She smiled when he groaned, a sensual grunt that made her pulse quicken. He thrust deep, followed by long, fluid strokes that had her moving along the ground.
Her head brushed against the side of the tent, and he went up on his knees, pulling her by the hips. His gaze shifted from hers to where their bodies joined.
She looked too, shocked at his size, watching with excitement and exhilaration as he entered her slowly, his rod slick from her dew.
His thumb brushed over her clit, once, twice. She arched her hips, and he pulled out, just to where the tip of his cock touched her opening.
“Brochan,” she said, her fingers curling about his hips, urging him to fill her again.
To her frustration, he didn’t budge, but played with her tiny nub, working it. He moved again and she cried out, her body reaching for climax.
Brochan watched Annabelle as she climaxed, her eyes closing, her mouth opening.
He felt the tremors against his cock, her inner muscles gripping him tight, pulsing around him in exquisite harmony. Thrusting deeper, his balls tightened, ready to come.
He pulled out, his seed pulsing onto the hard ground beneath him, falling onto her, trying to control his breathing. Why in the hell had he refrained from coming inside her? Wasn’t that the idea behind her abduction?
God’s breath, he would have a difficult time sending her back to her father.
Mayhap he would keep her a little while.
Never had he expected to discover in Annabelle MacLellan a vixen who could set his blood on fire. A woman who had obviously made love to a man before, because where else would she have learned to touch him in such ways?
And her body had accepted his eagerly, taking him fully inside her.
Had it been her betrothed who had taken her maidenhead? The vain cousin who had seemed almost too feminine?
Or did she have another lover?
“Why are you frowning?”
Surprised she had been watching him, he looked down, embarrassed to find they were off the furs completely and on the hard ground.
His knees were dirty, as no doubt her bottom would be. He rolled so that his back was against the dirt, and she above him, straddling him.
His cock jerked, already semihard again.
She looked down at him, her lips quirking in a sweet grin that made his insides twist. “Do you have something on your mind, Brochan?”
His gaze shifted from hers, to her breasts, her nipples crinkling beneath his stare. Her fingers encircled his cock, and he jumped, shocked, yet delighted by the bold touch. His hands moved to her slender hips.
Her hand tightened around him in a practiced stroke, up and down in a slow, even rhythm. “You are so deliciously hard again,” she said, staring at his cock.
Her folds were swollen, her hair damp from their mingled juices. His fingers slid to her molten core, slipping inside the heat there.
She was drenched, her fingers clasping around him. His thumb brushed over her clit, and she sat up abruptly, his fingers falling away as she positioned herself over his cock.
She took him inside her, sighing when she sat down fast, and then rotated her hips in a slow circle. A smile tugged at her lips as, with hands on his chest, she started to ride him.
Her full breasts bounced with the rhythm, and he reached out and cupped them, a perfect handful, the erect nipples pressing into his palms.
Terri had never been so turned on in her life. Her vagina so slick, stretched more in this position, taking every long inch of him. So stuffed she couldn’t possibly take another half an inch.
His thumb brushed over her clit, and he watched her intently. She watched him in turn, and didn’t hold back as she reached for release. She climbed higher and closer to peak, riding him harder, faster, her need climbing with every second.
Her insides clamped down hard against him, her muscles pounding, pulling his thick length deep inside.
She cried out, her fingers sinking into the golden skin of his shoulders.
With a low-throated moan, he lifted her, his cream pulsing from his body between them.
Brochan woke to the sound of an owl hooting outside the tent. The owl had been following them from the time they left Castle Kildare. He had made his presence known immediately, and now did again, sitting on a branch outside.
He turned to his side, to find the furs beside him empty.
His stomach dropped to his toes.
Dammit, Annabelle had escaped!
The scent of their lovemaking was still in the air as he pulled on his braies and walked outside.
A fire had been set, and nearby a small number of his men snored. Why had he not posted a guard outside his tent? How humiliating it would be to see his men again, particularly since they had no doubt heard the groans and sighs coming from his tent earlier.
What a fool he had been.
And his men would think no differently.
The girl had fucked him in order to escape. Not because she had desired him, or lusted for him, but because she wanted to flee.
It hadn’t been because she desired him as much as he’d wanted her.
Nay, she had known she could use her feminine wiles on him to lower his guard.
And lower it he had.
Cursing under his breath, he was ready to rouse his men when he heard a soft humming coming from nearby.
His heart missed a beat.
Could it be Annabelle?
He walked toward the sound, his heart accelerating the closer he came.
Hope and something resembling relief mingled within him, and as he entered the glade, he saw in the moonlight the silhouette of a woman.
A woman with blond hair and womanly hips.
Annabelle.
She swam the length of the small loch, her voice soft, like the brush of a hand up his thigh.
The excitement he had felt earlier in his tent, when he had taken her beneath him and buried his cock deep inside her heat, came rushing back.
No doubt she had come to wash the scent of their lovemaking from her luscious body.
He pushed his braies from his hips and stepped into the water.
She turned abruptly. While at first startled, she smiled upon recognizing him.
Like a young lad, his heart skipped a beat.
She stood in the water, her breasts bouncing with the motion, the water lapping at her hips.
Her nipples had tightened into buds, and as she walked toward him, the strip of pale curls glistened from the water.
She jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping about his waist.
“I thought ye left,” he said before he could stop himself, voicing his fears aloud.
Smiling, she kissed his jaw. “I have no intention of leaving you, Brochan. I am enjoying myself far too much.”
Her words pleased him more than she would ever know. “I am glad to hear that, lass.”
He kissed her back, opening to her questing tongue, tasting her, enjoying the feel of her hard nipples pressed against his chest.
He set her back down on her feet and took her by the hand, leading her to the shore. The soft grass on the pond’s bank would serve as their blanket. She lay down, pulling him beside her, and he rolled over her, kissing her, tasting her lips, before kissing a trail from her forehead, to her eyelids, to her nose, to her cheeks, and her chin.
He wanted to taste every inch of her.
His lips traveled down her neck, to the swell of her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, and sucking gently, using his teeth with care. She arched off the ground, her breaths coming unevenly now, her fingers pulling his hair.
Her thighs fell open, and he moved lower, over her soft belly, his tongue circling her navel, before moving over the wet curls that covered her sex.
He kissed her sensitive inner thigh, before moving to the tiny nub at the top of her sex, tasting her lightly, his tongue flicking over her.
Her thighs opened all the way, her hips arching off the ground. “That feels wo
nderful,” she whispered, her fingers sinking into the skin at his shoulders.
He already had scratches from their earlier lovemaking, and he would have more. Her nails raked him as he licked her slit from one end to the other, coming extremely close to her back passage.
Terri felt like her bones were melting. The man pleasuring her took such exquisite time and care, tasting her and touching her in ways Elliott never had, or ever would.
Brochan’s long tongue stroked her folds, taking his time, flicking over her clit again and again, and then sucking hard, but not too hard, and then softer, the tip of his tongue lifting the tiny nub over and over. Her insides tightened, and as her body found release, she pushed at his shoulders, not sure if she wanted more, or couldn’t take more. She just felt an intense ache deep inside her core.
The need to be filled.
“Brochan,” she said, her voice shallow, almost a plea.
“Yes, Annabelle.”
His hard cock rocked against her, impossibly huge, like a stone against her stomach. The head of his rod slid against her opening and she arched her hips, aching for him to take her.
He kissed her, her scent clinging to him. Elliott would never have done such a thing as kiss her after pleasuring her, but with Brochan she felt no shame at tasting herself.
Just arousal.
His long cock slid in and out of her, his rhythm fluid, his strokes strong. Their wet stomachs slapped together, the sound reverberating off the now still water.
His men would think her a slut, but she didn’t care. She had never been so attracted to a man in all her life, and if she wanted to make love to Brochan Douglas every day, then by damn she would.
As another climax claimed her, she raked her nails along his back, down over his buttocks, her fingers slipping between his crack.
She sensed his shock, his every muscle tense, but he didn’t stop her. But she didn’t go further, and instead cupped his tight ass.
And as she fell back to earth, she knew that life with this man was only going to get more interesting.
5
Castle Kildare looked as ominous as its name.
The huge keep made of gray stone rose out of the rugged landscape, ivy clinging to its massive walls. Terri leaned closer to Brochan, seeking his warmth and comfort.
He had gone quiet on her the moment they entered the camp after their tryst at the loch. Brochan’s men had watched them, some with knowing smiles on their faces, while others looked a bit angry.
None of them trusted her. Not even Brochan.
Which made her wonder if he regretted making love to her. She hoped that wasn’t the case, especially since it had been so wonderful for her. She’d never made love with such intensity before. Secretly a part of her yearned to stay here, with Brochan…in this time.
A bell rang, ending the momentary peacefulness of early evening. Shouts sounded from the castle a second before the giant portcullis lifted, and people flooded out, ready to welcome their laird and his men. Medieval men, women, and children, all watching her intently.
Terri swallowed past the lump in her throat as the crowd grew to well over one hundred people. Thankful she had Brochan at her back, she straightened her shoulders.
She had to remember the history here. Remember that she was an enemy to these people. Their laird’s brother had been killed by Annabelle’s father, and they were out for blood.
And it showed on their faces. She felt safe for now, close to Brochan…but what would happen when he wasn’t around to protect her?
“Thanks be to God that you found the wench,” an old man said, his gray hair long and straggly, like he hadn’t brushed it in weeks. But even with his unkempt appearance, he looked related to Brochan, tall and lean, even for his age. The green eyes the same color and shape.
“Uncle Hamish, I trust ye have kept the castle running smoothly in my absence?” Brochan asked, dismounting. He lifted his arms to help Terri down, and she put her hands on his shoulders.
The blood in her veins warmed as she slid down his body, his long fingers wrapping around her hips, reminding her of their sexual play last night.
They had made love three times in the space of a few hours, and she still burned for him. The sexual attraction to this man was so intense, unlike anything she’d experienced before.
His hands fell away and he stepped back.
“A comely lass, too,” Hamish said, his gaze moving over Terri in a way that made her shudder. Catching her reaction, the older man laughed under his breath, while walking around her, checking her out.
Brochan straightened, his eyes narrowing. If Terri wasn’t mistaken, Brochan and his uncle were not on good terms.
Hamish lifted a lock of Terri’s hair and brought it to his nose. “You smell of heather. Bet you taste as sweet too.”
Terri wished she could say the same. The man’s breath smelled foul, and a funky body odor lingered in the air.
“Uncle Hamish,” Brochan said, his voice deadly calm. “MacLellan’s daughter is my prisoner. She is to remain untouched.”
His uncle immediately let the curl fall back on Terri’s shoulder, his low laugh making her take a step back. The man had “creep” written all over him.
“Forget not who she is, Brochan. Your brother is dead because of her father.”
“And well I know it,” Brochan said, taking Terri by the hand, his warm fingers wrapping around her wrist. She would rather have had him take her by the hand, but he had appearances to worry about. His clan probably wouldn’t take too kindly to hand-holding.
She found strength in that touch, and was grateful when he started walking toward the castle, nodding to the people they passed. Terri didn’t look at anyone, but gazed directly ahead, at the drawbridge that had been lowered, and the portcullis overhead that looked like thick, black knives.
The inner bailey was larger than it appeared from the outside, and alive with activity. Many stopped what they were doing to watch them pass. To the right sat a chapel, to the left the great hall, an armory, buttery, and kitchen, and finally the stables. There were two towers, both large and formidable, and she knew even as she followed Brochan into one of them that this would be her prison. Though she told herself she shouldn’t be surprised he was throwing her in a cell after making love, it still hurt.
The spiral staircase was steep, and each room they passed she glanced into. There were several good-sized chambers, one extremely masculine. Even the bed was massive, made of dark wood and thick draperies.
She assumed it was Brochan’s chamber. Unfortunately they didn’t stop at that room, but climbed higher.
They came to the top of the stairs, and he pushed open a door. The small room had one window, but it was narrow…so narrow she couldn’t escape if she wanted to. Not that she’d ever consider scaling a wall that was four stories high. Then again, she’d never been locked in a solar before. Give her a few days and she might just try it.
“So, what will become of me, Brochan?”
He looked at her, his green eyes distant. Now that he had returned to his clan, she had become the enemy once again. The time they’d had together, just a pleasant memory. “Ye will be locked in.”
“What am I to do? Just spend the days looking at the walls?”
He winced. “Ye are a prisoner here, Annabelle. Yer fate has not yet been decided.”
In essence she had traded one cell for another. She didn’t know which would be better, the priory or Castle Kildare.
“I will see to it that ye are brought embroidery, and other things to keep yer mind occupied.”
“I have never embroidered. I wouldn’t know how.”
His brows furrowed. “All women embroider.”
“Well, I don’t, so there you have it.”
Irritated with him, and disappointed as well, she stepped away, toward the window, closing her eyes as the breeze cooled her flushed skin. She went up on her tiptoes and looked below her.
She could see part of the bail
ey from her vantage point, and beyond a large loch, surrounded by purple hills, the heather abundant and fragrant. Any other time she might have enjoyed the view. But the enormity of her predicament hit her like a ton of bricks. What if this really was it for her? What if she couldn’t return to her own time and spent the rest of her life here locked away, forgotten?
That could well be her fate. Wasn’t that what the tour guide had said? Annabelle had never been seen or heard from again?
What if this was her fate? Dying in a cell, never to be heard from again.
Tears stung her eyes, but she brushed them away. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and a second later she was pulled up against his length.
She closed her eyes, letting the tears slip down her cheeks and onto her borrowed cloak. His arms encircled her, pulling her close while he kissed the top of her head. “If I could change this, I would, Annabelle. I hope ye know that.”
“Why do I have to be locked in the solar? I won’t escape.”
“You are my prisoner, Annabelle. My people would never stand for ye to walk freely. They do not trust ye. Believe me when I say you are safer here in this room than anyplace else.”
“I don’t want to be locked up like some animal, Brochan. I can’t. I’ll go crazy with nothing but these four walls around me.”
He turned her in his arms, lifting her chin with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “I will come visit ye every single day.”
She knew there was no use arguing. He wasn’t about to let her walk free. His clan wouldn’t stand for it. He lowered his head and kissed her, without any of the gentleness of the night before.
Rather, there was desperation in that kiss, his hands cupping her face as his tongue stroked hers.
Her stomach tightened as fire rushed through her veins, swooping low to her womanhood. His cock brushed against her, already rock hard, and she thrilled at the knowledge that she excited him in the same way he excited her.
She cupped his sex, her fingers smoothing over the fine material of his braies, molding it against his thick length. He lifted her, walking until her back met the brick wall. Her clit twitched, anticipating that hard cock buried deep inside her heat.
Parlor Games Page 21