by Ruby Duvall
He leaned over her, both hands stroking her breasts, his gaze jumping between the sight of her distended nipples and the pleasure on her face at his touch. Her locket slid off her shoulder as she impatiently writhed under him, arching into his palms and about to mewl like some kitten addicted to her master’s indulgence.
“Iain, I’m gonna burst,” she whimpered.
“Are ye now, lass?” He investigated for himself, dipping his right hand between her legs and groaning to find out what she already knew.
With her lower lip caught between her teeth, she sighed achingly at the urgent yet gentle slide of his thick, rough fingers through slick cream that now flowed even faster. She could see a strange tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way he moved, as though he couldn’t stop himself and was barely restraining some primal instinct. It was utterly enthralling, for he was so much bigger and so much stronger, yet he didn’t overpower her, didn’t just selfishly take what he wanted.
Smoothing her hands down her abdomen to join his, she grabbed his wrist and pulled it toward her, impaling herself on his longest finger. Iain’s moan was deep and for a few sweet seconds, he didn’t move, his palm pressed tight against her mons. She locked eyes with him and slowly clamped down on his finger. A gloriously guttural sound spilled from his lips and he took over, pushing a second finger inside her. His other hand left her breasts, taking a short detour to stroke up the inside of her thigh before he pressed down on her undulating pelvis and used his thumb to tease her clit.
A series of breathy, high-pitched groans squeezed out of her lungs with every other thrust of his fingers and the sounds…oh the sounds his hands made. Even over the patter of rain, between the rolls of thunder, she could hear just how wet he had made her.
Instead of watching Iain’s hands though, she watched the play of emotions across his face. His fascination made her insides twist. His stiff lower jaw jutted out, his mouth open and his eyebrows were pinched in concentration.
“Ye’re tight,” he breathed. “Christ, ye’re too tight.” His fingers sped up, jabbing into her as his thumb rapidly swiveled her clit in tight circles. She cried out, one of her hands seizing his forearm. It was already starting. Tremors, burgeoning heat…
Pleasure slammed into her, dragging a scream out of her as she punched her head back into the pillow. She bucked hard onto his fingers and grabbed his other wrist, holding his hand against her. After sucking in a breath of air, she sobbed his name.
His cock twitched as Emma came, her muscles rippling over his fingers, her voice shakily crying out his name. Her pert, perfect breasts bounced every time she thrust herself onto his hand. Her strawberry blonde hair glowed in the firelight, looking soft and fragrant, and he couldn’t wait to rub his face in its silkiness. The ecstasy on her face brought out a triumphant pride like nothing he had ever felt before, which made him even more possessive of her.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
After massaging her a moment more, he gently pulled his fingers from the wet warmth of her body and slid them between his lips, watching her slowing breaths as she grew more relaxed. With her scent in his nostrils and her taste on his tongue, he stroked his swollen cock, desperate to sate the deep-seated need to take her, especially after discovering that she was not untouched.
By God, no other man would ever have her again, not as long as he breathed.
Taking his fingers from his mouth and releasing himself, he hooked his hands under her knees and pushed them toward her shoulders. Emma looked at him with sleepy eyes, sliding her hands up her own thighs and holding them back. His hands now free, he sidled closer to her, his eyes fixed upon the beautiful pink slit waiting for him.
He wanted her so badly, so much that his entire body was trembling but she had been so tight around his fingers and he absolutely would not hurt her. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he rubbed the head of his cock up and down the seam of her nether lips, slipping inside and notching the aching tip in the cup of her body.
When he met her eyes, drowsy with pleasure, he realized that she almost looked drunk. Her cheeks were pink and her eyelids low but her breaths were shallow and her gaze was steady. As his hips pressed forward, he held her gaze. He needed to see every little change in her expression, to savor every husky moan she made.
“Iain!” She grasped his arm. He stopped, only halfway sheathed, and pulled back a little, waiting until she relaxed.
“Are ye all right?” His voice sounded much too harsh to his own ears.
She nodded. “Just wasn’t quite prepared.” Unable to wait any longer, he pushed again and groaned like a man about to die when his cock sank home, sliding inside until the black hairs at the root of his erection mingled with her blonde curls. Emma let out a heavy sigh.
“Mother o’ God,” he uttered. He leaned over her, matching the bend of his elbows to the bend of her knees and planting his hands to either side of her creamy shoulders. His eyes roamed over the longing in her lips, the blush in her cheeks and the trust in her eyes. Aye, never would another man have her.
With this thought in mind, he slowly pulled his hips back, moaning when her body tried to suck him back in. Emma pinched her lush lower lip with those perfect white teeth, looking at him with such expectation. He didn’t make her wait and plunged back inside, smugly noting her feminine gasp even as his own pleasure shot up his spine and forced out a breathy grunt.
Her silky hands gripped his biceps, stroking down to his forearms. “More,” she whispered.
“Ye’ll have it.” His body knew what to do and slowly sped up but he couldn’t help the strangled groan that rattled his chest after only a few thrusts. Her taut muscles gripped his cock just right, as though she was made for him. Watching her body lurch under his heavy thrusts, following the bounce of her breasts, listening to the beautiful little sounds she made between every gasp…
“I dinna want ye to leave.” Iain didn’t even know the words were coming until he had already said them. Emma’s hands tightened around his forearms, her eyes still trained on his. “Promise ye willna leave. Promise me ye’ll never leave.” She nodded, gasping when his thrusts became rougher. “Say it, Emma. Swear it.” Her soft little moan made his chest tighten.
“I promise. I’ll never leave you.”
Iain fisted his hands in the mattress, already trying to fight off the rise of pleasure for which he had yearned ever since the very first second he had set eyes on her. He didn’t want this first time to end so soon but his body was in charge now, not his mind. It wanted to go faster, so his hips began pounding into her. His lips wanted to capture one of her bouncing nipples, so he leaned down, craning his neck to one side, forcing her legs even farther back, and caught the raspberry tip between his hungry lips. Her hands were clamped onto his backside, her nails digging in. With a moan, he sucked her sweet flesh into his mouth.
She called his name and then called it again, only louder. With her next breath, she cried out. Releasing her wet, reddened nipple, he lifted his head. He had to see her face, had to watch the pleasure overcome her.
Her entire body suddenly jerked. “Iain,” she groaned in a long, shuddering breath.
He felt the flutter of clenching muscles and came completely undone. His whole body tightened, shook with tension, as his pelvis slapped against her one last time. When the blessed heat of ecstasy grabbed hold, a throaty sigh pushed out of his lungs. With short, hard jabs, he emptied every bit of strength he had left into her welcoming heat. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, fought to catch his breath, fought to keep his weight off her.
One arm at a time, he released her legs, spreading kisses across her neck and shoulder. Her pleased sigh accompanied the gentle touch of her hands on his arms and sides. He never thought a woman could smell so good or feel so right beneath him, especially not a woman about whom he knew so little, about whom he wanted to know so much more.
But just maybe, that door to her heart was finally open.
; Chapter Thirteen
When Emma woke the next morning, it was to the sound of Iain’s deep, even breaths warming the back of her neck. She smiled just a little, snuggling back into his arms. He gathered her closer, one hand cupped loosely around her breast and somehow, she enjoyed the tenderness between her thighs. Last night was also the best night of sleep she had enjoyed since arriving. Only one thing kept her morning from complete perfection.
Iain hadn’t kissed her yet. She had wondered briefly before falling asleep if he wasn’t the kissing type but he hadn’t had any problems licking, sucking or biting any other part of her. Indeed, he was the best lover she had ever had—by leaps and bounds.
So, why?
“Mm, good morning,” a deep voice said behind her. Her smile grew wider. His voice sounded like chocolate. Extra-rich dark chocolate.
“Good morning,” she answered. She wanted to say more but realized with growing shyness that she didn’t know what to say. Iain seemed to have the same difficulty and said nothing for a moment. He then made a strange noise, like he was in discomfort. His nose and lips burrowed through her hair, nuzzling the back of her neck.
“Iain?” His hand squeezed her breast, rolling it in slow, small circles. His other hand stroked her side. When he rolled against her, her lips fell open as his massive erection slid against her backside. “Holy sh—”
“I need ye,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I got that,” she breathed. The chain of her locket pressed against her skin as his mouth gave the bend in her neck a warm, wet kiss. One of his hands ventured down her stomach and between her thighs. “Aili might be here soon.”
“Then she’ll wait outside,” he growled, grinding his loins against her rear. Emma pressed her lips together and closed her eyes at his impatient fingers. She relented with a sigh and lifted her knee, giving him better access, of which he took full advantage. “I should confess something,” he said as his other hand plucked the tip of her breast.
He expected her brain to function while he had a hand between her legs? “What?” she said after a second’s hesitation.
“The first morning I woke next to ye and every morning after that—without fail—I was,” the last groaned word came off a hard swallow, “affected.” His blunt finger pressed and rolled her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp. “My cock was so hard that I nearly pulled ye open and buried it inside ye.”
As she imagined his restraint, her mouth went dry while another part of her grew wet. “Then what are you waiting for?” She hooked her leg over him. Her hand went searching behind her and she moaned restlessly to find nothing but hard, unyielding muscle that contracted when she touched it.
“Emma.” His stubbly cheeks lightly scraped the skin on her shoulder. She wanted to kiss those cheeks and then his jaw, his chin, his lips… Her fingers slid around his weighty rod but just barely. She pumped her hand up and down. He laid an open-mouthed kiss on her neck, panting against her skin.
For several breathless moments, they rubbed, stroked and gyrated against each other, both eagerly exploring and exploiting every erogenous zone they could find. Emma couldn’t believe how quickly his fingers became drenched in her arousal, how much she loved being trapped between the rock wall in front of her and the wall of flesh behind her.
“Iain, please,” she begged.
“I know,” he whispered into her hair. She angled his erection down to slide it between her legs and he took over, guiding himself to where they both wanted him. His thighs flexed against her rear as he thrust into her.
She didn’t know if she would ever be used to the amazing breadth of him, the thickness that spread her so wide. Her breath hitched every time he pierced her. If kissing his mouth was first on her list of things she wanted to do to him, wrapping her lips around his impressive cock was second.
His body curled tighter around her, his cheek rasping against hers and his chest flush against her back. His fingers were split in a vee between her legs and she matched her hand with his to feel the push and pull of his cock, to verify that her small frame was actually taking every inch of the hard flesh being plowed into her.
He did fit though, just as perfectly as a tailored suit.
“I should confess something too,” she gasped. “I—” Her deepest muscles began to bear down on him. “I’m falling in love with you.”
He groaned her name through clenched teeth. The next thrust flung her over the edge and the sensation rising up was as sudden and exhilarating as free-fall. Crying out, she gripped both his wrists, riding the pleasure. His length pushed through her shuddering flesh once, twice, a third time.
Her body sank slowly into a languid buzz but his only became tighter, his thrusts faster and harder, his breathing more labored. She was as pliable as dough and just as oblivious, so she bounced and jerked in his arms, accepting every inch of cock slammed into her. Then his hips paused, undulating against her. She licked her lips as something warm spurted inside her and Iain made the most delicious groan, harsh yet relieved. He didn’t let go of her though, didn’t even loosen his tight hold around her.
His voice was thick when he said, “I think I’ve already fallen.”
—
It was only a few moments later that Aili banged on the door with her cane. Emma and Iain both quickly pulled on their clothes and Iain, as always, avoided as much conversation with the old woman as he could by leaving to start his morning chores. Emma leaned toward him for a kiss but he cleared his throat and stepped away from her, exiting the house. She couldn’t deny that it had hurt—terribly—but she did try to deny that it was anything personal. She supposed that he simply hadn’t wanted to kiss her in front of Aili.
Of course, Aili was ecstatic to hear that she had decided to stay. The elderly woman even grabbed her hands and hobble-danced in a circle, singing off-key in her gravelly voice. More surprising than that was her gleeful praise of Iain. “I knew that boy was good for something!” she hooted.
They spent the next hour preparing breakfast, a job made much easier and more interesting by the abundance of rarer ingredients that the laird had gifted to Iain and Kenneth—ingredients that she once took for granted. Then, when everyone else arrived for their first meal of the day, she hastily pulled her kerchief off her face and smoothed her tangled hair, which she had forgotten to brush.
The farmhands had been ribbing Iain on his newer, smoother look but when he came in the door with Thomas trapped in a headlock, his playful mood faded the second his gaze landed on her and the heat in his eyes warmed her even better than the fire only a few feet away. Thomas escaped Iain’s hold and Kenneth cheerfully shoved Iain aside in order to enter the house.
Sitting next to him during the meal was both wonderful and embarrassing since everyone else at the table watched them with little smiles. Even Beth seemed to know because she kept grinning at Iain, though she was probably just amused by his clean-shaven face. After thirty minutes of happy blushing, everyone headed out again. Iain squeezed her hand and the corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile, hinting at the most adorable dimple, but he still didn’t pucker up and she didn’t force it since five people happened to be watching them.
By midmorning, though, the mystery of why he wouldn’t kiss her was starting to gnaw at her. He hadn’t kissed her when they made love last night or when he had taken her again that morning. It didn’t make sense.
“What has ye frowning now?” Aili asked, kneading a fresh batch of bread dough. Emma hadn’t realized that she had stopped kneading her own batch of dough, or even that she was frowning.
Pulling her fingers from the sticky substance and rubbing her hands together, she sighed, “Nothing.”
After adding another splash of water, Auld Aili the Bread-Making-Machine continued kneading. “Well, that proves it. If ye had been daydreaming about Iain, ye would have giggled when ye said that.”
“Aili!” she whispered sharply.
“So what has ye frowning? Was the boy nae as good as I guessed?”
Emma imploringly said the woman’s name again, now certain that her cheeks were heating up. “Lass, I was married for over thirty years. I’m no innocent girl and ye know I dinna embarrass at all.”
Walking around the table and taking a seat on the bench opposite Aili, she wiped her hands on her apron and pulled down her kerchief again. “He hasn’t kissed me yet.”
“What? Wh—I’m going to bury my foot up his—”
“So it’s unusual that he hasn’t? Well…why?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he want to kiss me?” Aili opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. “You don’t know, do you,” she said. “The stonemason’s daughter, did he kiss her?”
“I never saw him kiss her in front of me—”
“Aili,” she pleaded.
The old woman let out a tired sigh and pushed away the bowl of kneaded dough. She began to wipe off her hands on a linen towel. “My eyes were a little better then and from a distance, I did see him kiss her.”
Emma began blinking as tears welled up out of nowhere. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to hide her weepy reaction. Suddenly the old woman’s hand was on her shoulder. “Dear, he has a reason. Ask him later and he’ll tell ye. Maybe he thought his breath smelled bad.” An airy laugh burst out and Emma smiled up at her elderly friend.
“Or maybe mine was bad,” she guessed.
“The lord knows my husband never smelled good,” Aili joked.
Emma was laughing when a shadow filled the open entrance. Iain stood casually in the doorframe, his hands braced on the doorjambs and his eyes only on her.
“Is that Iain?” Aili said, squinting in his direction. “Oh of course it is. Set this one aside, dear.” She touched the edge of the bowl in front of her. “I’ll fetch more water.” Emma’s heart leapt when Iain stepped into the house and she both hated and loved the giddy nervousness that made her start fidgeting. She stood up to take care of Aili’s bowl, glancing up only once to watch the old woman totter outside. Iain still stood by the door.