by Merry Farmer
Ruairí was lost to the raging storm of emotions, floundering like a wind-tossed boat. His bollocks screamed for him to hike up her skirts, wrap her legs around his waist, and sink deep within. His head told him to slow down before he frightened her. And his heart demanded he care for her that night and all the ones to come.
Senga felt the ache low in her body take hold as she clung to Ruairí as though he was the only thing keeping her from floating adrift. He anchored her to the spot, both physically and emotionally. She did not want to ponder the connection she believed they had. She did not want to set false hopes, but she knew his need matched hers, and it was not something she would ignore.
“Ruairí,” she breathed against the stubble that abraded her swollen lips. “Make me forget the past, forget tonight.”
“Are you sure, Senga?”
“Aye.”
The one word of consent was all they both needed before they ripped the clothes off one another and tumbled onto the bed. Ruairí was careful not to crush her small frame under his much larger one. His feet hung off the end of the bed as he slid lower to take one of her breasts into his mouth. His tongue whorled around her nipple as he alternated breathing warm and cool air over the puckered flesh. These were the nipples of a woman who had nursed a babe, and he found he enjoyed having more to suckle. He turned his head and worshipped her other breast before switching between them. He nipped and pulled with his teeth as his hand kneaded the opposite breast. Senga’s back arched, and she cupped her breasts in offering to him. One of his hands trailed from the dip in her throat, down between her breasts, over her belly until it came to the thatch of raven curls at the apex of her thighs. He ran his fingers through them and tugged gently. He used one finger to slide over her bud and between the folds until he was sure she was as eager as he imagined. Her sheath drenched his finger as she moaned, unsure whether to raise her breasts or her hips in offering.
“Shh, little one. I will take care of all of you. What do you want?”
Senga looked into his blue eyes and moaned again.
“You inside me.”
Ruairí’s chuckle rumbled across her body, and she tightened her grip on his hair. She had not even realized she had pulled his queue loose and tunneled her fingers in his blonde waves.
“We’ll get there soon enough, but I won’t rush us. What do you want?”
“Your fingers then. I want, need, some part of you there.”
“Where? Can you not say it?”
“Cunny. Quim. Pussy. I can say it, but I don’t want to talk.”
Ruairí once again chuckled, but it was cut short when he groaned as he thrust three fingers into her channel. Her hips lifted off the bed, and for a moment he worried he had been too forceful. She was no virgin, but it had been years since she was with a man.
“More,” she panted.
Ruairí plunged his fingers into her over and over, and as she watched, he inched down to blow cool air over the heated flesh.
“Yes,” she mewled.
His tongue whipped out to lave her pleasure nub before sucking it into his mouth. Her knees fell wide before trapping his shoulders. He slid his hands beneath her and lifted her hips to his feasting mouth. His tongue replaced his fingers as he brought her close to climax over and over. When her moans of need turned to ones of frustration, he once again plunged his fingers into her as he sucked her nub. She exploded around him, screaming his name.
Ruairí lifted himself over her and before he could guide himself in, he felt her wrap her hand around his leaking shaft. She stroked him thrice before aligning him with her entrance. She locked her ankles around his waist as she pressed him into her. He needed no further instructions and surged forward until he was seated to the hilt within her tight sheath. He groaned as he dipped his head to once again suckle her breast, but it was not enough. Ruairí looked up at Senga and saw her watching him. She stroked the hair away from his face, and a tenderness that would normally fizzle his desire made him want to possess her. Their lips came together with the same force and need as their hips. Ruairí held her as he thrust into her over and over. Senga pressed her heels into the bed to help her meet him each time he rocked forward. Theirs was a rhythm of give and take that felt natural, as though they had always been lovers. Ruairí sucked in what air he could as he tried to slow the growing need to climax. He refused to finish so soon. He did not know if he would ever join with Senga again, and he would not let it be over yet.
Senga’s hands roamed over every part of Ruairí she could reach. She brushed his hair back as they kissed, then scored her nails down his back as his thrusts drove deeper still. Her fingers dug into his backside as she felt her release rip through her.
“Ruairí!” she screamed again as he pushed her over the edge once more.
“Mo bhòidhchead.” My beauty. “I’m close, but I don’t want this to be over yet. Can you keep going?”
“Yes. Oh, Ruairí. Don’t stop.”
Those were the last words spoken for some time as they moved together toward completion. Senga found her release twice more before Ruairí could no longer fight his body’s need. He pulled free and watched as his seed painted her belly. Never had such an image called to him. He could not cease the thought that this marked her as his. He knew it was ridiculous. Ruairí would leave in the morning and never see Senga again, but even that felt more outrageous than the idea that she was his. He watched her for a long moment as she, too, stared at his seed. He was not sure of her thoughts, but her face relaxed as though she liked what she saw. Ruairí climbed from the bed and found a cloth beside a pitcher of water. After wetting it, he returned and sat beside her as he cleaned her. Senga tried to take the cloth, but Ruairí batted her hand away.
“Let me,” his hoarse voice was almost unrecognizable to him as he leaned forward to kiss her nose. “I want to.”
He had never in his life done such a thing for a woman.
When he ceased his ministrations and prepared to stand, Senga snatched the cloth from him as she sat up. She reached forward and ran the cloth over Ruairí’s cock. It twitched beneath her hand. Senga dropped the cloth to the ground and wrapped her hand around the already lengthening rod. She stroked it as her breasts pressed against his shoulder. Ruairí turned his head to look at her, and Senga leaned in for a kiss. This was slow, sensual, and filled with a different need. Ruairí could not believe he was hard and aching to be inside her again already. He had not recovered that quickly since he was a green lad.
Senga pressed his shoulder until he laid back, and she slid from the bed to kneel before him. She continued to stroke him as he came to his elbows. Propped up, he watched her stare intently at his cock as though considering her means of attack. Her tongue whipped forward and circled his tip before flicking its head. Ruairí growled as his head fell back. Her lips slid down his length and closed around him. He jerked forward when she began to apply pressure. The suction made him want to thrust, but he was careful to keep his hips grounded to the mattress. He knew he was a large man in length and girth. He neither wanted to scare her nor choke her, but Senga continued to sink lower onto his cock. It mesmerized him to see how much she could take in before she could go no further. She cupped his bollocks and rolled them in her palm as he scooped her hair off her sweaty neck. He watched her head bob as he had with so many other women, but it felt entirely different. Whores rendered a service, and while some pretended, or even genuinely liked the task, Senga seemed to revel in it. She worshipped his length as she alternated licking, sucking, and stroking until Ruairí thought he might lose his mind with need. He felt his release gathering at the base of his cock, and he had no intention of holding back this time.
“Senga,” he grunted. He pressed on her shoulder, but she would not release him.
“Senga,” he said more forcefully, and she looked up at him, her translucent hazel eyes locked with his deep blue ones. “Let go. I want to see my seed on you again.”
Ruairí could not believe hi
s own ears. He had not intended to speak that thought aloud, but Senga released him at once and leaned back on her heels. Ruairí stroked himself several times before the jets of seed splashed across her chest and onto her breasts. Once again, Ruairí felt he had marked her as his own, and she smiled at him as though proud to bear his release. She trailed a finger through the viscous fluid and licked her finger.
“I wonder if I taste as good to you as you do to me,” she purred.
Ruairí thought he might climax again at her seductive words. He looked into her eyes once more and saw curiosity rather than seduction, and he realized she was being truthful in her musing. He reached beside her for the cloth and once again cleaned her, then himself. He pulled her from the ground and lifted her onto the bed before stretching out beside her. Ruairí ran his hand over her flat belly where he could see tiny, fine lines that were a testimony that she had carried a child. Her hand covered his, and he watched embarrassment redden her cheeks.
“I called you ‘my beauty’ for a reason, little one. Every part of you is beautiful. Don’t hide from me.”
She looked at him for so long, Ruairí was not sure what she would do next, but she let her hands fall away.
“Kiss me again, please,” she whispered, and Ruairí was only too happy to indulge her request. Once again, this was slow and languid, unlike the consuming need during the first time they coupled. Ruairí ran the calloused pads of his fingers over her belly, and when they broke apart, his eyes spied the cradle. He continued to run his fingers over her belly as a vivid image of Senga round with their child came to his mind. He saw her first standing at the prow of his ship with the wind blowing back her hair, then standing beside the cradle as she checked on their other sleeping child.
Other? Ruairí thought to himself. I’ve known her a night, and I’m imagining us with not one but two bairns. Well, one in the cradle and the other in her belly. Bluidy hell. What is wrong with me?
Ruairí looked down at Senga again, but her eyes were closed. He knew she was not asleep because her fingers were running over the tattoo that covered the entire left side of his chest before wrapping over his shoulder and covering his left shoulder blade. It was a Celtic design of knots and twists with a water serpent slithering from his back to his front. The fine lines that had marred her brow and cheeks all night disappeared, and she looked serene. His heated palm rested on her belly, and she covered it with one hand before opening her eyes. They gazed at one another, both searching for something they could not identify but recognized.
“Come with me, Senga.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect oval. Ruairí’s cocked twitched as he remembered her lips on his cock, but he forced his body to relax.
“It won’t be safe for you here, whether the men’s families retaliate or other men try to finish what they attempted. You’ve said you have nowhere else to go, and I think you’re lonely here alone. Come with me.”
“As what? Your mistress? One good bedding doesn’t make us compatible to share a cabin.”
“It’s more than that, and we both know it. There is something here. Something between us too special to ignore.”
“And if it turns out it was only one night of wonder, what then? You return me here where everyone will know I’m a whore. That doesn’t seem better than what I have now.”
“You are not a whore,” he growled. “If you use that word again to describe yourself, I will turn you over my knee.”
Ruairí worried he was too harsh, but he saw desire, not fear, flare in her eyes.
“Do you like that idea?” he whispered against her ear.
Senga only nodded.
Ruairí cupped her breast as he rolled her nipple with his thumb.
“Has any man ever spanked you before?”
“No. It wasn’t something my husband ever considered.”
“But it was something that intrigued you. Something you wanted.”
She nodded once again.
“Senga, I am not an easy man to live with. I demand obedience from my crew. I’m brutal and violent during battle, and I show no one mercy. No one until you. I have never been kind or gentle with anyone, but I find a calmness and peace with you. I can let my guard down and not be the dreaded pirate captain. I can just be Ruairí. I find I like it, and I don’t want it to end with tonight.”
Senga rolled toward him, so they both lay on their sides.
“I also find myself protective and possessive of you. I have never felt that way about anyone. The closest I have come is how protective I am of my cousin, Rowan. I have never felt this toward a woman before. It must mean something.”
Once more Senga stared into his eyes, searching for something Ruairí prayed she would find. He began to grow nervous the longer she looked, but she cupped his jaw and bussed a kiss across his lips.
“I will go with you.”
There was little to keep Senga here but old memories that haunted her nights. She knew the risk she was taking, sailing away with a man she had known for less than a night, but a feeling buried deep within her urged her to take that risk, to make a new life, even if temporary, with Ruairí.
The kiss they shared differed from the others. It was filled with promise and anticipation, not of their next round of coupling, but for the future.
“Know that if you’re unhappy, I will take you wherever you want to go. I will do what I can to help you establish a new life. You could go back to Lewis, even if not to your uncle’s keep. You could even go to Skye. I will never force you to do aught you don’t want, and that includes remaining aboard my ship.”
“Thank you, Ruairí.”
She laid back and opened her arms to him. He settled his upper body over hers and kissed her forehead, nose, and each cheek before sinking into another languid kiss. He rolled them so she was draped over him. The soothing sweep of his hand over her back and bottom had her dozing within moments.
Ruairí watched as her eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed, her hand resting over his heart. He covered it with his own as his other rested on her backside. He knew of the trust she was placing into his hands, and he prayed for the first time in years. Ruairí prayed he would remain worthy of that trust. He would do all that he was in his power, but he knew she would face danger and see sides of him he wished he could hide. His trepidation at her seeing him as the pirate captain almost made him wake her to rescind his offer. He had spent almost all his adult life harboring a simmering rage for what happened to him and his cousin. People knew him for being cold and aloof to most women, earning the name Dark Heart for that, among other sins. None had seen the side of him that he so willingly showed Senga. Women enjoyed him for what he could do to their bodies and the coin they earned from what they could do with theirs. But most women avoided him if he was not tupping them.
Senga had not avoided him at all. She had worked as was expected of her, but she had not avoided him. Ruairí was not sure if her lack of fear came from his softheartedness toward her, or if it was the other way around. They seemed to understand one another on an elemental and intuitive level. Ruairí did not feel angry or bitter when he was near Senga. His earlier anger was directed at the men who dared to defile her, but it evaporated each time as soon as he knew she was safe. He had not realized how exhausted he was from carrying the burden of his hatred until he found respite in Senga’s arms. His own eyes drifted closed for a brief time, but he did not sleep.
Chapter 4
Senga stirred and felt a man’s body beneath hers. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming once more of Alexander, but everything was different. The man she laid upon smelled of saltwater and pine, and he felt different. The chest was broader and smooth, unlike Alexander’s barrel chest and light smattering of hair. All Senga did with Ruairí flooded back to her as she remembered him rescuing her when the men attacked her in her own home. The tenderness he showed as he brought her into her bedchamber, and the eventual passion that erupted between them. She ached between
her legs from still unspent desire along with soreness from muscles that had laid dormant far too long.
“Did you get enough rest, little one?”
Senga looked into the eyes that were once again cornflower blue but had been a shade of lapis lazuli as they coupled.
“Enough to face the world,” she replied, her voice raspy from sleep. She realized she must have slept more deeply than she realized. She had a sudden moment of worry that she snored.
“You slept like the dead, even if for only an hour.”
“That’s all? It felt longer. Did you sleep?”
“Dozed.”
Senga was not sure if she should believe him. She doubted he lowered his guard enough to be vulnerable to sleep.
“Pack what you would like to take with you. I can arrange for Shamus to protect your cottage if you think you might want to return, or I can have him clear it out. Your choice.”
Senga took a deep breath before blowing it out through her nose.
“If I return, it will be to visit. I will never live here again. Uncle Shamus can do as he wants with the cottage and what it contains.”
“Very well. When you are ready to leave, I will take you back to the tavern and Shamus while my men and I deal with the bodies.”
Ruairí watched to see if she grimaced or showed fear at the mention of the dead men in her cottage, but her face did not change. Instead, she sat up and looked around. When she spotted her clothes from the night before, she considered whether to put them back on or wear fresh clothes. Since she had no idea when she might bathe or launder her clothes, she opted for fresh ones. She moved to the wash basin, and Ruairí joined her as they went about their morning ablutions in silence. It surprised Ruairí at how quickly she packed. The chest at the end of the bed was empty except for two plaids, one in the MacLeod colors and the other in the Sorely colors. Senga packed the fresh chemises, stockings, and a nightgown in the trunk and then carried two fresh blouses and skirts from a shelf Ruairí had not noticed the night before. She took a sack from the peg her clean skirt hung on and stuffed her clothes from the day before within it. She cinched it closed and placed it at the top of her chest. Senga was ready in less than five minutes.