by Ruby Duvall
One of his brawny arms held her tight and she could feel his erection pressing against the softness of her abdomen, pulling her attention downward. Iain brushed his nose against hers and took her mouth in another kiss. She slid her left arm down his body, fished under the hem of his tunic and grasped the warm, thick cock prodding her navel. Iain grunted against her lips. She rubbed her thighs together when he began thrusting into her fist. He was so warm in her hand, so velvety smooth and yet so hard.
“Iain,” she gasped, pulling her lips away. “I…”
“What is it?” He pressed more kisses to her cheeks.
Her cheeks burned as she realized she had no eloquent way to tell him what she wanted to do to him and he wouldn’t understand modern slang. “I w-want this,” she stuttered, lightly squeezing him as he pushed into her grip. “In my mouth.”
He paused for a couple of seconds, his eyes staring into hers with obvious disbelief. “Aye,” he groaned. “Hold onto me.” He picked her up and they exchanged more kisses as he walked to the table. Though she was surprised that he didn’t carry her to the bed, she was glad he didn’t—the table was closer and she was already soaking wet. When he set her on her feet in front of the bench, she was eager to sit and pull his hips between her knees but he stopped her by gripping her arms.
“I want ye naked for this,” he purred. She didn’t think it was possible but her heart beat even faster, thumping inside her chest as loudly as a drum while his hands pulled at her laces. Once there was enough slack, Iain pushed both garments off her shoulders and past her hips. Her dress fell against the bench and to the ground with a muffled rustle. His smoldering eyes perused her nudity, his glance just as real as the stroke of his hand. He slowly knelt, letting her use his shoulders for balance while he helped her step out of her clothes.
She felt silly wearing only her black sneakers, so while Iain set her dress in a haphazard pile on the end of the table, she shucked her shoes, not caring about the dirt floor. She sat down. As Iain came to stand in front of her, he unfastened his belt and cast it aside. He pulled his tunic up and over his head, tossing it on top of her dress.
Her breaths began to come in short and shallow. He stood over her, the insides of his knees brushing the outsides of her thighs. When he fisted his hand in her hair and brushed the side of her face with his other fingers, she whimpered softly and leaned forward with the gentle push of his hand. She licked her lips.
Holding the root of his thick length, she laved the head of his cock in one long lick from the back of her tongue to the tip. Iain made a soft noise, as though someone squeezed the air from his lungs.
She licked him again and then again, tantalizing him with slow passes up the length of her tongue. It was barely ten seconds before he was pulling her closer, straining for more. She pumped her hand up and down his shaft, pressing the tip of her tongue against the slit on the head. Exploring the sensitive skin, she heard his breathy groan and looked up to find him watching her. She held his gaze as she slid him between her lips.
Watching his face as she pushed him deeper into her mouth, as she then pulled her lips back up the smooth, hard length while trying to suck him back inside her mouth, Emma had never felt more powerful, even though he was the one standing up.
“God,” he grunted before pulling in a shuddering breath.
She sped up, bobbing up and down his cock. She gripped his thigh with her free hand, feeling his muscles clench as his hips began moving in time with her mouth. His other hand went to the back of her head. The little grunts and sighs that issued from his mouth affected her far more than she had expected. She wriggled on the bench, squeezing her thighs together whenever he sped up and relaxing whenever he tried to slow down. His groans grew louder but he swallowed them and his hips paused. He was holding back.
Growing impatient, she cupped him from underneath and stroked. Iain threw his head back, releasing a loud, harsh breath. His fist in her hair pulled her back and his shaft left her mouth with a soft, wet pop.
Though it had lasted only a couple of minutes, Iain was already dragging her to her feet. He leaned down, simultaneously kissing her and sliding his hands around the back of her thighs. She grabbed onto his shoulders. He lifted her and stepped over the bench. Reaching back, she braced her palm on the table as he leaned forward to set her down.
“’Tis good ye’re on the table,” he said, pulling his lips away.
She licked her lips, trying to find her voice. “Why?”
Iain nuzzled her again, a smile pulling up one side of his mouth. His answer was soft and low. “Because I intend to eat ye.”
Her vision blurred and didn’t focus no matter how many times she blinked. She struggled for air even as he kissed her neck. His tongue flicked out and touched the hollow of her throat. Lower he went, one hand palming her breast and the other boldly sliding between her legs. His longest finger pulled up on the knot of nerves hidden in her folds.
She rubbed her fingers across the nape of his neck and watched his lips tug on the pert peak of her breast. Once it was flushed with color, she brought her hand to her other breast, pushing it toward his mouth as he kissed his way across her chest. She groaned as he slid a finger inside her. Her back arched when he sucked her other nipple into his mouth.
Biting down on her lip, she rubbed her knees against his sides. The quiet night made it easy to hear his mouth on her skin, the wet glide of his fingers inside her. His teeth lightly scraped the blushing flesh in his mouth. Her lips fell open. She softly but swiftly inhaled. His lips released her breast and he meandered lower, gently nipping the skin on her abdomen.
Holding herself up with both hands, she watched with flushed cheeks as he lifted her knees, could feel his damp fingers gripping the back of her thigh. His eyes burned with lust as he sat and propped her thighs on his shoulders. He then pressed close as though he were about to start a meal, his heavy gaze sliding down her body while his hands slid up, caressing her from her knees to her hips. She could feel his breath on her skin.
Her eyes closed when he pressed his mouth against her and dipped his tongue between her lips. It wasn’t the first time a man had done this for her, so she had an idea what to expect but Iain wasn’t just any guy. He was her perfect match. He was made for her, just as she was made for him.
The fire’s pops died away. The faint sigh of the night breeze blowing past the house faded. She could only hear the smacking noises of his lips and tongue. She couldn’t feel the hard wood beneath her hands and backside. She could only feel his chiseled shoulders beneath her thighs, his strong, coarse hands stroking her skin, his firm mouth…
Her breath caught in her throat. She tensed.
When she opened her eyes again, she lay fully upon the table, one hand loosely gripping the edge below and one hand slipping free of Iain’s hair. Both hands ached terribly and there was a ringing in her ears. The room was spinning but it was worse when she briefly closed her eyes, so she kept them open. Iain lifted her thighs from his shoulders and stood.
“Stay with me,” he said roughly. The wide head of his cock nudged the entrance to her body. She wasn’t sure if she could take any more just then but she couldn’t find her tongue to speak.
Iain leaned over her with a deep, breathy moan as his hips pressed forward. “Just ease up.” He grabbed the opposite edge of the table and planted his other hand by her shoulder. She flattened her hand on his chest, trying to stay relaxed but with every inch that penetrated her, it became harder not to clamp down. “That’s it,” he whispered as he worked farther inside. “Ye can take all of me.”
One at a time, Emma brought her feet up from the bench and braced them on the edge of the table. The position opened her just a little wider. He pulled back slightly and then firmly bucked, sinking in to the hilt.
His eyes found hers and for a few poignant heartbeats, they didn’t move. She wanted to say something, to tell him how dearly she loved him, to vow that she would be his until her dying day but she couldn’t. Nothing would
come out.
He drew back. She couldn’t help it when she squeezed, wanting to keep him inside. He growled her name and began a jarring rhythm, one that shook the entire table. Her other hand hit the wood with a slap as she grabbed the edge. Each urgent lunge stole her breath and she could only accept, only submit. She quickly caught on though, canting her hips up to meet every thrust.
It was so much to feel. Her emotions were still tender and his declaration of love was still fresh in her mind. Her lips throbbed from his searing kisses and her legs shook with strain. Though the table was solid beneath her, she could hear it protesting the weight, the movement. She could hear the water sloshing around in the nearby bowl. She could hear Iain sucking in shallow breaths, could see the ecstasy on his face. She wondered if she looked as out of control as he did, for her body was no longer under her own authority. It sought him like the waves sought the shoreline, surging against his pounding hips, undulating under him.
She couldn’t look anywhere else but his face—didn’t want to. His eyes obviously watched where he was driving himself into her body, perhaps fascinated by the sight the same as she was fascinated by his expression. He inhaled through his teeth, releasing it with a wide-mouthed groan. His forehead was covered with sweat. The muscles in his arms bulged as his entire body tightened, focusing its power between her thighs.
Her climax rose from deep inside—not sudden but imminent, like she was about to be hit by a train. Heat bloomed, intensifying as every muscle in her body contracted, yet still it didn’t arrive, didn’t explode but only built higher. Iain opened his mouth as if he would speak but all that came out was a strangled sound.
Pleasure erupted. Her back bowed sharply, her vision blurred and her eyes fluttered shut. Iain was right on her heels, pushing deep inside and giving her everything he had. For several long, glorious seconds, she was only a tactile creature—blind and deaf to everything else but basking in something pure and all-consuming.
Iain’s bellowing roar still echoed in her ears when her other senses slammed back into place. His hips continued to ram against her and then undulate for a few seconds before jabbing again. Emma gasped for air and whimpered as she throbbed around his hard cock for a moment more until finally, her body was quiet again.
The insides of her thighs were wet with pleasure and the skin on her back was a little tender but she sighed contentedly, not caring that she was splayed across the table. Her leaden limbs were too heavy to lift anyway.
She licked her lips and then swallowed, finding her voice. “Iain, that was…just…”
His fingers greedily stroked across her abdomen. “Aye, I was thinking the same.”
“Then does that mean you’re thinking what I’m thinking now?” she asked with a lazy smile.
Iain grinned.
—
Emma collapsed onto the bed, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. It was difficult to breathe with her face against the mattress though, so she turned over, wincing as her muscles objected. She was going to be so sore in the morning. The thought made her smile.
Her lover rolled against her side, his hand sliding over her ribs and grasping her other arm. “Have ye ever ridden a horse?” he asked. She turned her head to look at him, her close-lipped smile growing wider into a full grin.
“Only a couple of times.” She curled her fingers around his forearm lying across her stomach. Her eyes followed as he boosted his head up with the heel of his other hand. He smiled rather lasciviously at her and her heart twisted as his dimples appeared again.
“Yet ye ride so well.”
She laughed, stroking his arm as she answered. “I had a very good mount.”
“Ye didna travel much before?”
Emma didn’t have to guess what “before” meant. “Horses weren’t really used for traveling—or won’t be. You’re right though. I didn’t travel very much.”
Her comment sparked interest in his eyes. “If nae horses, how did ye travel?” She breathed in to answer but quickly realized that she didn’t know exactly how to answer. Iain didn’t know about trains or machinery. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“It’s not easy to explain what a car is. Um…think of a big cage.” She tried to shape her hands into the vague shape of a car. “It has doors in the sides so that you and other people can get inside and sit. The car can move on its own without animals to pull it. It uses a special fuel and one person drives it with pedals on the floor to control the speed and a wheel to change the direction.”
“Wait, that round thing ye were carrying—”
She was glad he remembered. “Yes, exactly. I was actually driving a car when I—well, anyway, I’m not sure why the steering wheel came with me. I mean, why only the wheel and not the entire…” The end of her sentence was lost as two thoughts finally merged into one realization.
“What is it?” Iain asked.
The wheel was what had killed her. She hit it first when the careening SUV slammed into her front end. Emma looked up at the serious expression on Iain’s face.
“Is that how ye died?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “Cars can go very fast and if anyone makes a mistake, then accidents happen.” His arm pulled her tighter against him.
“Yer parents lost their only other child?”
“Not their only… My mother was pregnant when I left, so—I can’t imagine how painful it was for them to—” Emma swallowed. “I just hope the baby is okay.”
“Oh-kei?”
“Okay is the same as ‘all right’,” she explained. “I mean, my mother is strong but…” Iain smoothed his hand up to her face and brushed his thumb across her frowning lips.
“I’m sorry. I shouldna have said aught.”
She swallowed, shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. I think it makes me feel better to tell you.” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her mouth. He looked puzzled.
“The fashion in yer time was quite strange. So much uncovered skin and unnatural coloring, though I think it was yer hair that amazed me most.” His words made her smile again.
“I should probably explain that. I had been on my way to a…uh, special holiday celebration. My clothes, hair and makeup—um, coloring were only a costume.”
“A kos-toom?”
She wracked her brain for a similar word. “Yeah, um…a disguise?”
“Why would ye wear a disguise to a celebration?”
“The point of Halloween is to become someone else and fool the visiting dead spirits. I think Halloween is descended from Samhain?” She was sure she was butchering the pronunciation.
Iain’s eyebrows pinched together for a few seconds as he pondered that silently but then they shot up. “Ye mean Oidhche Shamhna? Yer family must have been very wealthy to buy silk for such an occasion.”
She was about to correct him and say that the dress hadn’t been all that expensive but she stopped herself. “I suppose we were. I hadn’t realized.” She glanced at the obvious question on Iain’s face. “Well, my family would’ve been considered ‘middle class’.”
“Middle?” It was Iain’s turn to frown. “I canna clothe ye in silk and rare furs or adorn ye with silver buttons and jeweled girdles. I canna even afford most spices.”
She reached up to touch his hand. “Oh Iain, I don’t need any of those things. That was a different time and place.” Literally.
“Next season, I’ll be able to sow barley. I could someday give such things to ye.”
With a smile, she pressed her fingers against his lips. “Iain, please. Right here is what I need. The only thing.”
Iain pulled her hand away and leaned over her. She licked her lips in anticipation, shutting her eyes. His kiss was tender, almost chaste.
It still made her toes curl.
He lifted his mouth a moment later and did the nuzzling thing that only made her want to kiss him more. “Although it would be nice to have a pair of shoes,” she said.
His dimples made a
nother appearance. “Then ye shall have them.”
She smoothed her hand up his chest as they exchanged more kisses and her fingers found the long scar that ran from his shoulder to his opposite side. Curiosity struck her and as she explored the scarred flesh, she wondered how a simple crofter had received such a wound. She thought of how painful it must have been and of how high the chance for infection had been. She was contemplating a way to ask him about it when his hand wrapped around her fingers.
“It happened many years ago when I was only a year older than Malcolm.” He lifted his head to look at her. “For my size, I was chosen to be trained as one of the laird’s leuchd-crios to guard him when he traveled, and on the road to Kilmartin, we were set upon by a group of men. I was trained well but I was inexperienced and the man who came at me was many years my senior.”
Iain set the tips of her fingers at the top of the scar and slowly pulled her fingers down and across the old wound, letting her sensitive fingertips feel every inch. “James saved my life when he pulled me back. The rain saved it again when I slipped and dodged a swing from another man that would’ve taken my head off.” Enthralled, she couldn’t look away from his intense eyes. “That second man was the first I ever killed.”
“Iain,” she said softly.
“I served the laird until the winter when my uncle died and my mother begged the laird to return me to her. I was about yer age then. Kenneth had just married my sister.”
“I noticed your right knee. Did that happen while you were a…a, uh—”
“A leuchd-crios?” Emma nodded. Iain actually smiled. “No, I was thatching the roof and fell. It hurt far worse than this did,” he joked.
“Seems hard to believe.” He leaned down again and she tilted her chin up to catch his kiss. His fingers brushed the chain of her locket and he paused before his lips could touch hers. “Iain?”
“Will you ever be able to take it off?”
She worried the inside of her lip, shaking her head. “Neither of the notes was very specific. Maybe someday I can but…I don’t think so.”