He pushed open the door. Warmth and the smell of burning peat washed over him. Sorcha had stoked the fire, and it burned cheerfully in the hearth. He paused at the threshold of the bedroom. His wife lay on the bed, her dark hair spread over the pillow. She turned toward him, resting her head in her palm. Her eyebrows shot upward. "Alan!
You're naked!" This statement of the obvious was followed by an instantaneous flush. He couldn't help but give her a rakish grin. "Aye. I stank of horse." Her surprise dissolved into an impish grin. "You're lucky Shielagh didn't attack you."
"Shielagh?"
"You don't remember?" She arched a brow. "Our wee kelpie."
"Ah." He searched his memory for a recollection of Loch Shiel's evil water horse and found nothing. "Is he so wicked, then?"
"He's never bothered me, but.. ." She shrugged. "Perhaps he prefers men." He doubted that. "Well, if I were a kelpie ..." I'd turn myself into a human and lure you onto my bed of weeds . . . Rather than finish the thought, he allowed his voice to dwindle. She bit her lip, looking at him shyly. Then, tentatively, as if she'd built her courage, she held out her arm. "Come. I'll warm you."
Alan took a spare plaid from a peg on the wall, and using it like a towel, scrubbed it over his skin. Then he joined her, crawling under the covers and pressing his cool body to hers, watching her grit her teeth. She let out a hiss of a breath. "Ooh."
"Cold?"
"Aye." But very deliberately, she turned to him, wrapped her arms around his body, and pressed herself against him, draping her leg over his thigh. As surprised as she had seemed to see him walk in naked, she was also completely bare, and they were touching, skin to skin, from head to toe. Her silky heat spread through him, an incredibly satisfying feeling, and his cock responded, warming and growing as her heat stole away the chill. Slowly, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to bury himself inside her and stay there, he couldn't. Something continued to hold him back from being himself. Despite what had happened between them earlier, the still-raw knowledge that his wife wasn't who he thought she was hung in his chest like a heavy stone. She had loved someone else. Cam.
And then there was the knowledge of the increasing power she wielded over him. He was treading dangerous ground to become this close to a woman he couldn't bring himself to trust.
"Do you believe in mythical creatures, Sorcha?"
She shrugged. "My da taught us not to place too much credence in the old superstitions. Yet... one can't help but wonder."
"Has anyone ever actually seen the kelpie?"
"Oh, aye. I have."
He chuckled. "Have you?"
She nodded, snuggling closer to him. "He's black and shiny, with humps on his back. He has golden eyes. I think he's not interested in me, though, because once he set eyes upon me, he swam away, leaving me frozen in fear up to my knees in the loch."
"How long ago was this?"
"Not so long. Maybe two years."
"Were you dreaming?"
"Maybe I was ..." Her lashes lowered in lush velvet arcs, and she pressed her palm against his chest. Alan sucked in a breath.
"You're hot as a brand," he said in a low voice. "When you move away, will the imprint of your hand remain?"
"I hope so." An edge of heat tinged her voice.
He didn't respond. By her actions in Grainne's cottage, it was clear she thought to possess him. As much as logic screamed at him to rebel against that concept, he found it oddly pleasing.
He wished to possess her as well. He'd be damned if he'd share her affections with any other man. He was glad it would end tomorrow. Whether in victory or defeat for him, thank God it would end.
Raising his hand, he smoothed a dark arched brow with his fingertip. She seemed to revel in his touch; her eyes drifted shut. He continued exploring her face, smoothing his fingers over the faint creases in her forehead, brushing across the line of her hair. Moving lower, he descended the slope of her nose, touching each of the near-invisible little freckles. Last, he traced the soft, supple curve of her lip.
His cock was so hard it ached. Throbbed. God, how he wanted her. His little hotheaded wife. His lying, treacherous wife.
He loved her.
No.
No, he didn't love her. He felt strongly because a bond had been formed between them under God, and no man of honor took that bond lightly. He would feel equally strongly about any woman he took to wife. Wouldn't he?
A subtle smile curled the edges of her lips. Her hand slid upward, and he jerked as her fingertip skimmed his chest.
"Do you like being touched there, Alan?"
"Aye," he said, his voice gruff.
Slowly, she circled his nipple then pinched it between two fingers. His cock pulsed in response.
Her fingers dipped lower, down his stomach to graze the tip of his eager shaft. "Oooh," she breathed, smearing a tiny drop of liquid over the head. In an abrupt motion, she burrowed underneath the covers, and before he comprehended her intent, her wet, hot, slightly rough tongue lapped at the moisture.
"Mmm," she murmured, as if it was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted. And then her mouth closed fully over him, and he groaned low in his throat.
Her lips sealed around his length, beginning a gentle motion downward, then back up. Her tongue swirled across and over the crown as she neared the tip. He reached under the blanket, finding her head and cupping it in his palms, fucking her mouth as if it were her tight sheath, rotating his hips and pushing on her head until he felt the back of her throat touch his sensitive glans.
Clenching his jaw, he directed her movements until his balls tightened and pressure built at the base of his shaft. As if she felt his imminent release, she. peppered kisses down the length of him. Taking his sac in her hands, she rolled it gently, tickling the root of his cock with the tip of her tongue.
No one, whore or lady, had ever touched him with such abandon. His shock at her actions was short-lived, however, because her gasps of pleasure combined with the mere thought of her sucking his balls was enough to make him come again.
In a matter of seconds it would be over. With a low growl, he reached down and lifted her over him. Her mouth glistened from her uninhibited actions, and she stared down at him with a feral glint in her eyes. She reminded him of a black and white cat he had seen once, with slanted, feline eyes full of some internal wisdom it refused to share. By the look on her face, he knew, beyond a doubt, Sorcha was ready for him. He lifted her, positioning her over him. As she spread her thighs, settling her legs on either side of his hips, the shiny pink of her center flashed in the line of his vision. She rubbed herself wantonly over him, and the silky heat between her legs slid up and down his swollen shaft.
Bonnie, soft Sorcha. He didn't know what to think of this wanton side she was showing him for the first time.
She gazed down at him, and he stared up at the haze of lust radiating from her eyes. She stilled, and in a blink, the feral expression disappeared from her face. "What is it?" she whispered.
Holding her waist in his hands, he shifted his hips, continuing her wet glide over his cock. "Is this you, Sorcha?" he asked in a low voice. "The real you? Or do you merely pretend?"
"Do I displease you?" A hint of despair colored her voice. He knew she could hardly be playacting—her peaked nipples and slick cunny were evidence enough of her lust for him.
Perhaps that was the question: Clearly she was lustful. .. but was it for him7. Him alone? He thought perhaps not.
"No. Your ardor doesn't displease me. It pleases me very much." But only if it is for me.
"No pretense." Lowering her lids so he couldn't see the expression in her eyes, she slid forward then back in a hot stroke. "This is me."
His whole body tightened. There was no way he could last long once inside her. "But who is it you want?" he ground out.
Opening her eyes, she speared him with her green gaze. She paused in midmotion, her entrance hovering over the blunt head of his cock. "You, Alan MacDonald. Only you." In
a slow, deliberate move, she pushed her body down over him.
"You," she whispered again, beginning to move in a long, slow glide. "I want you. So ... much."
She closed over him, hot and clenching, and he tightened his fingers on her waist, trying to hold back. Leaning down, she wrapped her arms around the outside of his head, resting on her forearms on the bed as she ground her body into him, the jeweled tips of her breasts scraping his chest.
It felt so good. So wet and warm and tight. His seed strained for release as her silk gripped his granite length. Hell, he was about to burst. Explode like a dam weakened by a torrential flood.
He heaved her off of him and in a smooth motion, flipped her over, landing on top of her. Before she could move, he slid downward, closing his mouth over a taut nipple. Below him, she whimpered. "Alan."
He didn't respond, instead moved to the other side, laving it, worshipping it with his mouth. She smelled of sweet lusty woman, and her skin tasted of heather and wheat. When her steady breaths degenerated into gasps of pleasure each time he nipped at her skin, he traveled farther down, blazing a trail with his tongue. He kissed her soft belly before settling himself between her legs.
Pushing her thighs more widely apart, he simply stared at her for a long moment. Black curls hid her quim, and using his thumbs, he opened her outer lips. Her clitoris was swollen, glistening pink, and he blew softly before touching the tip of his tongue to it. She gasped and jerked, but he held her still as he tasted her. Here, her taste was more concentrated, more musky and feminine, but yet with that underlying sunshine sweetness he had secretly craved since their wedding night.
He pulled his mouth away from her. "Touch yourself, Sorcha."
"W-what?" she gasped.
Her hand clutched at the blanket. Gently, he unfurled her fingers, opened her palm, and pressed her hand over her mound. "Touch yourself."
She didn't move. He propped himself on his elbow to give himself a clear view of her face. "Don't tell me you've never made yourself come." A pretty flush crept up her neck. "Oh ... I—"
"Have you, then?"
"In the cave I told you about," she admitted.
The image flickered through his mind. Sorcha nestled in the cliff behind Camdonn Castle, facing the dark waters of the loch, her skirts lifted past her waist, showing off her garters and pale thighs, her fin' gers diving into the curls between her legs and rubbing furiously. He took a measured breath in an attempt to control the heat that surged through him at the thought.
"But never with anyone else watching."
"Good." Perhaps it was one of the few things he could enjoy with her that Cam hadn't already.
He ground his teeth. It was a mistake to think of Cam now. Best to thrust away any thought of the man he conjured.
He focused on Sorcha's plump, pink nether lips just beneath her fingertips.
"Do it," he gritted out.
"Why, Alan?" she asked, her voice tentative.
"Because it will please me."
With a deep breath, she slipped her fingers between her moist lips, pushing downward until they brushed over her clitoris. She gasped.
"That's it," he coaxed. Her slick juices coated her fingers as she slid even lower. "Touch yourself for me. Show me what feels good to you."
She touched the tiny pearl again, then circled it, arching her hips upward, pressing more firmly.
"I'll help," he murmured. He brushed her opening, rimming it, then slipping two fingers deep into her, pushing against the resistance of her channel. She cried out. He began to stroke her inner walls, using his fingertips to find the most sensitive areas inside her.
"Ah!"
"Does that feel good, ceisd mo chridhel"
There was an infinitesimal pause as they both registered the endearment; then Alan pushed his fingers deeper and Sorcha rubbed herself harder, arching up in a rhythm that matched his thrusts.
He felt the ripples against the flesh of his digits first, and then her thighs stiffened under his shoulders. He raised his head to see her beautiful face. She was staring down at him, witnessing firsthand the erotic tableau, her eyes alight with passion, her lips parted. Spots of red flamed high on her cheeks. "Oh, Alan," she whispered, "I'm going to come. Please—"
"Yes, mo chridhe," he murmured. He moved his free fingers to the puckered rosette of her arse, painting soft little circles around it. "It's all right. Beautiful Sorcha. Come for me."
Her hands clenched and her body shuddered all around him. Her channel tightened over his fingers, then spasmed like a clenching fist.
His cock throbbed as her cream dribbled to the base of his fingers. Slowly, she relaxed. He kissed the top of her hand, stroked her thigh, and finally pulled away from her body. He crawled up beside her to look in her face. Her eyes squeezed shut, she tried to turn away from him, but he held her pinned to the bed.
Sorcha wanted to curl away, but his hand tightened over her shoulder, and she couldn't fight him. Alan did something unique to her. The way he'd walked inside, tall and muscular, with water droplets glistening all over his hard body, and then the way he'd looked at her with those deep, blazing blue eyes... It had made her leap right out of the demure shell she'd hidden behind when she believed Alan wanted her to be innocent.
"Look at me." The command was quiet, forceful, and Sorcha couldn't do anything but obey.
She opened her eyes and faced him. Whatever happened, she wouldn't cower.
"Why do you turn away from me?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling.
"I am ... embarrassed."
"Why?"
"You said I was shameless, and you're right. I haven't behaved as I should. As a lady. As a—a wife." Her lower lip began to tremble, so she closed her teeth over it. Hard. His eyes widened minutely. "And how is it do you think a lady and a wife should behave, Sorcha?"
"With more reserve."
"Do you think I'd prefer a cold fish beneath me in bed?"
"I don't know. Seeing you walk inside like that—I got carried away ..." And now he would undoubtedly think she was so wanton she'd jump into any man's bed without a qualm. No doubt he'd think that was why she'd done so with Cam. A smile curved Alan's handsome lips. "I asked you to touch yourself, remember? I don't fault you for your enthusiasm."
"No?"
"No."
Still, she eyed him warily. She couldn't shake the feeling her en-thusiasm had gone too far.
"Here, mo chridhe, let me show you."
M;y heart. He called her "my heart." And he had before as well, in the heat of it. His hand skimmed down her arm, his fingers entwining with hers. He brought her hand between his legs. His shaft burned her fingertips, so heavy and hot and hard, she gasped.
"Do you see? This is what you do to me," he said in a low voice. She curled her hand around the steely length. She stroked it as he guided her movements. His face twisted with pleasure. "That's what I want, Sorcha. Touch me. Squeeze hard." She tightened her fingers and increased the length of her stroke. He groaned.
"You don't believe I am too wanton?" she murmured into his ear.
"No."
This was what she'd dreamed of ever since she'd escaped Cam to return to Alan. To touch and be touched by him. To make love to him again. To have him show her things Cam never could, because she hadn't loved him. Now, perhaps, Alan was on the road to forgiving her, and in time they might achieve that closeness she craved. She wanted to kiss him again, down there, as she had before. To run her tongue over the silken length, trace the outline of his veins as they traveled up, then swirl over his foreskin, lightly grazing the swollen crown she knew was so sensitive. As she began to slide downward over the bedsheet, though, Alan stopped her.
"Turn over," he said, his eyes deep as a fathomless ocean. "On your hands and knees." A bolt of lust sped directly to her center. Trembling, Sorcha rolled and drew her legs beneath her as Alan positioned himself behind her. For a long moment, he didn't touch her. She finally looked back at him to see him stroking his shaft lig
htly as he stared at her backside.
He didn't look at her face; instead he reached his free hand to stroke down the crease between her cheeks. He paused at her most private place, and she lowered her head, shivering, as he lightly applied pressure there.
"Did Cam take you here?" His voice was gruff.
"No," she whispered, though her mouth was so dry she was surprised she was able to gasp out the word.
Did men really take women there? Though she'd never thought about such a thing until this moment, she wished Alan would. She wanted to feel what it would be like to have his cock invade her and to feel that connection with him in her most secret of places. She drew in a shaky breath.
"Good."
She could tell by his tone he was pleased. Alan was so reserved and respectable, it seemed a mad thought that he would even conceive of such a thing. And yet the fingertip pushed inexorably against the taut ring of resisting muscle.
"Alan!" It came out as a half cough, half groan. She fisted the bedclothes and dropped her forehead to the blanket.
"Not tonight," he whispered gruffly. But his tone promised soon, very soon, and she shuddered as he pushed in a fraction of an inch deeper. Below his questing fingertip, her sex trembled and hummed with need.
He pulled away and within a few seconds the head of his cock pressed against her arse, traveling the same course as his fingers had moments ago, from the top of her crack, then lower, until it hesitated at that forbidden entrance. After the slightest pause, it descended again until it was lodged in the welcoming notch of her sex.
In one smooth-as-satin motion, he thrust in. Sorcha groaned, arching her back. Almost beyond her control, she balanced her weight on one forearm while she reached to touch her needy, aching, sensitive nub.
Alan thrust again, just as Sorcha found what she was looking for. She exploded like a gunshot, her body tightening and releasing in a glorious, powerful explosion. Alan's hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight against his body as she came down, whimpering.
He followed close behind. Moments later, he tensed around her and, with a low groan, he yanked out of her. Thick, warm semen landed on her lower back and slid down into the crack of her bottom as he came.
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