by Mary Wine
But his cock held her attention. It pushed the fabric of his shirt out. Ridged and swollen, the shaft was thick and long.
“Have ye changed yer mind?”
The hint of tenderness in his tone struck her as pity. Jemma didn’t care for that because if she took even one morsel of it, she feared she would be reduced to shivering with dread. She had wanted him before, so much so that she had been angry when he left. That was the fact that she held fast to, and she forced her hesitating feet forward to lift one of his wrists up so that she might untie the cuff.
“Yer courage is astounding, Jemma.”
She lifted her eyes to see appreciation filling his. He reached out and combed one hand through her hair, beginning at her scalp and drawing his finger down to the ends of the recently brushed strands. For such a simple touch, it sent a spark of anticipation down her body.
“Close yer eyes.”
She hesitated, and he slid his hand back into her hair near her head. He closed his grip on the delicate strands gently, but it was enough to dispatch another ripple of enjoyment through her.
“Close yer eyes and feel for a moment, without yer sight to interfere.”
“Oh . . . I see.” But in truth she didn’t. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he pulled on her hair just a tiny bit more. Without the distraction of what he looked like, the sensation felt as if it were doubled. It raced down her spine and into her belly where it awakened the passion that had been sleeping since the last time he lay with her. Everything happened much faster this time, her body recalling in detail the intense pleasure that he had produced with his finger and mouth. She was eager for more, her clitoris beginning to awaken.
“That’s the way, lass, trust me.”
Though she wasn’t cold, when his hand left her hair she felt the loss of its heat.
His heat.
All across her body, her skin was demanding to be touched. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts and her belly, and even over the curves of her hips. The idea of it was intoxicating. Her senses became heightened, and she clearly heard the slump of the wet shirt as it dropped to the floor. Excitement rippled across her skin, and she opened her eyes, unable to remain still.
He caught her up against him before she got a clear look at his body, his mouth seeking hers out to press a demanding kiss against it. Passion burned brightly inside him, which his kiss reflected. He captured the back of her head in one large grip, holding her captive while his mouth pillaged hers. His tongue thrust deeply inside, stroking along hers, and her passage begged for the same attention. She felt empty again, and this time the need did not build slowly. It burst into flames that tormented her as much as they pleased her. Jemma reached for his shoulders, her hands seeking out the warm skin she had longed to feel against her own.
He swept her off her feet and carried her toward his bed, the laird’s bed, and that sent a shiver of dark possessiveness through her.
“Did you bring Anyon here?”
He laid her down on the heather-scented sheet, one hand lifting her hair up and out of the way so that it would not become trapped by her back.
“Nae.”
His voice was gruff, and it was darker in the bed with only a teasing flicker of candlelight making its way to them. That only heightened her senses once more. She heard tiny sounds, such as her own heartbeat. She lifted one hand to press it against his chest. Beneath her fingers she felt the steady beating of his heart, and her lips rose into a smile.
“Exactly, lass, we are nae so different when all of the trappings of this world are taken off us. Here, our bodies fit together very nicely.”
“We’ve yet to see about how well you will fit.”
“Ye’re the boldest virgin I’ve ever heard of.”
She settled against the sheet and felt him rising above her. He remained on his side, lying next to her, but she felt small and petite compared to his harder and larger form.
“Or did I build a desire in ye for more of the pleasure that I gave ye the last time we were in a bed together?”
His voice was husky but playful. “I believe the word you used was trust.”
He reached out and trailed his fingers over the mound of one breast. She shivered as pleasure spread out from that touch.
“It is something I value greatly, lass.” He gently cupped her breast, forming his hand around the tender globe. Her nipple drew tight until the top was a hard pebble that eagerly anticipated his kiss. “Something that I plan to put to good use tonight.”
“I suppose that I am hoping that is so.”
He tilted his head, raising his attention up to her face. “Ye question that? Why? I know that ye were pleasured the last time I touched ye.”
His pride was slightly wounded; she heard it in his voice.
“You did, but I believe you have something else planned for this evening that I have never experienced, so the only thing I may say is that I hope it is so. But I seem to recall that doing this pleased you.” Reaching for his cock, she closed her hand around it. The flesh was silken soft, but the staff itself hard. He drew in a stiff breath, his expression becoming strained. Jemma moved her hand to the top of his shaft to where a thick crown circled the head. She touched it gently, feeling it and listening to the sounds of his breathing.
“Ye have a wickedly clever hand, lass.”
“Ah, does that mean that my actions meet with your approval . . . my lord and husband?” She offered up her last few words as a test. There were plenty of men who liked to hear such from their wives; some who demanded it.
Gordon opened his eyes. “Leave that bit of expected speech for when there are others about to hear ye, lass. That has never been my way with ye when we’re in private, but I can understand ye wondering about it.”
“I see. Aren’t you afeared that I will become bold if you do not keep me in my place?”
He flashed her a wide smile that was full of mischief. “I believe I’m dreading the fact that ye might be meek, madam. There is something that I fear. Truly I do.”
“We could not suffer such, not fear from the Laird Barras himself.” She moved her hand back down to the base of his cock, watching his face to see what he did in response.
He made a soft sound beneath his breath, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. “I’m suffering, lass, but ’tis a pleasant sort of suffering.”
She moved her hand up and down his shaft, gaining a sort of rhythm. He growled softly, rolling slightly more onto his back to offer her access to his length. Apparently his cock was as sensitive as her clitoris. Her gaze moved to it. The head was swollen and crowned with a small slit that held a drop of fluid. Bringing her hand back up to the top, she ran her thumb over that slit, her skin slipping easily across it. Another moan rumbled up from his chest, but it was not nearly as hungry or passionate as he had driven her to.
Of course, he had been using his mouth on her, too . . .
Before she considered the idea any further, Jemma leaned down and opened her mouth and licked the head of his cock.
“Sweet virgin’s tits!” His huge body jerked, bouncing on the bed and pulling his cock from her grasp.
“Gordon . . . such words will see you in the stocks.”
He snarled while glaring at her. Jemma rolled up until she was poised on her knees in the middle of the bed. “Didn’t you like that? I enjoyed it when you used . . .”
“When I sucked on yer clitoris, aye, I recall it well.”
His cock looked more swollen now, the head ruby red. “Men don’t enjoy the same?”
He laughed, low and deep. “They do, lass, but I don’t trust my control to last if ye took to Frenching me. I’d likely spill my seed.”
There was a tone in his voice that told her he found the idea very appealing. Her pride latched on to it, craving an opportunity to be the one commanding his pleasure.
“I’ve heard that men can spill more than one portion of seed in a night.”
He stiffened, his eyes filling with bright h
unger. “Aye, that’s a truth.”
“Then I do not see any reason for you to argue against my Frenching you, unless you were not sincere in your claim that you have no care for a submissive bride behind closed doors.”
“That word is nearly enough to unman me, coming from yer lips, lass.”
But not enough? She grabbed the challenge and stretched out toward him on all fours, walking her hands across the surface of the bed until she lowered herself onto her stomach. The candles turned his skin crimson, and she used both her hands to cup the sac hanging below his member.
“Since we are newlywed, I believe I should confess that I have never been satisfied with being nearly good enough at anything, Gordon.” She stroked her fingers up the soft skin encasing his cock, lightly teasing it as he had done with her sex.
“I’ve always admired those who seek excellence, lass.”
His breath was becoming rough. Closing her hand around his thickness, she leaned forward and trailed her tongue over the top of it again. She felt him shiver. The little response fanned the flames of her determination. She licked his cock again, this time with more than just the very tip of her tongue. She leaned in closer and allowed her mouth to open wider so that more of her tongue connected with his cock. Fluid had returned to the slit, and it tasted slightly salty when she ran her tongue over it. She could hear him breathing roughly, but it wasn’t anywhere near the same mindless condition he had reduced her to.
Lifting her head, she looked up at his face. “Tell me how to French you.” He snorted at her request. “Why not tell me? I don’t know because bed sport was something I expected to learn from my husband, not from the local light skirts.”
His hand grasped the back of her head, and his lips thinned into an expression that was almost harsh until she recalled how tight her own emotions had been stretched when he was sucking her.
Is he on that edge?
“Open yer mouth and suck some of my length inside.”
She swallowed hard and shivered. Excitement brewed once again in her belly. It was strange how hearing the words made her quiver with anticipation. Her hands stroked his member, drawing another snort from him.
“And do that with yer hands.”
She looked back down at his cock and opened her mouth. She had already tasted him so there was no hesitation in her. Relaxing her jaw, she took the head between her lips while her hands played up and down the portion that was still outside her mouth. His hand tightened on her hair, and she heard his breathing become small pants. His hips thrust toward her mouth, driving his cock deeper and then withdrawing in shallow thrusts.
He groaned. Low and deep, it was a sound that confirmed he was as flooded with pleasure as she had been. That knowledge sent a flicker of heat through her clitoris. But she wasn’t ready to allow him to reverse their roles yet. She allowed more of his cock to penetrate her mouth while her hands closed around his cock in an imitation of her passage clasping the entire length. He snarled something beneath his breath, his hips quickening their pace before the fingers in her hair tightened and his hips drove his cock into her mouth in a hard motion. She felt the warm spurt of his seed bathe her tongue and flood her mouth. His body shook while he let out a savage-sounding moan.
He pulled her head away from his cock, but she continued to stroke it with delicate touches while he drew in rough, rapid breaths. His face was drawn into a hard expression, but he opened his eyes and she witnessed the pleasure shimmering in them. His lips suddenly parted to display a smile at her. The expression, full of promise, sent another ripple of intense excitement through her being.
“One good Frenching deserves another, woman.”
He hooked an arm beneath her waist and flipped her onto her back in one powerful motion. The amount of strength the man had was frightening, but he controlled it expertly. The bed shook beneath her back, and Gordon lunged right over her to come up between her legs. He slid his hands up the insides of her thighs, sending pleasure through her, and then pressed her legs wide. He did it with just enough strength to allow her to feel like he was indeed reversing their roles. His hands held her thighs wide to expose her sex while he raised his head up to look at her stunned face.
“I’m going to enjoy tonguing yer pearl, lass.”
“My what?” Her voice was a croak because she’d never imagined that husbands and wives talked so much about bed sport.
His hand moved to her spread sex, gliding up the center of her folds to the top where her clitoris was unprotected now. He pressed his thumb down on top of it, gently moving the finger in a tiny circle.
“This little pearl, sweet wife. The only one that I truly care to see on ye. I’m going to enjoy giving it a great deal of attention.”
The man was not boasting idle promises. He leaned forward and captured her clitoris between his lips. She cried out because it was even more sensitive than she had thought. Arousal had seeped into her while she pleasured him, and now it was like dry tinder and his mouth the spark.
Her hands became claws, pulling at the bedding. His lips sucked, and the tip of his tongue flicked back and forth across her clitoris. She couldn’t seem to pull enough breath into her lungs, her chest heaving to try to keep pace with her accelerating heart. Her hips lifted to his mouth, seeking out enough pressure to fling her into that same pleasure pool as before. This time she knew her destination, and her body was even more eager for the culmination.
“That’s it, lass, raise yer hips and demand yer pleasure.”
He trailed one fingertip down the center of her spread fold to gently circle the opening to her passage.
“Take yer pleasure from me, Jemma.”
His voice was strained, as though his control was being tested. She lifted her eyelids to look at him and discovered hunger glittering in his eyes. She watched his fingers take over working her clitoris, pressing and rubbing it. She lost the ability to keep her eyes open, the pleasure becoming too much to ignore in favor of anything else. She closed her eyes and felt her body tighten, each rub from his fingers intensifying the pleasure. He leaned forward and replaced his fingers with his mouth, muttering something against her clitoris that vibrated against the sensitive point.
Pleasure ripped through her, pulling her into a moment filled with nothing but blinding delight. It raced out to the farthest points of her body and then back to her belly where it bathed the hunger gnawing at her in satisfaction. Her cries echoed off the arched ceiling and the canopy stretched over the bed. He trailed his fingers back down to the opening of her passage to gently tease it. She felt empty and as though she wasn’t yet truly satisfied. He allowed one finger to penetrate her, just a small amount, but the walls of her passage instantly registered it and how good it felt. The motion recalled her to the task in front of her. That thing that had been so much talked about.
Taking his member inside me.
For certain she had heard more coarse words for it, but she could see the hunger in his eyes and feel it still glowing in the deepest part of her. She was still needy, still yearning for something more.
“Are ye ready, Jemma? Ready to become me wife?”
His voice was rough and coated with need as great as her own. She lifted her arms in invitation.
“Come to me, Gordon. Be my husband.”
He growled and pulled his fingers from her passage. Rising up, she caught a glimpse of his rigid cock and shivered. But he crawled up to cover her, and his warm skin connected with hers to send a flood of contentment through her, as though it was something she had always yearned for but never realized she needed. Her hands rose to clasp his shoulders, and she felt the first touch of his cock against the opening of her body. It slipped easily against the wet skin, nudging its way . . .
Gordon suddenly froze, his head tilting sideways. The windows all vibrated with the ringing of bells. They increased in volume as more of them joined. He let out a vicious curse, and a second later she lay alone on the bed.
“What is it?”
“Trouble.”
He cast one look back at her and snarled something else that would have gotten him locked in the stocks for cursing. He grabbed the heavy coverlet and tossed it up the bed to cover her. Someone pounded on the chamber doors a moment later.
“Enter!”
Two of his captains burst into the room. “Fire in the village.”
“Assemble the men.”
His captains didn’t waste any time delivering their laird’s orders. They quit the room in a flash while Gordon stalked toward the far side of the chamber. She hadn’t realized the maid had set out his clothing in case he might have to dress quickly in the middle of the night.
It was his duty to protect his people. Such was a dangerous task that was so often bathed in blood. He pulled a shirt on and stepped into a pair of boots. Bending one knee, he laced one quickly and then the other. A kilt was already pleated along a table built at an angle. The length of tartan evenly placed and a belt running beneath it. He placed his back in the center and tugged the ends of the belt around his middle.
“Stay right there, exactly as ye are.” He leaned into the bed and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth before turning and grabbing his sword on the way out of the chamber.
Jemma heard the doors close, and her eyes filled with tears. She failed to keep them from falling, the salt drops falling down her cheeks to wet the sheets. She wept for the chill that crept over the chamber and for the moment that they had been denied, but most of all she cried because of the fear that dug its claws into her.
The fear that she might become a widow before she sampled the joys of being a wife.
Gordon smelled the smoke the moment he set foot outside the tower. He took the stairs two at a time and gained the top quickly. Kerry was looking through a spy glass at the bright orange glare below them. It wasn’t in the village but one of the farmers on the outskirts.