“Oh, not tonight, lass. But one o’ these days I’ll be spanking that bonny arse until it’s bright red. And then I’ll be taking you hard under me until you’re screaming with pleasure.”
“Aye,” she said, her eyes darkening. “That’s what I want. Make me scream, Max. Please.”
Yes, he would. He kissed her again, thoroughly, then he kissed his way down her body until he’d settled himself between her legs. He took her calf in his hands and kissed his way up her stockinged leg. Just above her ribbon garter, he grazed the bare skin of her thigh with his teeth. She tried to wiggle away, but he held her leg firmly.
He soothed the bite with gentle kisses, then worked his way up the inside of her thigh, pushing her skirts up as he went. The higher he climbed, the more she shuddered.
Finally, he reached the apex of her thighs. He pulled back for a moment to look at her womanhood—sweet and pink, glistening with her desire.
He was the first man to see her here, and that gave him a kind of primal satisfaction. She belonged to him. This belonged to him. Today he would mark her, make her his.
He tried to shake all those thoughts away, for they were wrong as could be, because Aila would be the first to tell him that she belonged to no one but herself. But he couldn’t stop. The desires to possess her, to own her, were part of him now.
“I’m going to kiss you here,” he told her. “For a verra long time. I wilna stop when you beg me to stop but when I decide it’s time.”
He pressed his mouth to the slit between her legs and gave her a long, languorous kiss. Above him, she groaned. Her hips jerked, but he held her steady. She tasted of woman and musk, smooth and silky. Her thighs tightened over his ears, and he feasted.
When she squirmed beneath him, panting and moaning, he added a finger—a single finger this time. He stroked her with it, exploring her folds, from her opening to the tiny nub above it. Exploring her to see what made her cry out, what made her shudder, and what made her body shy away.
He pressed the single digit into her as he kissed the nub just above. Her channel fluttered around his finger as he explored, but then, as he kissed harder, she began to tighten around him. Oh yes. This was just what he was looking for.
He redoubled his efforts, licking and kissing and suckling her, stroking in and out, dragging the pad of his finger along her inner walls.
“Oh Max, oh Max,” she chanted above him. “I canna... you must stop... oh!” He loved how loud she was. How expressive.
She began to writhe. Her passage was so tight around his finger, he had to use force to push it in.
And then she screamed. Her body went rigid only to break a second later into long, undulating shudders. He licked her through the orgasm, lapping up the ambrosia of her sex.
Finally, she seemed to sink into the bedclothes, spent and shivering. He withdrew from her body and crawled up her. She lay peaceful, her eyes closed, and he kissed her.
“Do you taste yourself on my lips?”
“Aye,” she whispered gruffly.
“Sweet, aye?”
She made a grumbling noise.
“I’m going to go inside you now, Aila. Are you ready for me?”
That drew her lids open. She met his eyes with her own and nodded.
“Fierce, sweet lass,” he said. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Aye,” she said. “And I dinna care.”
He believed her. He pulled up his kilt, briefly annoyed at all the fabrics of her dress and chemise and his kilt between them. Next time, he decided, they would be naked. Blissfully, completely naked.
But there was no time for that now. He palmed his cock—the damn thing was so sore, it felt like it had been hard for a solid week—and set it to the notch between her legs, rubbing through the slickness he found there.
“Look at me,” he told her, his voice wrecked.
She blinked up at him, her bonny green eyes widening as he began to push slowly into her. So slowly, his thighs quivered as he held back from taking her in one long, deep stroke.
He didn’t want to hurt her any more than absolutely necessary. She might be tough and strong, but she still felt pain. And he didn’t like the thought of her in pain. It was a good thing that this pain would only lead to her pleasure.
He inched deeper into her, and she gasped, her hands clawing at him. “Damn you,” she growled. “Just do it.” And she arched her hips, sliding her body onto his cock. They both moaned, and he pressed into her the tiny bit that was left and locked his body against hers.
He froze there, every expletive known to him running through his head. He felt like his mind was about to explode. She was wrapped around him, tight and hot and sweet, and her walls contracted around him, squeezing him so hard it was a struggle not to let his eyes roll back into his head.
He gazed down at her, and she looked back at him, direct and straightforward. He’d never met anyone like her.
She smiled. “That feels so good, Max,” she breathed. “But what’re you waiting for? Move!”
The minx. But still, he knew he’d hurt her and refused to make it worse.
He dropped a kiss to her lips. “You’re one of a kind, Aila MacKerrick.”
“That’s what they tell me,” she whispered.
He dragged out of her slowly, then pushed his way back in. This time, his eyes did roll back into his head. She felt so damn good. Nay, good was too tame a word. Incredible. Unbelievable. It was better than anything he’d ever felt before.
He fought against himself, going slowly when his body demanded hard and fast. He set a rhythm that increased in pace as she encouraged him with pants and moans and “Yes, Max, yes.”
He pushed harder. Every one of his muscles clenched tight, and at the base of his spine, sensation coiled into a ball that grew and tightened with every thrust.
And then he unraveled, all at once. He moved inside her, his muscles now completely out of his control. He drove deeper the next time, and then again, and then, just in time, he yanked out of her, exploding onto her belly, seed jetting from his cock in tight bursts of pleasure.
It seemed to go on and on. He was sure he’d never come so hard or so much. Finally he was spent, and he rolled heavily to his side, wrapping her in his arms and taking her along with him.
He wasn’t aware of anything for a long while, except the depth of his contentment and satisfaction. But eventually he returned to earth, feeling her snuggling more closely to him. He pulled back a bit so he could see her face in the flickering light of the lantern.
She gazed up at him, a look of contented awe on her face.
“That was nice,” she said. “Shall we do it again?”
Chapter Six
Two days later, Aila was scrubbing the kitchen when Max strode in, bearing a sealed piece of parchment.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A message from the major,” he said. He’d told her more about the Highland Knights over the past several days, and she knew that the major was the eldest Knight and their leader. Max seemed to possess a deep and abiding respect for the man.
Wiping her hands on a ragged towel, she went over to him as he broke the seal on the letter. She read over his shoulder.
White,
Upon attempting to locate Miss MacK______’s maid to deliver her letter, we have made a distressing discovery. Finding Miss MacK_______’s cottage empty last week, S_______ proceeded to Inverness, where he located the lady’s maid. I am sorry to report that he tortured the lass for information, then murdered her.
Aila reeled backward, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh God!”
Max went to her, drawing her into his arms.
“Gin knew naught of the dagger,” Aila cried. “She couldn’t’ve told him anything!”
“I ken, lass.”
“I didn’t even think… I just assumed she’d be safe.” She pressed her face into his shoulder as he held her, strong and comforting. A so
b gathered in her throat. “This is my fault. I should have protected her. She was my responsibility, and I should have protected her.”
“Nay. It’s Sutherland’s fault, not yours.”
“But I should have done something.”
“Nay. You canna predict the actions of a man like Sutherland.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and held on to him for long minutes, thinking of what she could have done for her maid. Gin had been her best friend—her only friend. She hadn’t kept her safe. She’d failed her.
Max held her, gently rubbing her back and letting her blubber onto his shirt. Thank heavens for him. She didn’t know what she’d do if he weren’t here soothing her.
“It’s no’ your fault, lass,” he kept repeating. But she had been thoughtless. If she was in danger, then it made sense that Gin was too.
And now she knew for certain what this Sutherland was capable of. She suddenly hated him intensely. If she ever saw him, she’d stab him through the heart with her da’s dirk.
Finally, she murmured, “I stopped reading. What else did the major say? Did they catch him?”
Max’s chest rose and fell as he sighed. “Nay. He disappeared after that. No one kens where he is now.”
Aila groaned. “I want him dead.”
“I do too,” Max said darkly.
She looked up at him. He looked nearly as upset as she was by Gin’s death. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” He looked surprised.
“For being here with me. For being who you are.”
He shrugged. “I’m here because I was ordered to be.”
“Is that all there is to it?” she asked. “Really?”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, “Nay.”
She rose to her tiptoes, and, threading her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull, she pulled him forward. She pressed her lips to his, needing the comfort he freely offered.
What she meant as a gentle gesture quickly became fraught with tension. She kissed him harder, desperately wanting that escape, reaching for something just out of her grasp. He returned the kiss with equal fervor.
They’d made love several times over the last two days. Aila finally understood what all the fuss was about. Every time they’d finished, Aila wanted to try again. She wanted to learn everything she could about the relations between men and women in the time they had left together.
But now she simply wanted him. Wanted to push away grief and guilt and just feel him, just be with him.
Needing skin-to-skin contact, she yanked his shirt up from his kilt and opened her palms over his warm, muscular back, pressing him to her, feeling the evidence of his arousal against her stomach. He reached up and pulled a pin, then two from her hair. Loose curls tumbled around her shoulders.
Still kissing her deeply, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, pulling herself up so that they could keep kissing. He moved, but she paid no attention to where they were going until he set her down on a solid surface. The table, she realized.
He stepped between her legs, his lips still locked to hers as he moved her skirts up over her knees. She leaned back on her hands to steady herself. Then he moved his kilt out of the way, and his hardness pressed against the notch between her legs.
He slid home, still kissing her, both of them gasping at the sensation. He filled her completely, and now that she was no longer sore from that first time, pure pleasure shot through her. He swiped his tongue into her mouth as he pulled back, then thrust into her again, hitting a spot inside her that made her toes curl.
Stabilizing himself with one hand flat on the table beside her bottom, he threaded his other hand into her hair, locking her to him in the never-ending kiss.
He set a hard, punishing rhythm, and Aila had to straighten her arms and hold steady to make sure he didn’t push her back onto the table. Instead, she rocked her pelvis against him, loving the feel of him stroking her inner walls, then pressing against her most sensitive areas when he sank to that deepest spot inside her.
She closed her eyes and kissed him, pouring all her appreciation and affection—no, love—into the kiss as he stroked her into pure bliss and she became a vessel of sensation, her mind clear and her body simply feeling.
And then he pulled out abruptly, gathered her against him, and froze, his body jerking hard, his mouth tight over hers, gasping as pleasure overtook him and he came. She pressed her body against his, not sure if it helped but wanting him to feel the most pleasure possible.
When it was over, his muscles relaxed, and he grabbed the towel from the table and gently cleaned her skin before pulling her skirt back down over her knees. He stared at her, and she smiled up at him, but she felt the heaviness in her smile, and she blinked against a sudden fresh sting of tears. He cupped her cheek in his big palm, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. “Aila,” he said softly.
“Hm?”
“Are you all right, lass?”
“Aye. I think so.” But Gin was gone, and nothing would be the same ever again. Gin was older than her—she’d started working for Aila’s parents before Aila could walk. Aila had never known a life without her.
“I’m sorry about your maid.”
“Thank you.”
“I should have thought of her safety too. I failed you both.”
She shook her head, turning her lips to his palm and kissing hard. “No more blame. It’s done. Now I intend to have my vengeance on William Sutherland.”
His eyes narrowed. Clearly, he could see she wasn’t joking. He nodded slowly. “What do you wish to do?”
“Find him,” she whispered. “And then kill him.”
He shook his head firmly. “The Knights will see him brought to justice. ’Tis why we’ve come to Scotland. I’ve brought you here so the other Knights can find Sutherland without having to be worrying for your safety.”
She sniffed. “Gin was the only family I had left. And I’m just sitting here, locked in a castle and doing nothing to avenge her...”
“I ken, lass.”
“I want to do something. I want to go home. I want to find him.”
“Nay. ’Tis too dangerous,” Max said, his voice gentle. “Sutherland killed your maid, Aila. I’ll not have him killing you too. Dinna worry, the Knights are good at what they do. They’ll find him.” He sounded completely confident in that.
She looked away from him, swallowing hard. She might want to run Sutherland through herself, but she wasn’t daft. What Max said made sense. The Highland Knights had a great deal more experience with evil, horrible men than she did. And if she truly wanted the man dead, the Knights were the most suited to the job.
Still feeling frustrated and helpless, she clamped her lips shut and tried to chip away at the coldness in her vengeful heart. She had been independent to the point of loneliness for quite a while now, but the Highland Knights were here to help her, and she’d try her best not to look that gift horse in the mouth.
That evening, after they ate a dinner of cock-a-leekie soup that Aila made from a chicken they’d bought in the village, Max went out back to fetch water while Aila stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up.
She turned, smiling, when the door opened, and she took a step toward it to help with the water. But she froze when she saw the man wasn’t Max at all. He was as tall as Max but thin, with light-brown hair and gray-blue eyes.
Aila took a step back. The man appeared unimposing, but… “Who are you?” she whispered.
He smiled, and in that smile, Aila saw pure evil, and she didn’t even need to hear his answer.
“Good evening. I’m William Sutherland,” he said politely.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he was fast. He lunged forward on long legs and clamped a hand over her mouth. His fingers pressed down so hard, her teeth bit into her cheek, and she tasted the coppery flavor of blood in her mouth.
Keeping his hand clamped on her mouth,
he flashed something silvery in front of her. It was a gun.
“Do you see this, woman?” he rasped. “It’s a pistol. Make a sound, and you’ll regret it.” And he pressed the muzzle to her head.
Aila trembled deep inside, every inch of her shaking to her core. She knew what this man was capable of. She could do nothing but comply.
He dragged her through the kitchen toward the entry hall and through the front door.
Max would be back in moments. He’d see that she was missing and come after them. She could only hope that he didn’t get himself killed. But he knew what he was doing—he was a trained warrior, and she trusted him.
That came as no small shock. Aila didn’t put her trust in many people. The only people she’d ever truly trusted in her life had been her parents…and Gin, to a lesser extent. Now they were all gone. But she had Max now, and she didn’t intend to lose him as well.
Sutherland dragged her down the road, and at the first bend, she saw a pair of horses hitched to a small cart. “Get in,” he muttered as they approached. She climbed up, trying not to look back to see if Max was already coming.
Sutherland climbed up onto the bench beside her, then reached back into the cart and withdrew a bundle of rope. He used it to tie her, both wrists and one leg, to the frame of the cart. Like Max, he knew how to tie a knot. After Sutherland urged the horses to move, she tested the strength of her bindings. There was no way to escape—not unless she was untied.
“Where are you taking me?” she said, just loudly enough to be heard over the clomping of hooves, afraid if she spoke too loudly, he’d shoot her.
He gave her a smile so cold and menacing that it made her innards lurch.
“Why, to your home, of course.”
Chapter Seven
It was the longest night of her life. For the first hour, Sutherland sat quietly sinister beside her. But then he started talking. For the next several hours, he described his hopes for Scotland and the clans. He explained his absolute conviction that the King Richard Dagger—her dagger—possessed great magical powers and would give untold political strength to whoever owned it.
Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella Page 5