The Laird (16 page)

His pelvis, gently rocking between her thighs, was driving her to distraction, causing an unaccountable heat, an indefinable yearning to build within her that clouded her analytical mind. To her surprise, he agreed with her, mumbled, “Aye, lass, ‘tis best we dinna.” But his mouth continued to dine on her flesh in the most protracted manner as if it were imperative he memorize every dip and curve of her face.

For some inexplicable reason her mouth sought his. It came as a bit of a shock to realize her body had apparently decided it would not flatten its learning curve despite her brain’s protests. When he captured her lower lip with his teeth, then ran his velvet tongue slowly across it, her mouth opened to his sweet invasion. She sighed. Her heart whispered, “This man of your fantasies--of your heart--certainly knows how to kiss.”

She had no idea when he’d released her left hand, none at all, but took advantage and slid her fingers into the thick waves of his ebony hair. When he started to pull away, to explore some uncharted territory, she pulled his mouth back to hers. She’d never been kissed before-—not like this at any rate--and found she wanted her fill before she had to put a stop to it. Surely, just a wee bit of kissing couldn’t hurt? Surely.

To Duncan’s relief his once reluctant ladywife had started moving beneath him. ‘Twas a most encouraging sign, but having loosened the lacing of her gown, he was most anxious to dine on her breasts. And still he couldn’t get to them, for every time he tried, she’d pull him back to her mouth. He felt inordinately pleased that she wanted his kisses, for no wife before her ever had, but there were times when a man just had to do what a man had to do. And now, with her panting setting her little globes to wobbling before his hungry perusal, was one such time. He recaptured her hands.

Her mewing protest as his lips left hers played like music on his ears and in his soul, but knowing she should garner as much pleasure from his next effort, he paid no heed.

With the palm of his right hand he slipped her bodice off the prize he sought and growled in deep satisfaction. Aye, her breasts were as he imagined: perfect creamy-white cones with deep rose crests, like tiny mountains tipped with jam. As his mouth closed over the first peak, he entered heaven.

She moaned and arched her back, giving him full access. “Aye, lass,” he murmured, “’tis truly wondrous, is it not?” He suckled, enjoying her texture, the way her breath began to hitch, the way her hips began to rock in response. He lapped gently at her slopes, licking his way to the top so he could suckle once again.

“Duncan...my hands...please...”

He released his hold. Her hands immediate burrowed into his hair and she arched once again.

“Perfect, lass,” he groaned as he ran his tongue around the rosy crown then pulled it into his mouth. He slowly released it. “So perfect, my eyes ache.”

He slid her arms free of the gown as his lips moved from peek to peek. Her anxious hands tugged at his shirt. “Help me, lass.”

And she did, her eyes becoming glassy as she ran her hands over his chest. He rolled onto his side and draped a tree-trunk thigh gently over her more slender ones. His mouth again captured hers as he slid a hand down her leg and lifted her gown.

Lady Beth, now flushed and mewing, was all his heart had ever hoped for in a wife and never had.

Her skin felt oddly smooth, like new porcelain, as his fingers glided along her legs, seeking the warm moist place hidden deep within her skirts. She groaned into his mouth when his hand finally brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs. “Aye, lass, open for me.”

When her legs slowly spread he slipped the clasp from his kilt, and it fell away.

His hand slowly ruffled her downy thatch, and he wondered at the color. He dared not slip the gown from her hips just yet, not until his hands were slick with her woman’s dew. Aye, he wanted her on the brink of ecstasy before he stripped her naked and drank his fill.

His joy in her response knew no bounds as his hand drew slow circles on the inside of her thighs, each circle easing closer to the heat. Her hips ground against his swollen manhood, her breath coming in pants into his mouth. His fingers did as her body asked.

They slipped though the dense soft curls in search of the magic place. Finding her nub, they lingered to massage, which caused her to gasp, then groan. Her thighs started to quiver, and he slipped a finger into the pearly, moist heat.

Her cry made him pulse with need. He pressed against her hips as his finger entered the sacred pathway to her womb. With gentle, rapid movements, his thumb began to massage.

Her hips began to grind in earnest. “Please...now.”

He kissed her eyelids, having found her tighter than expected. Much tighter. “Not yet, dearest, but soon.” He continued to stroke her, easing her open, wanting release as badly as she apparently did.

“Now, Duncan, love...
please!

Love? Had she said
love?
His heart tripped with excitement never having heard a woman call him thus. Aye, she had, surely. Knowing—-hoping--her to be as ready as she’d ever be, he settled between her thighs. Her hips came up to meet him.

“Now!” Her hands pressed down, her nails digging into his flesh.

“Aye, lass,” he whispered into her mouth, as he rubbed his swollen tip against her, once, twice, gathering as much moisture as her body would offer. He sucked her exhaled breath into his lungs and murmured, “Now.”

As he thrust forward, she cried out and turned to marble beneath him.

Red pain seared through her.

Not now, God! Not now!

Rigid, unable to breathe, Beth asked God why he’d chosen this moment to take her. And why on earth had He taken a cleaver to her? Surely, she’d died just a heartbeat from ecstasy.

She’d never forgive Him. First, He gives her this face, then takes her parents, and then ends her life using mind-bending pain and neglects to give her the bright light at the end of the tunnel? How cruel could He get? She hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Nor ever. She began to cry.

She felt a light touch on her cheek and opened her eyes. “Oh.” Duncan hovered above her. She mustered a tiny smile. She hadn’t died, after all.  She’d merely been impaled. Dear God above.

“Ssh, dearest, dinna cry. ‘Twill pass in a moment.” She still couldn’t speak, and it certainly didn’t help when he amended, “Or two. Mayhap three, but ‘twill pass.”

God, I am literally screwed to a mattress, here! Are you listening? I’m serious! HELP!

Duncan caught a tear as it slid down her cheek. “I swear before God, lass, I didna ken ye to be a virgin.” He looked as dejected as she felt. “I thought ye a
widow
, was told so, in fact. Had I known...” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers.

They were still physically engaged, but she could feel the pressure lessening, the pain easing within her hips. He hadn’t moved--not by so much as a millimeter from the waist down since entering her. She appreciated his restraint more than words could convey, but...

“Duncan, is this hurting your shoulder?”

He shook his head.

And pigs fly
, she thought, seeing beads of sweat multiply rapidly across his forehead. She ran a fingertip along his finely crafted lower lip before closing her eyes to focus on where they were joined. The pain had eased considerably. “Duncan?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Could we roll onto your right side?”

“But yer pain...”

“It’s fading.” When he continued to look skeptical, she touched his cheek. “I knew this would happen. I’d been forewarned. You did well.”

“Nay, lass, ye dinna reach the stars. Ye wept.”

He looked dejected. Rachael had been right. Men apparently did have very fragile egos, at least when it came to making love. And he had done everything right. He’d been slow, careful, had brought her to the brink of madness. She’d been ready--past ready if the truth were told--when he entered her. How could you fault a man because he’s--what’s the expression?--hung like a horse?

He looked humiliated and in obvious pain. She had to get him onto his side. Hoping she sounded naïve, she asked, “Is this all there is to making love?”

He heaved a sigh. “Nay, lass, ‘tis much more...or should be.”

“If that’s so, please, hold me tight and roll onto your right side.”

He shook his head again. “Remain still and soon matters will return to their normal state. Then we can separate without ye being hurt further.”

And meanwhile your shoulder’s probably tearing apart
. “But I want to see these stars you spoke of. You want me to, don’t you?”

“Aye, but not this night, ladywife.” His expression told her it might be never.

She studied his mouth and furrowed brow as her body adjusted to its new reality. The
dreaded deed
was done, her virginity a thing of the past. She couldn’t have stopped returning his kisses, nor banked her growing need, nor squelched her enjoyment in feeling his solid masculinity quaking with pent up need for her-—plain ol’ Beth--had there been a gun to her head.

She knew to her marrow she’d done exactly what she’d sworn never to do.

She’d fallen in love. Hopelessly, head over heels in love.

  With that admitted, she could see no logical reason not to seek the gold at the end of the virginity rainbow, and in the process get her handsome but reluctant hubby off his damn shoulder.

“Roll with me.”

“Nay, ye dinna ken what ye ask. ‘Tis best to wait.”

She tipped up his chin, bringing his lips within range, and then slowly ran her tongue along the crease as he had done to her. From his surprised expression, she decided she must be a good student, a quick study. She stroked his jaw, “Husband, I don’t understand the rules here, but where I come from, the show’s not over till the fat lady sings.’” He scowled in confusion. “I’m
going
to see yer stars, Duncan, or ken the reason why. So roll me over...” Thinking it must be the wine, she hummed, “
In the clover, kiss me hard, and do it again
.”

Duncan did as Beth bid, much to his own surprise, and she didn’t cry out as he did it, much to his relief.

He brushed a lock from her face and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Ye are a wonder, lass.”

“No, just a woman who likes to be kissed.”

And so he obliged.

Thinking he best get to where he need be before matters got rock hard again, he lifted her right leg and draped it over his hip. He deepened his kiss as his hand pushed her buttocks. She sighed as she eased down on him fully.

“Oh, lass.” She felt so tight, warm. It took all of his willpower not to start thrusting. He didn’t dare breath. “Are ye comfy?”

She wiggled a little, as if testing a chair seat for size, making him groan. “Easy, lass. ‘Tis too soon for ye to be riding such.”

To his utter surprise she brought his hand to her breast and whispered into his mouth, “Then you better get me ready, husband.”

B
eth awoke feeling warm, fuzzy, thoroughly loved, and more than a little sore.
My oh my
.

Spooned against him, she craned her neck to study the man who’d shown her the stars. Who would have thought just a month ago that she, “plain-as-pudding-Pudding”, would have such a lover? Or rather
husband
. Certainly not she. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of in unguarded moments, a gentle, decidedly handsome man who touched her with reverence, who whispered endearments, and brushed away her fears with his kisses.

Her pulse escalated as she watched him sleep in the faint morning light. She studied the slow steady movements of his chest, the way the air fluttered his lower lip occasionally, and marveled at the rapid eye movement behind his heavily fringed lids. What was he dreaming about? She loved the way his shoulder-length hair waved down the sides of his face and curled up on the ends, and really loved the softness of the fine dark hair that made a dark wedge across his heavily muscled chest and abdomen. Tears welled in her eyes as she memorized the rugged plains of his face.

Thank you, God. He’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever beheld.
   And he was hers. She still couldn’t believe it.

In the wee hours of the night, after their need for each other had been satiated, she’d told him the rest of her story. He’d held her and clucked and stroked her back and told her not to fash—-worry. He would take care of everything. No one had ever said that to her before.

She glanced toward the covered windows on her left and saw pink daylight peeping around the mustard-brown wool. Before he woke she needed to attend to one or two of life’s little duties. Privately.

Naked, she reached for the chamber pot, did her business, and then poured cold water from the ewer into the pitcher’s matching bowl. She glanced at her container of crushed seaweed and oats and then picked up the fine sliver of Rachael’s soap. She’d rot in hell before she’d use her seaweed concoction after suffering through Duncan’s last reaction--at least, while he was still within a hundred miles of the solar. “Humph.”

She ran a hand over her legs. Stubble. Her underarms were in similar condition. If she and Duncan were going to ‘tup’ on a regular basis she’d best get adept at using the blade. She sighed resignedly and took it out of the closet.  What used to take three minutes with a safety razor now took close to a half-hour.

Hearing water splash, Duncan slowly stretched. For the first time in his adult life his body and mind felt completely relaxed. He yawned and picked up the scent of their joining. He smiled. What a night. Given their shaky beginning, a miracle had occurred.

Had anyone had told him a virgin could—-would—-enjoy kissing, exploring, and out right fornicating as his bride had, he would have called them a liar.

And she did see the stars. Oh, aye, she’d made that verra clear, quite loudly, in fact. She’d even called out to God! Amazing. Truly amazing.

What was more, she’d understood when he’d pulled away before spilling his seed. In the wee hours he’d asked if she wanted children and she’d assured him she did, not now, but eventually. That immediately put his mind at ease.