by Lynn Tyler
He teased the areola, biting at it gently until she was begging for him to take her in his mouth. Finally, finally, he closed his lips around her nipple and suckled her gently, reprimanding her with a quick nip when she let go of the post and buried her hand in his thick hair. The bite sent her pleasure higher, and she wondered if she would pass out before he finished with her.
His left hand slipped down her side to caress the smooth line of skin that connected her thigh to her hip. Goose bumps broke out across her groin, and she moaned incoherently. She clenched the cheeks of her bottom and very subtly tried to direct his wandering fingers toward her distended clit.
“What do you want?” he asked seductively, lifting his head from her breast.
“My clit, Robbie,” Jocelyn groaned as his finger traced her outer lips all the while avoiding the small button of her pleasure. “Ooohhh. Touch it.”
Kneeling in front of her, he kissed his way down her belly and poked his tongue into her belly button. “Touch it?” he asked, combing his fingers through the soft curls that covered her. “Are you sure that is what you want? It looks like your little clit is inflamed and agitated. The poor thing requires a delicate touch, I am sure. My hands are large and rough.”
He pressed his finger to the very top of her clit, and she jerked involuntarily, frantic to force his fingers to slip down just a fraction to the throbbing tip.
“Robbie, please!” she cried. Jocelyn nearly screamed with frustration when he moved his finger off her clit and slid it down to her wet slit. Oh God, if he left her like this, she would lose her mind.
Her heart was racing, pounding as if it would burst right through her chest. She was panting from the exquisite pleasure her husband was lavishing on her. Jocelyn never wanted it to end, but she needed the explosive climax she knew wasn’t far off. All he had to do was touch it. One touch and she would explode.
“Aye,” Robbie mused against her lower belly. “Aye, my hands are far too rough. But a kiss would be gentle enough, right, lass? Would you have me kiss it? Lick it? Suckle your hard clit until you came all over my mouth?”
Jocelyn was beyond her ability to answer him, but Robbie didn’t seem to care. He simply spread her legs with his shoulders and nuzzled her inner thigh. “Or perhaps a silk ribbon. It would slide along your clit and through your pussy until it was soaked.”
She gasped at the idea of Robbie running a ribbon between her legs, her body literally melting at the thought. Again, before she could express her enthusiasm for his wicked proposal, he continued, his finger gently stroking her opening, dipping in slightly before retreating.
“Or shall I buy you some pearls? Deck you out in feathers? The possibilities of what I could do with your body are endless.” He buried his finger in her suddenly and curved it slightly and pressed against that particularly sensitive spot he had discovered a few days ago.
Robbie’s breath feathered across her tight, hard clit, and she swore it swelled even more, straining toward him. “But for now, imp, I think a kiss will do.”
Jocelyn watched with bated breath as his head bent toward her and saw his lips as they parted and covered her clit. She nearly shouted in triumph as sensations rocketed though her.
The tension in her body wound higher and higher until she was standing on her toes, her hips rocking madly against his mouth. He pulled away and looked up at her, his mouth and chin glossy from her juices.
“I told you not to move,” he growled and gripped her hips. “I will have to discipline you.” He blew a cool stream of air over her overheated clit and returned to kissing her hips, groin, and thighs while her body settled somewhat.
“Discipline me how?” she asked, not believing what she had just asked. In any other situation, she would be fuming and holding her own against him. But here and now, naked and at his mercy, she reveled in the chance to give up control. She trusted him implicitly with her body and sensed that, no matter his idea of discipline, he would make sure she liked it.
“Perhaps I shall tease you but deny your climax. I can do this all night long.”
“No!” she cried plaintively.
He flicked his tongue out over her clit, and she all but sobbed with pleasure. “Since it is our wedding night, I will forego your punishment. But do not move again until I tell you.”
Past all coherent thought, she could not force rational words from her mouth. She simply nodded and raised her hands over her head to grab the bedpost again. Robbie lifted one of her legs so it draped over his shoulder, her full weight resting on her other leg. He gripped her ass, kneading the muscles, and suckled her clit back into his mouth. He flicked his tongue against it while increasing the suction and began to rub his fingertip over the sensitive spot inside her slit.
She tightened her hands on the post, sure she was leaving nail marks in the polished wood. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any better, he cupped her hips and lifted her closer to his mouth. She bit her lip to stifle her scream just as he closed his teeth gently on her clit and tugged.
A wave of pleasure rolled through her, and she shattered into a thousand pieces, only vaguely aware of Robbie supporting her entire weight as her legs gave out. Her entire being was focused on the spasming muscles that gripped Robbie’s finger and the flexing ridge of flesh he still suckled.
Her vision swam with little black dots, and she wondered briefly if it was possible to die from pleasure. Suddenly she found herself on her back with Robbie stretched out beside her, rubbing his big hand over her stomach and speaking in her ear.
“Breathe, imp. In, out, in, out…that’s it, darling,” he crooned when she followed his instructions.
Jocelyn rolled onto her side and stared at him through drowsy, satisfied eyes. He gathered her close and nuzzled into her hair as he stroked her back soothingly. She cuddled closer, murmuring a sleepy complaint when he eased onto his back and arranged her against him so that her head rested on his chest. She slid her arm across his waist and threw her leg over his. Cradled against his warm, strong body, she was lulled to sleep by the steady beat of his heart.
* * * *
Robbie just about cried when he realized that he’d loved his bride into exhaustion and he would have no release himself. Her leg brushed against the bottom of his cock as she settled into his arms and fell asleep.
Sweet Heaven, he was rock hard and fiercely sensitive, and the right touch would send him over the edge. Did he dare stroke himself off while his wife slept in his arms? On the other hand, did he dare attend his wedding feast with a cock the size and shape of a log?
Jocelyn snuggled closer, her arm tightening around his waist and her leg sliding farther over his. Her pussy pressed against his hip, letting him feel her damp folds. Oh, he didn’t think he could resist.
“God forgive me,” he murmured as he slid his hand down his belly and gripped the root of his cock. He simply held it for a few seconds, feeling it pulse with each heartbeat. Very carefully, so as not to wake Jocelyn, he skimmed his fist higher, stopping just below the mushroom-shaped head. He swiped his thumb over the head, spreading the drop of moisture that had formed on the tip.
Closing his eyes, Robbie imagined it was Jocelyn’s hand stroking him. That she was kissing him and murmuring love words in his ear as she pleasured his body. His balls tightened and drew closer to his body, held back only by the pressure of her thigh. His wife sighed and snuggled closer, nuzzling her nose into his neck and melting back into him. That he could be concerned about his body’s desires while he should be concentrating on letting the delicate beauty next to him sleep, shamed him. And yet, his body’s demands were too persistent.
He closed his fist over the head of his cock and pumped his hand in rough, tight strokes. He concentrated on the violently responsive head, his hand moving almost punishingly.
Suddenly, his balls convulsed, and long ropes of seed shot out to cover his belly and chest. Once he was finally finished, he grabbed the nearest thing he could find to wipe up the mess, h
is shirt. Tossing it on the ground in disgust, he looked down at Jocelyn, startled to find her staring up at him with wide eyes.
“I am sorry, imp,” he apologized.
“For what?” she asked, though she blushed brilliantly.
Robbie cleared his throat and forced himself to say the words. “For waking you with my…pleasure.”
Jocelyn nodded jerkily and rested her head back on his chest. He expected her to ask questions, but she was curiously silent. He figured he might as well get the questioning out of the way. “Is there anything you want to ask, imp?”
“About what?” she asked.
Now he was the one blushing. He could feel his skin heating, including the tips of his ears, which always turned scarlet when he was embarrassed. Raising his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking Jocelyn, he mumbled a response. “About a man’s body, how a man and woman make a child, anything?”
She shuddered against him and made a small, strangled sound. She continued to shake, and Robbie became concerned. What in the hell had he said to drive her to tears? “Jocelyn,” he said urgently, trying to see her face. “Jocelyn, what did I do?”
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. And yet, she had a big smile on her face. He’d driven his wife to tears of laughter. “Questions about where a child comes from?” She let out a fresh peal of laughter, no longer trying to conceal her giggles. “Really? Robbie, I am a healer. I know where children come from.”
Robbie wished he could sink into the mattress and disappear. Of course she knew where children came from. Aside from being trained as a healer, she was far from sheltered. He may have given her her first orgasm just a few days ago, but she clearly knew more than the average lass. God, would he ever stop making an ass of himself around his new wife? He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the window rather than his wife. “Regardless, I am sorry I woke you.”
She sat up as well, clutching the furs to her breasts. “No matter,” she replied, still smiling at him. “We need to dress for the feast anyway.”
Jocelyn wrapped the fur around her and crawled to the edge of the bed to gaze ruefully at the dress he had stripped from her. It had dropped into the puddle that had gathered after he’d gotten out of the bath. Robbie was rather horrified by the fact he’d treated her possessions so carelessly. After all, it was one of the only two dresses she had packed.
She stooped down and gathered up her dress, shaking it out with a rather rueful look on her face. “The water will not hurt it,” she said as if reading his mind. “It is just that I am always getting into messes.”
Robbie took the wet dress from her and hung it over the window ledge to dry. “Tell me about these messes,” he said, eager to know anything about his wife she was willing to share with him.
She laughed again as she donned her chemise she must have dug out of her satchel earlier. Reaching for her other dress, she slipped it over her head and turned so he could do up her laces. “My father could tell you tales that would curl your toes. He swore his hair turned gray because of me. Let me see…”
She smiled over her shoulder at him, and his heart fell at her feet. “There was a time I wanted a sweet pastry from the village baker so I ran through the village screaming that the English were raiding. Stupid of me really since we are so far from the border it wouldn’t have been the English raiding, but everyone believed me. During the panic, I slipped into the bakery and took my treat. Well, more than one, really.”
Smiling at the image of a small lass causing a riot, Robbie finished lacing her dress. He slid his hands down her arms and cupped her hips, pulling her close to him. “What happened?” he asked.
“My father caught me eating the pastries in the woods when he came to find me. Of course, I had not thought out a good excuse as to why I had the pastries, and he figured out the whole thing rather quickly. He sent me to bed without supper and made me scrub the stone floor with cold water.”
She sighed and leaned back against him, covering his hands with her smaller ones. He relished the feel of her body heat and her slight weight. “My hands and knees were raw for days, but it was worth it. I do love a sweet pastry.”
He tucked that little piece of information away and dropped his head to press his lips to her hair. She smelled clean and warm, a scent he could only identify as female. His female, a little voice said in his head. “How old were you when you thought up that scheme?” he asked.
She giggled, and he felt it like a velvet caress up his back. “I was but five. My father claims he found his first gray hair that night.”
Robbie laughed out loud, delighted with her spirit. Why his brothers ever thought he would be content with a passive, sheltered lass he would never know.
Mind, he would have to reign in his bride slightly. It wouldn’t do if she simply ran for the nunnery every time he made a decision she didn’t agree with. A knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” he ordered, releasing Jocelyn reluctantly.
The door swung open to reveal Will. “Everyone is waiting,” he said with a wry smile. “Will you be gracing us with your presence or shall I tell everyone to enjoy the feast without you?”
He grinned at his brother and saw the surprised pleasure on Will’s face. Robbie knew it had been some time since he’d smiled from joy, and Will had obviously noticed. “We will be coming down now.”
Will nodded and stepped aside so the two of them could pass. They walked down the stairs and into the great hall where it seemed the entire village had turned out to celebrate their laird’s marriage. Or, more likely, out of curiosity to see the woman who had finally married their murdering laird.
Robbie’s good mood drained away and was replaced by sadness and anger. He kept the smile plastered on his face as he looked out over his people. Offering Jocelyn his arm, he guided her to the laird’s table and accepted the goblet from a passing servant, gulping half of it down in one swallow.
The servants marched in with platters of food, serving first him and Jocelyn, then everyone else. He drained the last half of his wine, wishing for ale, and stood, gesturing for the village priest to say grace.
Once grace was said, Robbie caught the attention of the villagers, which wasn’t hard to do since they were all staring at him quietly. Good Lord in Heaven, he hated speaking in front of large groups about personal matters. Clan matters were different, but these were the very same people who believed the worst of him. “My wife, Jocelyn,” he said gruffly.
She patted his hand encouragingly, and he felt even more like an idiot. He was not some youth to be coddled by a female, no matter how much he desired her approval. And he did desire her approval. Jocelyn nodded graciously and smiled out at his people, ignoring the silence.
Robbie sat down next to her again and signaled a servant for another drink. She brought him a mug of the dark ale he generally preferred, and he tossed it down at once, asking for whisky.
Will and Jamie began talking loudly to cover the hush that had fallen over the people, something they often did. Robbie merely glowered down at his meal, no longer interested in eating.
The serving girl brought his whisky, and he drank it down. “Shall I keep you supplied?” she asked. He nodded and listened to the whispers of the villagers as they began to speak amongst themselves. Gossip about his first marriage and the outcome of his second marriage, he guessed.
Jocelyn laid her hand on his forearm, pulling his attention back to her. The concern in her gaze was almost his undoing. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Robbie nodded and tossed back yet another swallow of whisky, resigning himself to a long night.
Chapter 9
Robbie scowled into his whisky before taking another swig of the potent brew and watched as his people hesitantly approached Jocelyn. Her warm smile and friendly attitude soon had them swarming around her like bees to honey in a way they never were with him.
She spoke intently to Rowan’s wife, Anna, a heavily pregnant lass who looke
d as if she would drop the babe any time. Jocelyn laid her hands on Anna’s belly and concentrated fiercely. Anna froze, and Jocelyn palpated her large belly gently. Nodding, she looked up at Anna, and Robbie could just hear what she said. “Well, it was not a strong contraction, but it was one nonetheless. I would say your delivery could come any time now. Have the midwife fetch me should she need any assistance.”
Anna nodded as well and rubbed her back as if it pained her. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, smiling gratefully. “My Rowan is mighty scared for me. The midwife thinks the babe will be large.”
Jocelyn smiled at the girl and patted her hand. “Aye, the babe may be large, but many women have born large children and gone on to have many more.”
Irritated, Robbie drained his mug and signaled for another. This should have been a night of loving, of passion. He should be sneaking her off to their room and kissing her. He should have her on his bed, watching her body arch for his and hearing his name fall from her lips. Instead he sat stiffly by her side as she smiled at anyone who approached.
A strong hand landed on his shoulder, and he heard Will’s voice close to his ear. “Better go easy on the whisky, brother. You know it does not sit well with you.”
Robbie ignored him as Anna moved back to her husband, tossing Robbie a shy smile as she passed in front of him. Robbie stared pensively into his drink. He pictured Jocelyn ripe with his child. He would be the best of husbands should his wife fall pregnant, he decided. He would wait on her every minute of every day. He would see to it she got whatever she wanted. He would be there to rub her back when it hurt.
The image of Jocelyn cradling a tiny babe to her breast fired his blood and sent his heart racing. Besides, wasn’t that the very reason he had married her in the first place?
Deciding there was no time like the present to begin a family, he drained the last of his mead and made to grab his wife’s shoulder. The room spun wildly, and he clutched at the back of Jocelyn’s chair as he tried desperately to remain on his feet. He had consumed more whisky than he had intended. Indeed, it did not sit well with him. It never had. In fact, he rarely drank more than a cup of the stuff for this exact reason.