by Amy Sandas
“I don’t mewl.”
The look in his eyes was far too wicked...and far too potent. “We’ll see.”
His hand slid warmly over her hip, then across her low belly as he stepped around behind her. Pressing his palm flat over her navel, he lowered his head. She felt his warm breath first, then the touch of his lips, soft and delicate against the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
Tingling sensations spread from the gentle kiss, making her nipples pucker as heat filled the flesh between her legs. Another quiet press of his lips. Her eyes closed as her head fell to the side. When she felt the wet touch of his tongue, she struggled to draw a full breath.
“You respond beautifully. But you’re holding back. There is no shame in this, love. No shame in succumbing to pleasure in its purest form.”
He released a heavy sound from the base of his throat. “Can you feel how badly I wish to please you?”
She could. His hot, hard length nestled insistently against the softness of her buttocks.
“I need to touch you.”
Something in his words—his deep, throaty voice—triggered a tightening within her and caused her to arch and press her hips against him as she made a sound that was half pleading, half demand.
He immediately slipped his hand between her legs. The warmth and strength of his touch easing between her thighs was disconcerting. But the first slide of his fingers along the seam of her sex was astonishing.
Her legs stiffened and she grasped his forearm. The increased pressure of her hand over his wrist caused his middle finger to dip into the wet heat of her inner folds. The deeper caress sent a swift shock of sensation across her tense, concentrated nerves, drawing a gasp from her throat.
“You are so beautifully responsive. Your body already melts to my touch,” he murmured thickly against her ear. “But I want more.”
She held her breath and her hand remained wrapped tightly around his wrist as he guided his fingers in a mind-stealing rhythm against her previously untouched flesh. The first circling pass over the bundle of nerves at the apex had Moira tilting her hips for more. On the second, firmer press of his fingers over that sensitive bud, her spine curved into his chest, her rear pressed back against his groin, and her head dropped to his shoulder.
She no longer felt in control of herself as his fingers explored her secrets. She couldn’t stop seeking—needing—a deeper possession. A more intent claiming.
As though reading her mind, he slid his fingers in a luscious caress along her folds before the blunt tip of one finger delved past her entrance. The intrusive pressure of his finger inside her was unexpected and wonderful. Languid heat rushed to meet his touch.
“That’s better, love,” he praised in a gruff purr as he withdrew his finger slowly before returning it to her sheath, pressing deeper.
A sound rose in her throat, a half-strangled cry behind clenched teeth as she curled her fingernails into his arm.
Without removing his hand from between her legs, he wrapped his other arm around her torso to palm her breast. “I’ve got you, love. You can let go. Surrender to the sensations.”
Her breath moved swiftly between her parted lips as he pressed delicate kisses along the side of her throat. She felt wanton and wild standing there in his arms with his fingers playing over her body as though he knew every secret yearning she’d ever had.
She never could have imagined anything so decadent—so erotic.
And then he pressed a second finger inside her to join the first. The added pressure and fullness tugged another sound from her throat and caused her inner muscles to clench around his fingers.
“Perfect,” he whispered as he gently curled his fingers inside her, eliciting a new streak of pleasure that weakened her legs.
With her body trembling, he offered a few more lush strokes before withdrawing his hand to sweep her up in his arms. He carried her swiftly to the bed and lowered her to the mattress, following her down until his large, muscled body covered hers. On instinct, she parted her legs, providing space for his hips to rest.
The broad crest of his heavy arousal was poised at her entrance, shielded only by the thin linen of his trousers. The presence and pressure of him caused a flutter in her belly that traveled down to her sex. Her thighs tightened against his hips and her breath came short.
On instinct, she slipped her arms around him to press her palms flat to the muscles of his back. She was on fire, breathless, needful, and terrified.
It was too much. Far more than she’d ever expected to feel with him. More than she wanted to feel.
He gave a rocking thrust of his hips and the delicious response in her body made her squirm. His breath caressed her face and knew he was looking down at her, but she kept her eyes tightly closed. If she looked into his blue eyes now, she’d be lost completely.
His mouth fell to the side of her throat as he performed another roll of his pelvis, causing his hardened length to glide along every awakened nerve of her sex.
Then he made a gruff sound and rolled to the side. He shed his trousers quickly before settling back between her legs to cover her breast with his mouth. The feeling was indescribable. Hot, luscious, demanding, generous. He laved and sucked and scraped with his teeth.
The sensual distraction was so overwhelming she didn’t even tense at the feel of his erection pressing more firmly to her core.
And then he reached down between them and slipped his fingers along her opening, softening her flesh before parting it gently to make way for his thick member. The pressure of his possession was slow and encompassing. It took her breath and all her concentration to keep from pushing him away as he slowly breached her virgin flesh, inch by inch, stretching her until he was full and heavy inside her.
And then he stilled.
With his head bowed beside hers and his breath fanning across her shoulder, he paused.
Long enough for Moira to make note of the sweat coating his skin and the brush of his chest hair against her nipples. She breathed in his scent and felt his heartbeat shuddering through her body. And she felt the deep, hot throb of him inside her.
The intimacy of the moment stole her breath. She felt empowered by the passions rushing through her, yet also more vulnerable than she had ever known was possible.
With her awareness muddled by astonishing new sensations, she didn’t notice that, in their stillness, she caressed his back in long, gentle strokes of her fingertips. Once she realized what she was doing, she stopped, which seemed to inspire a low groan of dismay from the man atop her.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the outer shell of her ear. “Have you become accustomed to me inside you?” he asked in a gruff whisper.
“What?” she asked, a bit a confused.
“Has your pain passed? Are you ready for me to move?”
“Why do you have to move?”
His body shuddered with what she quickly realized was a deep roll of laughter. “So I can make love to you properly, wife.”
There was more?
What had already transpired had been quite intense enough for one night. But then he must have realized she wasn’t going to reply, because he withdrew from her by slow degrees, igniting strange tingling sensations throughout her body, inside and out. After a brief shuddering pause, he thrust carefully forward once again.
He repeated the motion a few more times, withdrawing farther and thrusting deeper each time until tension built slowly in her muscles and low in her belly. Then he brought a hand up to the side of her face and his mouth claimed hers. Soft at first and languid with gentle sweeps of his velvety tongue.
But as the motion of his hips became more insistent, so did his kiss. His tongue delved past her lips and played with hers. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and released it with a gentle bite.
The sensations became steadily more intense—more consuming—until she clutched fiercely at him, her fingernails curling into his skin. She arched her back to press her breasts more firmly to hi
s chest and lifted her knees to deepen the strokes of his flesh inside her.
She grew nearly mindless as the needs of her body overruled all else.
And then, with a deliberate change in the angle at which he entered her, the perfect grinding pressure of his pelvis to her sensitive swollen bud caused a sweetly sharp and sudden pulse. Her body froze as she clung to him. He gave another hard thrust and the pulse exploded into a wave of aching, sparkling pleasure that rushed out to her toes and fingertips and swept the breath from her lungs.
Chapter Six
Braden watched her in fascination. He resisted his own release in fear he’d lose focus and miss even the slightest detail of her pleasure. It was a sight unlike any he’d seen before—the tension across her delicate features, the flush of her skin, and the crinkle between her brows as she strained toward climax. And finally, surrender as her orgasm claimed her. It was gorgeous. He only wished he could have seen the moment reflected in her eyes.
As he watched, still rocking his hips in a gentle motion to prolong her pleasure, the tension faded from her body and the taut line of her jaw softened. Her lips parted on a breathy sigh of pure sensual gratification and the sound slid through him like lightning, shattering the last of his control.
He quickly pulled free of her clinging sheath, groaning at the loss of such luscious heat as he took himself in hand. Two rough strokes brought him to climax and he spilled his seed across her soft belly in an orgasm that felt as though it had been coaxed from the very heart of him.
As the deep shudders of pleasure left his body, he pressed soft kisses to her shoulders, her slim neck, and the freckled crests of her cheeks.
And all the while, she kept her eyes tightly closed.
When he brushed his lips across her parted lips, the sigh that slid from her lips was sweet and heady. He would have delved his tongue past her teeth for a deeper taste if not for the fact that as he shifted over her, he felt the wet, cooling evidence of his release between them.
With a groan, he rolled from the bed to fetch a towel left behind from his bath. He carefully cleaned his seed from her skin before cleaning himself. Then he sprawled on the bed beside her and pulled the bedclothes over them both. He considered asking her how she fared—he hadn’t missed the tinge of virgin blood swirled with his seed—and wondered if she’d want to be drawn close to sleep.
But then she rolled to her side facing away from him, and though he would have loved to fall asleep with her breast in his hand and her buttocks nestled to his groin, the long days of travel combined with the complete exhaustion that only came after an amazing sexual release weighed his limbs, preventing him from moving.
He was nearly asleep when she moved again, but he managed to crack his eyes open enough to see her slipping silently from the bed.
Her dark hair was a tangle of curls around her shoulders and her slim back was unyielding as she leaned forward to pick her nightgown from the floor. Rising, she slipped the garment over her head and tied it quickly to keep it from falling off her shoulders. Then she swiped up her robe, and before Braden could lift his head, she fled the room through the door that must connect to her bedroom.
Braden had never been one to linger in a lover’s bed or allow one to linger in his.
He should be pleased his prideful little wife hadn’t wanted to stay. He was pleased. Such intimacies could cause deeper feelings to develop, which would be pointless and uncomfortable considering the temporary nature of their relationship.
Rolling to his stomach, he closed his eyes and told himself once again that it was best she hadn’t stayed.
***
The next morning, Braden awoke feeling more well-rested than he had in a long while. Memories of what had transpired the night before filtered into his conscious awareness and he experienced a rush of anticipation for the new day.
As he made his way from the east wing, the savory scents of breakfast lured him on.
Ewan was waiting in the hall to show Braden to the breakfast room, where a modest but well-prepared selection of foods was set up on a sideboard. A quick glance indicated his bride had not yet come down.
“Is your lady a late riser?” he asked the footman.
“Nay, Your Grace. Miss Dunn—uh, sorry, Her Grace—has been up an’ aboot fer hours. I’m to tell ye she’ll be busy most of the day and I’m ta offer my services as guide if ye’d like a tour of the house an’ whatnot.”
Braden experienced a twinge of disappointment in learning his bride would not be joining him that morning and realized with a bit of surprise that he’d been looking forward to seeing her.
After breakfast, Ewan took him on a walk through Dunnwood Castle.
In the dark of night, with a storm raging outside, the enormous medieval dwelling with its stone walls and ancient tapestries had felt gloomy and outdated. But beyond the main hall, he discovered brightly painted walls and plush rugs under his feet. He was also pleased to see evidence of modern updates in the lighting fixtures and other conveniences.
As they progressed from room to room, Ewan offered a steady stream of facts and historical anecdotes about the estate. Despite his youth, Ewan was more than a simple footman. He explained that his father had been stablemaster for decades, which meant Ewan had lived at the castle his entire life. He’d held various positions, from stable boy to gardener to kitchen helper. When Dunnwood’s butler retired a couple years ago, Ewan had stepped in to perform many of the tasks usually reserved for a senior servant. Apparently, he did so well that a new butler was never hired.
His bride’s parents had died within a couple years of each other when she’d been very young and the responsibility of the estate had passed to her upon her grandfather’s death, when she’d been a girl of only fifteen. Ewan explained that though she’d had an old steward to advise her, she’d essentially managed it all on her own from the start.
Braden thought about how his own extensive properties were overseen by an extremely competent steward who had held the position since his father’s time. All that was required of Braden was a quarterly meeting and a bi-annual visit to each of his properties. He’d always been grateful for his father’s foresight and willingly left the running of the properties to his steward and various managers since it allowed Braden the time and freedom to explore other interests, such as wine, women, and wickedness.
Dunnwood was at least the size and scope of his own largest estate. That Moira managed everything personally was astonishing.
“An estate this size is a heavy burden for one so young,” Braden noted as they paused before a third-story window overlooking the expansive back lawn. The small village could just barely be spotted nestled in a dale some distance away.
“Aye,” Ewan agreed with a bobbing nod and none of the deference most footmen—or even a distinguished butler—would employ. “But our lady’s always been up to the challenge. She kens wot she’s aboot, an’ has always seen to the welfare of the people of Dunnwood and the village. Even in these last few years when things started gettin’ tough.” The young man flashed a wide grin. “But things’ll be better now that yer here.”
Before Braden could wonder what he meant by that, Ewan lifted his brows. “Wouldya like to see the stables?”
The stables had received almost the same degree of modern updates as the house, though with many of the stalls empty and a large farm wagon nestled in the back rather than a carriage, it appeared Dunnwood was not an estate that relied a great deal on horseflesh. Ewan’s father, the stablemaster, seemed convinced that Braden’s arrival would result in the acquisition of more horses, and apparently, he knew a breeder of excellent Thoroughbreds in Suffolk.
Braden wasn’t sure how many people were aware that their union was only expected to be temporary, so he responded only with a vague nod.
From the stables, Ewan led Braden down a path toward the forest. It was a short walk to the gamekeeper’s cottage, where Braden met Douglas MacRieve, a man aged somewhere between forty and fif
ty, with a curling red beard that grew to mid-chest and a full head of riotous hair, who stood nearly seven feet tall and easily half as broad.
This was the man Ewan offered to fetch when Braden had first arrived.
Douglas proved to be an odd but boisterous sort.
The gamekeeper boasted of Dunnwood’s reputation for having one of the best stocked forests and trout streams in the county. In gruff tones, he lamented the fact the deer had not been so plentiful the last few years and the trout even less so. But then he cuffed Braden strongly on the back and gave a toothy grin as he said he’d expect the game to return soon, now that the laird and lady had come together in the spirit of prosperity.
Once again, Braden nodded along though he had no idea how he might have any influence over the wild creatures of the estate.
By the time he returned to the house at the end of the day, he was looking forward to a hot meal and the sight of his green-eyed bride. He took his time bathing and dressing for dinner and wondered if she would do the same. Though he wouldn’t mind much if she appeared in the dining room wearing her nightgown and robe with her dark hair curling over her shoulders and her feet bare.
The thought sent a shock of anticipation through him as he instantly recalled details of the night before. The feel of her body beneath his, the tentative softness of her hands caressing his back, and the way her lovely features had drawn tight in her pleasure.
In making his decision to come to Scotland, he’d never imagined the deep enjoyment he’d experience bedding his bride. It had been...unexpectedly intense and fulfilling. He wanted more of it.
He wanted more of his bride in general, he realized with a frown as he recalled how many times throughout the day he’d looked around in hopes of catching sight of her coming or going about the estate.
The degree of passion he possessed for his bride surprised him, but his simple desire for her company astonished him even more. Whenever he tried to figure what it was about her that drew him, aside from their obvious sexual compatibility, he couldn’t quite pin it down. Luckily, Braden wasn’t one to overthink such things. If he enjoyed something, he sought more of it—simple.
