PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  But he wasn’t using the hold to support her. His fingers massaged and toyed, each move sending thrills she’d never felt before. Her breasts grew wickedly heavy. Deliciously alert. Somehow enlarged within his hands.

  Oh, my!

  Ainslee caught breath after breath as her nipples turned into darts of sensitivity. Sparks shot from where they were jammed against the restriction of satin and ribbon to join the myriad of sensations pooling in her belly and nether area. And it just kept getting stronger. Hotter. And larger.

  Ainslee tilted her head, making access easier for him. Niall pushed the bodice of her gown down, slid his hands beneath the boning of her corset, and touched flesh. And Ainslee’s knees gave out. She sagged minutely before he lifted her, bending his knees to support her, all the while his fingers continued questing, reaching, and then toying with the crests of each breast. Ainslee grabbed a huge breath, slammed her eyes shut, and watched a spear of lightning flash through her vision. She arched back. Sent moans winging outward. Niall continued his circular motion. Sending sensation. Fire. And intensity. Ainslee arched backward.

  “Oh, my. Oh, Niall. Niall. I did na’—”

  “It’s Neal, babe.”

  His voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it. With a sobbed sound at the end. Tormented-sounding, yet still commanding. It rumbled through her back where she pressed to him. Punctured through the bubble of bliss that gathered about her. His fingers continually played with her nubs, pulling. Massaging. Moving quicker and quicker. A riot of sensation built within her. Enlarged. And then it erupted.

  “Neal!”

  The name was a cry. It hovered in the room about them, blending with his groan. The suction of his lips grew harder. More fierce. He moved his caress up her throat, reached an ear, and sent a blizzard of shivers with every motion of his tongue and lips on the spot. Each of Ainslee’s panted breaths ended in a moan.

  “Ah!”

  He yanked his head back, and gave a tormented-sounding cry.

  “This is not working! I have to be gentle! Slow. Measured!”

  He spun her around, and set her atop the platform, placing her above him and then stepped back. One step. Two. He was breathing harshly. His nostrils flared. He began shuddering.

  “Oh, Ainslee. You are beautiful beyond belief. Beloved beyond measure. And I am scaring the crap out of myself with just how much I want you and how difficult it is to keep it contained. Ah!”

  This time the cry was long. Loud. And extremely deep. He’d pulled his arms close to his sides, and made such tight fists of his hands that the knuckled whitened. His head was flung back. Cords lifted out of the skin. Ainslee was transfixed. Enrapt.

  Awestruck.

  And then he lowered his head and caught her gaze.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The leather sporran wasn’t hard enough. Even filled with sundry items to create a weighted barrier atop his groin, it didn’t help. All the sporran did was bob up and down with every twinge of his erection. This was beyond painful. Neal had never been this near to losing it. The combination of want, need, desire, and lust was at combustible level. He hadn’t exaggerated earlier, but terrified might not be a big enough word to convey this. He wasn’t just dealing with testosterone. He was struggling with something volcanic. The driving force hammered at his restraint efforts with the same painful hits it was giving his groin.

  His entire vision got colored with a red wash. It increased in hue with each throbbing beat of his heart. Dark red. Light red wash. Dark red. Light red wash. Dark red. That color coordinated with the bodice of her dress, gapped open now and hanging off her upper arms. It exactly matched the little red corset she wore, too. Neal struggled not to look. Nothing obeyed. This was insane. Her corset wasn’t just sexily revealing. It shoved her breasts to the top of the lace, and he’d pushed it down enough that little dark nipples peeked above there.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, shit.

  He forced his gaze upward. Nothing on his body obeyed. Because of her. And...crap. Looked like he’d marked her neck. She had such delicate-looking skin. That was going to bruise.

  “Neal?”

  Pleasure rippled through him at hearing his name from her lips. Pronounced correctly. It sent a whiff of cool air atop a bonfire of emotion. It wasn’t much, but enough that he managed to answer.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m na’...afraid.”

  She sure sounded it. Neal snarled. That was an excruciatingly bad sign. He’d been attempting a smile.

  “You should be,” he finally answered.

  “But I ken...what happens a-tween a man and woman.”

  Oh, shit.

  Double shit.

  She blushed.

  All kinds of heat started accompanying the red hue before his eyes. As if fire licked at his ass. The backs of his thighs. His spine. Shoulders. Neal wrenched every muscle in his body into submission to keep from lunging for her. Grabbing her to him...

  ...and mauling.

  “I mean...I am na’ a bairn. I’ve seen horses. ‘Tis na’ that scary.”

  “I don’t think we’re dealing with the norm here, Ainslee.”

  The words were croaked. Guttural. Sounded like a man in torture. Something in his attire ripped. None of his shirts had much give to them. Neal had figured they’d taken his measurements when he’d first arrived and been sewing everything to his exact frame. One thing was obvious. He hadn’t been flexing when they’d done their measuring. And linen didn’t stretch. There wasn’t room for the pressure he was putting on the garment right now. From the feel of it, a shoulder seam had given up the fight.

  “But...I love you,” she whispered.

  A wall of elation hit him, bowing his legs. Sending him a step backward. It was accompanied by a shaft of light that arced across his vision and stabbed right into his heart. It penetrated, going deep. Neal’s throat closed up. His eyes watered. His breath stopped. His heart went into hammer-mode.

  She grabbed her skirts and jumped down. Her breasts bounced. Little nipples darted out before going back into hiding.

  Neal was rooted in place as she approached. He needed to move. Step back. Do anything other than watch as she came closer. Watch. And feel. She pulled one of her arms from a sleeve as she approached, then the other. Her bodice dropped forward onto her skirt. Leaving his nemesis: the little corset. It wasn’t exactly red. It had barely-there black stripes running vertically through it, crafted from some shiny material. She came closer. Reached arms-length. And then she ran a finger along the tops of her breasts!

  Neal arched back to howl. The sound of fabric ripping accompanied his move. That felt like the shirt’s other shoulder seam. She was right in front of him when he looked back down. Neal was shuddering. His heart was its own entity, thudding against his chest wall with forceful beats. And his breathing returned with a force that ruffled stray hairs at her forehead.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  He snatched her to him, smashing her perfect breasts against his chest, and slammed his lips to hers. A high-pitched operatic note filled his ears. The crashing sound of tsunami-level waves joined in. And at the periphery of it was a long keening moan. From her.

  Neal had never felt anything like this. The kiss turned into a riotous blend of furor. Passion. Unbelievable fervor. He moved his mouth atop hers, marauding at will. Conquering.

  Taking.

  Neal toyed with her lips. Split them apart. Delved into her depths with his tongue, and somehow kept from falling. She must be telling the truth because she didn’t act remotely frightened. She’d flung her arms about his neck, and writhed against him as the kiss deepened. Her tongue touched his with a hesitant gesture. Neal went completely still at the first touch. But she explored farther. Moaned deeply. And Neal’s chest felt like it might explode.

  With a groan, he pulled back the kiss, grabbed her tightly in one arm, raced around the bed, leapt to the platform and then atop the mattress.
It bounced twice at their landing. He didn’t know how he managed it. The move had been pure instinct, and reaction. And they continued to be in command of his body. Ainslee’s hands moved to his pecs, as if to support him. There wasn’t much need for that. Neal was in a haze of perpetual motion. Intent. And focused. He held himself up with one arm, while the other grabbed bunches of her skirt and shoved it up. He touched skin. Ainslee reacted with a gasp and a jerk. His fingers found the top of her thigh-high stocking. He trailed down it. Reached a slipper. Slid it from her foot. Tossed it over his shoulder. It landed somewhere with a whisper of sound. He shifted higher, sitting in order to follow the same path down her other leg. With the same result.

  His shirt was beyond tight. Ainslee’s fingers alternately kneaded his pecs and pulled at the ruffled material down his front. Her lips parted. She panted. Each bit of air added to the fervor building within him. Her eyes were half-slit, sending dark blue sparks at him. He heard more fabric tearing. That was definitely the seam up his back. His chest felt the release.

  “Oh, Ainslee. Oh, baby. Oh, love. Oh, shit.”

  He couldn’t wait. His hand discovered what he’d yet to visually reveal. And she was perfection. Sleek calves led to supple thighs. The muscles trembled beneath his questing fingers. Each of her panting breaths now carried the slightest feminine sound. Adding encouragement. Neal’s hand skimmed the lace top of her stocking, reached bare skin. Her legs tensed. Her trembling increased. Her cries grew more distinct. And a moment later, his thumb found her nub. Two fingers, her center.

  So moist. So warm. So tight.

  So...gloriously alive.

  Neal’s fingers began moving. Stimulating. Enervating. Ainslee lurched right up from the bed. Her eyes flew wide with surprise, while her hands yanked on the ruffled jabot, twisting and pulling. Her hold yanked buttons from their holes, so that when she dropped back to the mattress, his jabot came free. Her garbled cry probably carried shock, but it immediately changed to mews of delight as he continued vibrating. And that was followed by all kinds of screams.

  “Oh, baby. I can’t wait. I’ll try. And be gentle...”

  Kilts were really good for this.

  Neal thrust his sporran around to his back, shoved his plaid up and out of his way and pivoted, neatly settling between her thighs. And then he just hovered there. Tensed. Poised. Waiting. Watching. She was trembling. Gazing at him with wide, luminous eyes. He couldn’t tell her eye color from the light sent from the setting sun, but his mind colored them sapphire blue anyway.

  “Neal?”

  His name was whispered. Tremulous.

  “I love you, Ainslee,” he replied.

  Her eyes opened wide. Her mouth matched the stunned expression. And then the most amazing look of joy transfused her features. The same feeling of joy shot right through him. Grabbed his heart. Squeezed. Neal maneuvered into position, using one hand for guidance. He reached her core. Pressed at her opening. And then he shoved.

  Oh. God.

  She was hot. Wet. Incredibly tight. He slid in a fraction. Her body went rigid. Neal eased back out. Did the same slow motion back in. Got a little farther. Did it again. Her every breath was gasped. Labored-sounding. He continued stroking. Barely entering her cavern. Sliding slowly back out. Each time he pushed, she went rigid. She relaxed as he moved out, only to go rigid again. Vise-like coils enlarged just enough for him to gain the slightest room. They tightened again when he moved away, only to grab at him the next time. Neal forced himself to go slowly. Fighting an insurmountable need. Unbelievable desire. Everything on his body hammered with need. The urge to shove was bad. Seemingly impossible to fight. It ordered. Commanded. He’d never struggled so valiantly against achieving something.

  Nor had he wanted it so badly.

  “Oh, baby. Oh, Ainslee. I love you. I do. But I—! Forgive me, darling.”

  He dropped his head and snagged her lips with his. Mingling their breaths. Entwining their tongues. Sending passion-tipped messages with each caress. Hoped she wouldn’t notice how he grabbed her hips and held her. And then thrust. He broke through. Gained depth. And a vise-like hold. He caught her cry with the kiss. She helped.

  And then he stopped.

  Neal scrunched his eyes shut and focused all his energy on one thing; staying still while she absorbed him. He yanked every muscle to tautness. It barely worked. His entire body fought his attempt at restraint. His gut was a morass of fire. His loins burned. His lower back whorled with scorching agony. His thighs and legs muscles kept pulsing. Neal had to lift from the kiss to pant each breath. And still he started pulling out from her enclosure.

  Damn it, Neal. Harder.

  Everything fought him. Extremely enraged. And more than a little tormented. He shook. The mattress swayed with him.

  “Neal?”

  Her whisper dented his consciousness.

  “Yeah.” The answer came through gritted teeth.

  “Is it...wrong?”

  “No.” The answer came with a groan that iced his teeth.

  “What...should I do?”

  “I’m trying not. To hurt you, love. I mean...any further.”

  The words were garbled. Nearly intelligible. Something within her moved. Slid along his length. Neal groaned and his shaking intensified.

  “Neal?”

  A hand touched his forehead, brushing a stray lock of hair back. Neal cracked an eye open. She was waiting for it. She licked her lips. He pulsed in place. Her eyes widened in something that didn’t look like pain.

  “It’s na’...that bad.”

  And then she lifted her legs, hooked them about him, and started the movements herself. Neal went wild. As if an archer had just released an arrow, Neal churned. In. Out. Harder. Pulling out only to shove back in. Again. And again. He pushed up to gain position. Making each thrust harder. Stronger. Deeper. Gaining the slightest cry from her each time.

  The mattress began bucking in rhythm. Thumping along with each shove. Adding more dimension to an already unreal experience. The pleasure built. Went from a sliver of sensation along his spine to a solid knot of pressure at the base of his back. Just above his buttocks. Ready. Enlarging. Getting fiery hot with the delay. Neal yanked it into submission. It gave his muscles definition she seemed to enjoy. Her hands roved all over him. His belly. His chest. His back. Up his arms.

  His movements became more strident. Deeper. Harder. Her cries longer in duration. Higher-pitched. Synchronized with their movements. And they started carrying his name.

  “Neal! Neal! Neal! Oh! My—!”

  She arched her neck, and screamed. And Neal exploded. Pleasure erupted absolutely everywhere. It was tinged with all kinds of hues. Infused with scent. Compounded with perfectly pitched notes of incredible beauty. Neal reeled with absolute joy. His mouth opened, sending a groan of uncontainable bliss outward. It surrounded them, giving sound to how his spirit soared upward, gaining the heavens. Everything was infused with light. Power. Wonder. And for an infinitesimal moment, Neal could swear he touched heaven.

  The moment ended. Intensity started waning. His body continued throbbing in slower and slower pulses. He was very close to sobbing. He lowered his head. Opened his eyes. And locked gazes with his beloved. She gave him the most beatific smile. He couldn’t return it for several moments. The lurch his heart gave him was too powerful.

  Neal thought he had experience. He’d had sex countless times with numerous women, in nearly every conceivable position. And all of that had been obliterated and then over-written by this experience with Ainslee. He’d never felt this level of contentment. Perfection. And peace. It was almost magical.

  He collapsed beside her. Pulled her into his arms. Held her close, stroking the waterfall of hair along her back.

  He hadn’t known love made all the difference.

  He knew it now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Eric’s doppelganger, Rory, had an older brother. His name was Cedric. He was one of the estate gamekeepers accompanying Neal
this morning. There were three of them. All in their mid-thirties. Cedric probably looked exactly like Eric/Rory would once they reached that age. The man had shoulder-length sandy-colored hair. Neal couldn’t tell if he was balding or not. Cedric wore a large tam on his head. It didn’t really matter, but as a motorcycle enthusiast, Neal had seen thousands of men who looked like they had a full head of hair until they took their caps off. Regardless, Cedric was a nice-looking fellow. A few inches shorter than Neal, but large, well-muscled. Self-confident.

  Despite the antagonism radiating off the fellow, Neal liked him on sight.

  They’d met this morning, over a breakfast befitting a day of shooting on the moors. Coffee. Porridge. Fried eggs. Back bacon. Baked beans. Blood pudding. Fried tomatoes and mushrooms. Oatcakes. And fantastic-tasting scones dripping with butter and honey. Neal hadn’t been this full in years. Couldn’t remember a meal he’d enjoyed more.

  Then again...he’d been famished by the time he’d arrived, dressed in another kilt, worn this time with a plain linen shirt above it. He sported a brown leather vest with myriad pockets, knee-high boots, and thick woolen socks that scratched. This outfit seemed to also require the normal amount of daggers about his waist, while skean dhu were tucked into either sock.

  It was an incredibly perfect morning. A bit breezy, although sunlight banished most of the chill. But that wasn’t what made it so perfect. He’d opened his eyes to the sight and feel of Ainslee snuggled against his side, a soft smile on her face. He hadn’t drawn the drapes and dawn light had streamed into the chamber, bringing even more beauty to her features. If Neal hadn’t been smitten already, he damn well would have been at that awakening.

  He wasn’t sure if he should leave her in his mussed bed. He didn’t think Mason would say anything, but he didn’t know her maids. And Neal didn’t want a whisper of anything to reach Ainslee’s ear. She’d already shown her shyness last night, after he’d fetched a pail of rain water for them to wash with. Neal slept in the nude. Always had. Always would. Ainslee was the opposite. She’d even asked him not to look, while a deep blush suffused her cheeks.