by Allie Mackay
Liquid fire across her nerves, taking her breath. Her heart beat faster, her pulse leaping at the intimacy.
“Mercy,” she gasped, stunned by the bliss spilling through her.
“Wait till it is my finger, Cilla-lass.” He circled his thumbs over the swell of her breasts as he spoke, rubbing her through the lace of her bra. He looked at her then, his gaze intense. “When it’s my tongue, I may no’ stop. No’ e’er, if suchlike were possible. I am that ravenous for you.
“I will devour you whole.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her fingertips. “I’ve waited too long and must have you now, and in all the ways that have been maddening me. If I cannae, I’ll go crazed.”
“No, I will.” I already am. Cilla’s sex clenched, his words electrifying her. She wanted his hands on her, stroking and rubbing with her, driving her wild. She burned for him to touch his tongue to her, to kiss and lick her.
“Would you like a sample tongue swirl?” He leaned close, his voice low and gruff. “That, too, is within my powers, though I’d rather really tongue you.”
“Yes!” she blurted. “I mean no. Not yet. It’s the lights. They-”
He drew back, looking at her. “The lights are of no import.”
“But-”
“No buts. Though” – he turned a gaze of his own on the blaring spotlights – “I’ll own your modern lights are lacking in grace. Were this Seagrave, and in my day, I’d ravish you by candlelight. As is…”
He grinned and snapped his fingers.
At once, the awful overhead lighting vanished and a warm golden glow surrounded them. Soft and flickering, it shimmered everywhere, broken in places by deep shadow that felt equally inviting.
Cilla blinked. “Oh, my!”
“You are pleased?”
“I have no words.” She looked around, her jaw slipping when she saw that Uncle Mac’s mock torchlights in the stairwell now burned for real. As did the iron-bracketed wall sconces lighting the vaulted undercroft.
Medieval trappings that – she knew - hadn’t been there a moment before.
Yet her worktable and broken china tools remained. And, she noted with relief, little Leo still slept where he’d curled up on the undercroft floor. The only difference was that a sweet-smelling layer of herbed rushes now covered the stone flagging, and Leo – bless Hardwick for his thoughtfulness – rested on a soft and warm-looking bed of plaid.
Cilla swung back to Hardwick. “How did you do that?”
He shrugged, trying without much success to look modest. “I told you I’ve had centuries of practice. Truth is, I could have conjured a much more splendiferous setting, but I am selfish this night.”
“Selfish?”
“Aye, sure as rain, I am.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “I’m saving my strength to please you.”
“Oh.” Her heart skittered.
Her knees started going soft again and she drew a great, shuddery breath. It was all she could do not to fling her arms around him and beg him to kiss her. Her entire body quivered with excitement, delicious tingles streaking from head to toe.
“So you see, my sweet,” his voice softened on the endearment. “I dinnae want to expend more of my powers than need be. No’ till I’ve finished with you.”
“That’s not selfish.” She touched his chest, feeling his strength through the rough wool of his plaid.
“Nae?” He leaned close, his breath warm on her cheek. “Then you’re no’ considering how much pleasure I’ll have. Can you no’ imagine how I’ve ached to kiss every sweet golden inch of you? To see you spread naked before me and then use my tongue to lick, lave, and taste you until you cry out your release?
“I want all that and more.” He swirled the tip of his tongue across her ear. “So dinnae tell me nae.” He nipped the side of her neck. “‘Tis too late.”
Stepping back, he reached for her blouse again. But before he set his fingers to the remaining buttons, he slid a meaningful glance towards the far wall where she’d stacked the folding work trays.
The wall was empty now.
Until he narrowed his eyes and a tall standing candelabrum appeared. Resplendent, a good dozen fine wax tapers burned brightly in its curved and swirling arms. A further flip of one finger and a beautiful low-slung bed joined the candle stand.
Richly carved of gleaming, high-polished oak, the chaise-cum-bed beckoned with a lush covering of royal blue velvet.
Cilla’s heart slammed against her ribs. She knew what he intended to do to her on that bed. He’d just told her, and she burned for every wild and earthy delight he’d promised.
She took a deep breath, unable to tear her gaze off the bed.
A whole battalion of butterflies took flight in her belly.
“You made that for us.” She could hardly believe it.
“And you were made for me.” His fingers were warm against her breasts, even slipping inside her bra to brush across her nipples. “I am glad the bed pleases you.”
She nodded, too overcome to speak.
She was also hovering near a climax. And she was still fully clothed! From nowhere, she remembered the saying about Highlanders being different from other men. Now she knew how true that was.
But adage wasn’t complete.
Highlanders weren’t just different, they were better.
“The bed is beautiful,” she said, swaying slightly, excitement weakening her knees.
“As are you,” he vowed, undoing the last of her buttons. “The blue is for your lovely sapphire eyes,” he said, glancing at the bed. “The rest is for your pleasure.”
“And yours?” Her breath caught as he slid her top down her shoulders and made quick work of her bra, tossing both aside before she even realized he’d removed them. “What about your pleasure?”
“You are my pleasure.” His eyes darkened as he looked at her, his heated stare making her breasts ache with need. “It is enough.”
He reached for her, his hands palming and kneading the fullness of her breasts, his thumbs circling her hard-puckered nipples. Exquisite pleasure spiraled through her, a thousand times greater than the rousing stare-caresses he’d already given her.
His touch, for real, undid her.
“Oh, Hardwick.” She arched her back, causing her breasts to lift, offering herself to him. “I want to touch you, too…”
“You enchant me.” He leaned down, dragged his tongue across the top swells of her breasts. “I need naught else.”
But when he swept her up against his rock-hard chest and strode for the low blue-cushioned bed, she knew that she needed more.
She wanted to satisfy him, too.
Unfortunately – or not, depending – he was already lowering her onto the chaise-bed, his fingers working the clasp of her belt.
The feel of him undoing and then peeling off her pants – her panties! – robbed her of all thought.
Except one.
She wanted, ached, to be naked with him.
Her mind blanked to all but the touch of his warm strong fingers as he pulled off her clothes, tossing each piece onto the rush-strewn floor. The flickering torchlight slid over her, casting her body in soft light and shadow. And even she had to admit the effect was flattering, like nothing of this world’s harsh and glaring light.
Even her slight belly roll looked more feminine than fat.
But before she could think too much about it, he crushed her to him, kissing her long and deep. It was a fierce kiss, all rough, open-mouthed desperation. She returned his passion with equal hunger, digging her fingers into his plaid, clutching his broad, powerful shoulders. Any moment, she half expected him to disappear, for some great fist to slam down and smash them, punishing them for daring to claim what they both wanted so badly. But he only kept kissing her, each wild, sweep of his tongue against hers proving what he’d said: he really was ravenous for her.
Then he tore his mouth from hers, his dark gaze blazing as he helped her sink onto the edge of
the bed. “You are beautiful, Cilla-lass. Precious and golden,” he claimed, now looking right at the curls between her legs. “Dinnae deny me this pleasure.”
“I won’t.” I couldn’t if I wanted to – which I don’t! She could hardly breathe for arousal, and she barely heard him for the thunder of her pulse in her ears.
“You are the greatest gift and there is naught I’ve e’er wanted more.” He knelt before her and eased her thighs apart, opening her for his caress.
Those special Highland kisses she wanted so badly.
He was about to give them to her and the thought made her mouth go dry and nearly stopped her heart. Oral sex was something she only knew about from romance novels. She didn’t have firsthand experience, however much the idea had always excited her. None of her boyfriends had ever shown interest.
Now…
It was her turn.
“Precious lass, I would drink of you if I could, drench myself with the taste of you,” he spoke against her belly, his breath soft and warm. A light, teasing breeze across her intimate curls, a barely-there sensation but so earth-shaking in its intensity, she would have sworn trapped lightning sizzled between her legs.
“O-o-oh!” Her eyes flew wide.
Hardwick chuckled, a deep, low rumble, pure male satisfaction.
He looked up at her. “I’ve no’ yet started.”
“But-”
“No buts, I’ve told you.” He returned his attention to her belly, nuzzling, nipping, and licking her skin. “Relax, and let me love you.”
His hands slid up and down her hips, then moved lower to stroke along her inner thighs, urging them wider. “Open to me. I want to see and kiss all of you.”
“Yes, please. I want…” She couldn’t say more, bit down on her lower lip. The sensations were intense, maddeningly delicious. She was already slick and wet, his words pushing her to the edge. Almost there, she did as he’d asked and let her knees fall wide, giving him the access he craved.
The hot-tingling intimacy that had her fisting her hands against his beautiful blue bed. Need raced all through her as he gripped her knees, keeping her thighs splayed.
She wanted him to have everything –and never had she wanted a man more.
She didn’t just love him.
He’d become the air she breathed.
***
Hardwick looked down at her. For one crazy-mad moment, he almost ripped off his tartan binding so he could sink deep inside her, taking her as he knew he daren’t. He burned to feel her tight, silken heat, if only for one forbidden moment. To revel in the sweetness of her legs wrapped around him as he slid in and out of her.
Instead he drew a great breath and prayed the binding would hold.
Then he lowered his head and began licking the satiny insides of her thighs. She gasped, her lush body so languid and eager beneath him, her ardor driving him wild. His tongue flickered over her sensitive skin, the torture – and bliss - almost too intense to bear.
Her heat beckoned him, but he held back, wanting to give her as much pleasure as he could.
She writhed and trembled in response. “It is so good. I’ve never felt anything sweeter.” She dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding tight. “Don’t stop, please!”
He glanced up at her, sure she’d never looked more desirable than now, with her hair mussed, and her eyes glazed by passion. “Och, I shan’t.”
Instead, he thrust his hands beneath her buttocks, squeezing and kneading them as he slid open-mouthed kisses along her smooth, silken skin. His heart thundered and his entire body tightened, stirred by at her receptiveness.
And he hadn’t yet even neared the hot, female delicacy at the apex of her thighs.
“Hardwick…” She watched him, wonder on her face.
“Shhh, lass,” he spoke low, inhaled the womanly scent of her. “Let me show you how much I crave you.”
He locked his gaze on hers, his grip on her bottom tightening as he braced himself to lick his way closer. The scent of her hot, musky arousal hung between them, tingeing the air and filling his lungs, absolutely intoxicating him.
Needing her so badly, he tore his gaze from hers and looked down, treating himself to the beauty of her glistening golden curls. The soft and slippery temptation of her sleek, wet need and the way she quivered beneath his stare.
He swallowed hard, his own lust straining against the tightly wound tartan.
He bit back a curse, fierce desperation welling inside him.
Knowing he must, he blotted his mind. With all his strength, willing himself not to see the lush silken heat only a breath away from his hungry eyes, his eager tongue. Instead, he imagined the pile of bricks and stones generations after him had used to deface his beloved home.
Closing his eyes to give the image more power, he lowered his head and licked, using pure male honing instinct to run the tip of his tongue first up, then down the damp and fragrant center of her.
“Ah-h-h!” Her legs stiffened, sweet tremors rippling the length of her. “Hardwick!”
The need in her voice nearly broke him.
His eyes snapped open. The sight of her splayed wide – and so close before him – took his breath, leaving only a blazing fire that scalded his lungs and left him wondering why he didn’t burn to a crisp. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such a primal bond to any woman, such consuming desire.
Then she rocked her hips and her soft wetness brushed his chin, her damp, musk-scented flesh stealing his reason.
“By all the gods!” He jerked his head back, his restraint almost shattered.
Desire exploding, he yanked his hands from beneath her and gripped her hips as he opened his mouth over her. He drew hard, drinking in the whole of her until only his need to breathe made him tear himself away.
“You will be the end of me.” She was staring at him, glassy-eyed and panting. Her soft well-curved body glowed in the candlelight, his sweet, golden goddess, her knees falling wider as she opened herself more fully.
“You are everything.” Again and again, he licked her, only stopping to give her most sensitive spot the quick little circling swirls he knew she needed. Or to grant himself the pleasure of dipping his tongue inside her, probing her deepest heat and letting himself revel in the hot, stirring wetness of her.
She trembled from head to toe, shivering with pleasure.
He shook with the taste of her. Her clean, tangy scent flooded his senses, making him burn. He daren’t risk the like again. As it was, his every muscle strained with the effort of squelching his arousal. The relentless pull at his loins, the lengthening that was becoming impossible to deny.
“Please.” She twined her fingers in his hair, clutching him to her.
Somewhere something ripped – he heard the tearing cloth – but he no longer cared. The taste and scent of her on his tongue made him wild. So he growled, something he couldn’t recall ever having done, then set to pleasing her one kiss, lick, and tongue-swirl at time.
He released his fierce grip on her hips to run his hands over her breasts, plumping and squeezing, using his fingers to roll and flick her swollen nipples. He, too, felt swollen. But he also felt the strength of the plaid wrapping holding him back, some small part of him realizing that it hadn’t been the tartan, but the blue bed covering that had torn.
His binding, painful as it was, held firm.
His lady was unraveling.
She needed release.
So he slid his hands beneath her again, cupping her bottom and lifting her hips. “Spread your legs wider, lass.” He caught her gaze, wanting her to see him pleasure her. “As wide as you can and keep them that way, look on as I complete you.”
“Oh God….” She bit her lip, but nodded.
“See me touch my tongue to your most sensitive place.” And he did, not taking his eyes off hers as he lowered his head and licked the tiny, pulsing bud he knew would send her sliding into ecstasy.
Again and again he circled his tongue across her special
place, every few swirls easing back to lick down the length of her. He let his tongue glide and probe, then return again to flick at her little lust-spending nub.
And with each honeyed whirl, he envisioned another stranger’s brick or stone marring the face of his home.
One brick, one heated tongue swirl, as he imagined the defilers taking the brick from the pile. A new stone, another slow, lascivious lick down his lady’s center, tasting and relishing.
Sweat began dotting his forehead, so great was the strain, but he couldn’t stop if his life – or unlife – depended on it.
Truth was, he’d devour her till the end of time if he only could.
But before he’d gone through even half his imagined piles of bricks and stones, she arched her back and tossed her head, crying out her release.
“Agggghhhh…” She jerked and then fell back against the little chaise bed, gasping. “Hardwick…”
Seagrave….
A second voice also called for him. High-pitched, female, and cackle-ish, it came from the deep shadows near the undercroft’s stairwell.
Beneath the table, Leo snarled.
Hardwick’s blood chilled.
Not wanting to, but unable to do otherwise, he looked down at the little dog. Not surprisingly, the dachshund’s hackles were raised and his brown gaze was fixed in the exact direction Hardwick had suspected it would be.
Leo knew.
And, the ancients help him, so did he.
His gut clenching, he swiveled his head toward the stairs. But they were no longer there. A woman was – a hell hag – and she wasn’t alone.
She stood front and center in a great gaping hole where the softly-lit stairwell should have risen to Dunroamin’s kitchens. Uncountable look-alike crones crowded behind her, all of them jostling to peer and jeer at him.
“Seagrave…” The first hag lifted gnarled hands to rip open her cowled black robes, the withered flesh beneath curdling his innards. “We’re waiting for you…”
Another stepped forward. Baring her thin pendulous breasts, she lifted them in offering. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a man,” she trilled, her lips curling in a horrid, gap-toothed smile.