed her symptoms. "Aye, 'tis a warm, lively heart," he chuckled and swooped down to bathe her stomach with fiery kisses.
Lydia grabbed fistfuls of his black hair and hung on, never wanting him to stop. "Bruce! You make me tingle all over. I cannot think if I shall survive such happiness," she panted.
She assaulted his neck with breathless kisses and felt the intensity of his response like a hot poker against her thigh. Startled, she added her own kindling to the passions already raging between them, and felt a long shudder of desire flow through his long muscular frame.
"You are beautiful beyond belief," he said huskily, gathering her close.
Amazed at his uninhibited yet gentle strength, Lydia reveled in the care Bruce used with her, as if he were caressing a rare treasure. Gazing up at her own reflection in his hot gaze, she never felt more aware of her own femininity—all soft womanly curves, rubbing sensuously, clinging to him shamelessly.
"Bruce," she whispered, drawing his mouth down to hers. "I want you so much. I-I want this!" she cried, and the longing in her voice accompanied the fumbling pull of her hand.
In her anxiety she sought that part of him which alone could bring her sweet release. Her boldness took their breaths away. Flushed with anticipation, Bruce raised above her, letting her fondle him. Slowly, timidly at first, she ran her fingers lightly down the engorged shaft, marveling and a little stunned at the size of him. He was so hot! Pulsing beneath her fingertips.
Long minutes passed while Bruce let her explore. He held his breath, enthralled by the thoroughness of her examination.
Aware only of the thoughts racing through her own fevered brain, she at last gave Bruce a gentle shove. To her surprise, he rolled unresistant to his side, and his thick silky lashes lowered over eyes dark and sultry with desire. Intoxicated by her ability to control the gentle giant beside her, Lydia abandoned herself to the coaxing strum of his fingers, as they began a pilgrimage of discovery. Innocently provocative, every moan and sigh and seductive toss of her hips urged Bruce on. Her body seemed to him a garden of secret delights. Drugged by the rosy scent of woman's desire, Bruce kissed her inner thighs reverently.
Instinct leading her to a celebration as ancient as the stars, Lydia crawled the length of his smoothly muscled torso, planting her seal of approval with adoring lips. His hands beckoned her on toward rapture, and at last, she came in awe to the totem wherein lay all the mysteries of creation and joyous enchantment.
Her long hair swung like a shimmering curtain, as, trembling with excitement, she took him, throbingly male, in her hands. In the dim candlelight she bent to kiss him there and, seeing a hint of its glistening treasure, laved the head with her tongue, wanting to taste what soon would be his gift to her.
With consuming curiosity, she watched Bruce jerk and fight to hold back from climax. Again she stroked the rim with her tongue and then across the tip. Peeking through her hair, she delighted to see a look of exquisite pleasure reflected in his dark eyes.
"Enough!" he panted, writhing beneath her dainty hands.
To have this huge, gorgeous male begging for mercy filled Lydia with a surge of delicious power. She could scarce remember a time when Bruce MacGregor had not had her at the disadvantage! Indeed, memories of bagpipes and all his smooth words and caresses playing upon her untutored, unsuspecting senses came back like a tidal wave.
Ah, sweet revenge! She couldn'
t pass up such an opportunity. Quickly she ducked her head, hiding an irreverent grin, and seized him firmly so he couldn't escape.
Taking him into her mouth like a stick of hard candy, she sucked hard.
"God in heaven!" Bruce shouted, raising up off the sheets.
Shaken loose from her prize, Lydia's body bounced on the mattress like a toy sailboat tossed about in rough seas.
"You vixen!" he roared in a mixture of passion and surprise. He was gulping oxygen like a drowning man going down for the last time.
Lydia went scurrying to perch atop the pillows like a mouse cowering before a hungry lion. "Now, Bruce," she pleaded, sure that she had carried her moment of revenge too far. "I can explain, if you'll let me," she said, her lips still wet and luscious from her mischievous snacking.
"Come here, wild woman." Laughing, he crawled toward her over the rumpled sheets, a pirate’s gleam in his eye. His strong arms reached out and captured her. As he swept her, still squirming, beneath him, she felt the hot length of his shaft run the length of her leg like a torpedo rushing on a sure course toward its destination.
Lydia gulped as she felt the missile press home at last. She gazed steadily up into his melting brown eyes, as he balanced above her, probing her moist warmth.
"Well, Lydia, have you any last requests?" He grinned and put his tongue in her mouth.
Lydia, understanding full well the meaning behind his inviting kiss, opened herself to him, savoring the sweet nectar of his mouth with her own lips and tongue. At last they came up for air.
"Oh, Bruce, no more! I cannot bear it," she moaned, wriggling with excitement and desiring him not to delay.
Thinking she meant to renege, Bruce raised his head, and a sudden flush of impatience flooded the rugged beauty of his strongly chiseled features.
"Don't give me that, madam," he said curtly. Holding the advantage, he moved, applying deliberate pressure against the slick, unyielding barrier standing between him and full possession. "In this marriage bed, there will be no capricious games of 'yea' or 'nay.'" he said firmly. "When I want you, it will all be 'yea.' Is that understood?"