by Anna Durand
My jeans disappeared. His arm came around me, lifting my torso off the bed just enough so he could strip off my blouse. In nothing but my bra and panties, with one breast spilling out of its cup, I lay there cradled in his arm with my back a hair's breadth above the smooth sheets. The heat of his body radiated over me, exciting every nerve and stiffening every hair. My heartbeat seemed to echo through the room, loud as a sledgehammer, and my breaths came shallow and fast.
Lachlan's weight shifted on the bed.
I raised my head. "Are you leaving?"
"Just grabbing a tool."
A lump congealed in my throat. Tool? I envisioned whips and handcuffs, the imagery dousing cold over me, nearly extinguishing my desire. I didn't like kink, I told him that. He wouldn't —
Something soft and feathery lighted on my skin between my breasts. As he fanned it over one mound, I realized the "tool" was a feather. It tickled my skin in long sweeps, the delicate vanes barely contacting my skin. My arousal surged back to life, so intense I choked back a cry. When he skimmed the feather over the nipple of my exposed breast, I sucked in a breath and threw my head back, my spine arching up toward him. Our bodies met for the briefest second, then I fell back onto the mattress, all but panting for him as the feather traced over my lips.
The feather vanished.
Lachlan reached under me to unhook my bra. His expert hands dispatched the garment in one flick, and my panties went next. A faint breeze from the air conditioning whispered over my naked flesh. Then the feather flirted with my skin again and I stopped breathing. He skirted it over every inch of me, first on my throat, then down my breastbone, wandering ever lower. I shivered when he flicked the feather over belly, just above my mound. As he spread my legs with one hand, the feather prickled the insides of my thighs, down the hypersensitive skin there, and then slowly up again to frisk over my slick folds. The dampness of my arousal burgeoned anew in a liquid rush.
Blistering. Molten. Bone-melting hunger.
It pulsed through me from the epicenter at the core of me, fueled by the feather dancing on my skin and the man hovering over me, both unseen yet tormenting me in equal measure because I couldn't see. And I didn't care. I reveled in the unknown, in the anticipation of what might come next. Doubt, gone. Fear, gone. Control, gone.
The feather was whisked away in a tiny puff of air.
What? No. I clenched my hands in the pillow above my head. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Don't stop."
Lachlan planted a kiss on the hollow of my hip. I jolted and clutched at the sheets. His lips forged a path down to my thigh, planting an open-mouth kiss perilously near my downy mound. I grabbed for him, but he snared my wrists in one hand, his grip firm but gentle. I rolled my hips, desperate to get his mouth on me. He restrained my wrists over my belly. His mouth sealed over my sex as his tongue began to swipe back and forth, back and forth. When he licked up and down for one languid stroke, a strangled moan caught in my throat. My knees fell wide open, exposing all of me to him.
He lapped and suckled, I bucked and writhed, he kept up a relentless pace as he alternated up and down, side to side, now circling his tongue around my rigid clitoris and then exhaling heated air over it. I cried out with every lash of his velvety tongue, every wisp of his breaths. His hand cuffed both of mine, but also pinned me to the bed. I struggled against the constraint, wanting free but needing his control over me. He wouldn't hurt me, somehow I knew that. I trusted him to take care of me.
Trusted him? Panic spiked through my chest. "Lachlan, wait, I —"
His tongue raked down my cleft, diving into my entrance, milking all the pleasure my body could offer. I forgot what I'd been about to say, what I'd thought, everything. Pressure built inside me, a pulse-pounding drive to climax that compelled me ever upward against the gravity of Lachlan. Up and up and up, so high my head spun. My entire body went taut, my breaths shortened into sharp gasps.
"Lachlan!" My orgasm catapulted me into the sky, and for one weightless moment ecstasy held me motionless, then released me into a free-fall. Muscles inside my opening pulsated around an emptiness only he could fill. The last wave of pleasure contorted my body, and I sank back into myself. Limp. Chest heaving. Sated, though not completely. A need thrummed inside me.
He let go of my wrists. Breathless, I flailed my hands in search of him. His body settled on top of mine, his erection trapped between us. I buried my face in his neck. "Wow, that was…"
"The beginning." He delved a hand into my hair. "We've got all night."
He peeled his body away from mine. I reached for him, but only grazed his chest. "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere." The bed creaked and rocked as he stood up. He tore off the blindfold. "Nothing could keep me from you tonight."
I squinted at the sudden brightness, but not for long. The illumination was muted, and it flickered. I sat up, nude on the pale green sheets, and started to survey the room, but a solitary sight stole my attention. The golden light from a dozen candles danced on Lachlan's skin, highlighting every muscle. He stood beside the bed, shoulders back, arms slack at his sides — and wearing nothing but his kilt. With my gaze riveted to him, I barely noticed anything else. My mind fixated on his chest, thoughts flaring like fireflies in the dark. I longed to lick his naked skin, skate my palms over his muscles, inch lower and lower until I found his kilt, then rip it off in one swipe.
Lachlan swept an arm wide. "A wee bit of Scotland brought here for you."
I laid a hand on my chest, my thoughts muddled. "What?"
"One day you'll see my country for yourself." He stepped back and spread both arms. "But for now, this is what I can give you."
Paralyzed by the stunning view of his naked chest and kilt-cloaked hips, I could do nothing except nod and stare at the spectacle he'd constructed for me. Candles occupied every available surface, five on the dresser alone, and a single plump one burning on the bedside table. None sat on the windowsill because he'd drawn the curtains. More candles decorated the flat-top wooden chest beside the dresser. Green-and-blue plaid fabric draped over the top of the dresser mirror and served as a valance over the window curtains. Eight-by-ten photographs, each framed in silver, were propped up here and there, in between the candles, so the flickering flames highlighted the images. I absorbed them one by one.
A white castle perched atop an embankment with its spires pricking the blue sky. A row of stone arches curved over a narrow road. Waves crashed against craggy white cliffs.
Lachlan pointed at each photo in turn, seeming to track my focus. "Dunrobin Castle, seat of the Sutherland clan. Glenfinnan Viaduct. The coast of Caithness." His voice entranced me as his bobbing finger drew me from photo to photo and he named each landmark. At last, we reached the final picture. The framed image rested on the bedside table, beside the plump candle. It showed a hilltop view of a quaint village seated at the shore of a small lake, nestled in a valley. Lachlan's voice softened, his expression wistful. "Ballachulish, my home."
"Oh Lachlan." I leaned over to see the photo better. "It's beautiful. I wish I could visit there someday."
He sat down beside me, the bed creaking under his weight. "Why do ye say it as if it's not possible?"
Because felons don't get international furloughs. "When were you last in Bally — Ballakol —"
"Bal-uh-koo-lish." He brushed the back of his hand over my cheek. "I was there Christmas before last."
A year and a half ago. No wonder he seemed homesick. "Work keeps you busy, huh?"
"Aye." He tipped his head to the side. "Speaking of work, do you go back tomorrow?"
Back to work at Cichon, D'Addio & Rothenberg? The firm had fired me three weeks ago. "I'm sort of taking a sabbatical."
"Ah." His lips compressed, his eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought he'd press the issue. Instead, he ran his hand up my thigh and hit me with his heart-stopping smile. "Back to the fun, eh?"
"Yes
please." I shimmied closer, looped my arms around his neck, and skidded my lips over his throat. He cupped my hip, his fingers curled against the backside, his thumb drawing circles on my skin. I swirled my tongue up to his jaw, nibbling there, while I ruffled his silken hair. When he groaned into my ear, passion exploded inside me like a flame doused with gasoline. I pulled his head back to scrape my lips over his collarbone while I mapped out his every muscle with my hands. Toned flesh gave under the light pressure of my hands, his skin warm and soft. Tiny, dark hairs bristled my lips. His skin tasted faintly of salt and spicy soap. I pressed my open mouth to his chest, my teeth gently biting. He groaned again, his thumb kneading my hip hard and fast. I stretched one arm around him to squeeze his ass.
"Och, lass, how ye drive me mad." Before I could take hold of the part of him I craved most, he pushed away to jump to his feet. Scrubbing his face with one hand, he struggled to catch his breath. "Forgot the last stop on our virtual tour of Scotland. The botanical gardens."
"Can't it wait?" His erection bobbed under his kilt, clearly anxious to come out and play. And he stopped to show me garden snapshots?
He hefted up a small wooden crate that had been concealed behind the dresser. Returning to the bed, he settled in opposite me and deposited the crate between us. I tucked my feet under me so I could lean closer. Lachlan shooed me back with a tsk and a wave of his hand. "Patience, gràidh, I'm about to show you."
"What did you call me?"
"Gràidh." He sifted through the contents of his secret box.
I took hold of the box's edge with both hands. "What does it mean?"
His hands stilled inside the box. His shoulders hunched. "Gràidh? It's Gaelic for darling."
He shouldn't be calling me darling. His rules prohibited emotional attachment, which made endearments off limits. But my heart did a funny little flutter when he spoke the word, and I couldn't summon the will to chastise him.
I dropped my hands to my knees. Darling. Why did he have to say sweet things? I hated bewitching words, like the ones Presley used to con me. Yet when Lachlan called me gràidh, I ached deep inside, far beyond the level of sexual desire. I ached for affection — his affection. Goddammit, no. I refused to turn into a swooning little moron. Never again.
My resolve lasted about thirty seconds. That's when Lachlan lifted a handful of purple flowers, tendering them to me on his upturned palm. A thin white ribbon bound the stalks into a bundle. I accepted the flowers. "They're lovely. Thistle, right?"
"Very good, gràidh. You're a canny lass."
Criminy, there he went again. Compliments and endearments. Each one he uttered set off a new pang in my chest.
He brought out another bundle, this one full of bell-shaped purple blossoms that drooped from the stems' tips. Lachlan skated his fingertips over the dainty flowers. "I had to give you this one. It's bell heather, but the Latin name is Erica cinerea." He whisked his lips over the blossoms, then clasped his hand behind the back of my head and ravished me with a mind-numbing kiss. When he spoke again, his brogue had thickened, his voice had gone hoarse. "Ye are a bonnie wee flower in yer own right."
I gaped at him, my voice gone, ripped away from me by his earnest, affectionate words. My eyes stung and if I didn't change the mood soon, I might weep right here in front of him. I was naked in body and in soul.
Lachlan handed me a bundle of bright red blooms. "Lastly, Scottish flame flower — for my fiery lass."
Stop calling me yours. I lost the battle, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I longed to be his, but he would leave me in a matter of weeks. How stupid had I been to think I could handle this arrangement?
Lachlan wiped my tears away with his thumbs, cradling my face in his palms. His brows had scrunched together to etch wrinkles over the bridge of his nose. "Donnae cry, please. They're only flowers."
He didn't get it at all. I let his eyes entrance me, anything to escape the sorrow of my forbidden yearnings. I'd agreed to his limits. I wanted hot sex. Based on how he'd driven me to a mind-blowing orgasm with his mouth, I knew he could give me so much more. Time to get back on track. "I'm okay. Earth-shattering orgasms make me cry. It's a girl thing."
Though his mouth opened, he didn't speak. His eyes narrowed, intent on me. I sighed and stretched, which bounced my breasts up. His gaze zeroed in on my chest, and his tongue darted over his lower lip. Distract Lachlan — check. Recover my composure… a work in progress.
Lachlan collected up the flower bundles, placed them in the box, and set it on the floor. His task gave me a moment to collect myself. My fit of self-pity receded until my attention zeroed in the bulge tenting his kilt. Want that. I crawled onto his lap.
His eyes widened. I yanked up his kilt to expose his jutting shaft. It bobbed between us, the head rosy tipped and glistening. I ran my finger along the lines of veins just beneath the skin. Wrapping my hand around his sleek length, I pumped slowly. "No more flowers and pretty words. I want you inside me."
"Donnae have to make yer point so… ahhh." He mashed me to his chest and flipped me onto my back, with him on top of me. I still had my hand around his shaft. He eased my fingers off, then secured my hands above my head with one hand. He was heavy, lying atop me, but it felt wonderful. "Ahmno one to deny a lady, so I'll be fucking ye now."
"About damn time."
His lips curved in a self-satisfied smile.
I rolled my hips up. His erection pressed harder into my belly. I plied his ass with my fingers, locking one ankle around his leg, baring myself to him. He shoved a hand between our bodies, straight into my folds. His deft fingers sank into my drenched, aching flesh. My body bowed up, my mouth opened wide on a strangled cry.
"You're so wet." He dipped two fingers into me while his palm rubbed my clitoris. "Aye, sweet Erica, go on. Show me yer passion."
"Shut up and do something." A cry burst out of me when he bent to devour my nipple. "Please."
Lachlan rose onto his knees and stripped off his kilt, flinging it aside. I lost my breath, awestruck by the sight of his nude body and his erection waving as if beckoning me to partake of its offerings. Couldn't stop myself. I sneaked my tongue out to skate across the undersides of my front teeth while I envisioned coiling it around his —
With swift grace, he nabbed a condom packet from the bedside table, ripped it open, and sheathed himself. He was glorious, towering over me like this. My very own Highlander. I touched a finger to the head of his penis. He fell onto all fours above me, his face hovering over mine. "Tell me what ye want."
"Are you serious?"
"I'm at yer command." He bent down for a quick, rough kiss. "Use yer hands all ye want this time."
"Gee, thanks."
A crooked grin split across his face, but his eyes were wild and blazing. Our gazes converged. He searched my face, his expression dark and lustful, yet tempered by… something. With one knee, he spread my legs wider. Every cell in my body stopped moving. I held my breath, my heartbeats thundering in my ears. He ran his tongue over my lower lip. "Tell me."
"Mm, I want —" Could I say it? Should I? Me, straight-laced Erica Teague.
Poised over me, my Highlander compressed his lips and hauled in a deep breath. His voice rasped. "Anything for you, gràidh. Ye need only say it."
"I want you to —" My voice broke off. Say it, say it, say it. Oh how I longed to.
Lachlan pinched my clit.
I thrashed under him, shouting wordlessly. Wild woman, remember? I met those captivating eyes and told him, "Fuck me."
Chapter Fourteen
Lachlan plunged inside me to the hilt, filling me completely. I clung to him, overwhelmed by the blissful fullness of him consuming me and the power of this moment. He hesitated, breathing hard, propped up on his straight arms. My legs tight around his hips, I dug my fingers into his back and tugged at him, begging for more, for what I'd demanded from him.
He gasped for air, sweat beading on his forehead. At my rapturous si
gh, he growled low in his throat, his eyes contracted into slits.
Hands around his shoulders, I levered my body up to rake my tongue over his sweat-slicked chest.
"Bloody hell, woman." He ground his hips into me, forcing his shaft even deeper.
"More," I pleaded, heedless of whether I sounded pathetic. "Do it, Lachlan. Now."
He withdrew until the tip of his erection nudged my entrance. My senses telescoped down to the vision of him over me, the musky scent of sex, and the delicious friction of his shaft rubbing back and forth, inflaming my flesh until my ears rang and black spots dotted my eyesight. I writhed and beat my fists on the mattress. His tip penetrated me only to slide back out, glide in further, pull out, lunge inside again. Each thrust was more powerful, more intense, plunging in as far as possible, consuming me with a bonfire of need and raw lust. I flailed my head, my hair whipping around my face, strands sticking to my flushed skin, plastered there by the perspiration swiftly sheening my body. My vision blurred, my chest burned.
"Breathe," he commanded, and I drew in one breath, and another. Blessed oxygen revived me, clearing my eyesight. I blinked slowly, dazed by the magnitude of my arousal. He sat back on his heels, took hold of my hips, and lifted them off the mattress, my thighs straddling his. His gaze swept down to my loins. His jaw slackened, and his eyes glazed as he drank in the entirety of my body. "So beautiful. An angel couldnae be as perfect."
Unable to think or speak, I gazed up at him with a kind of reverence, overstimulated from head to toe and more worked up than I'd ever imagined possible, yet touched in a way that had nothing to do with sex.
"I'll be taking you slow, my sweet Erica." His brogue molded my name into an erotic spell, cast by my Highland sorcerer. "Need to savor ye for as long as humanly possible."
Oh. My. God. I gulped back a whimper as my sex tightened, my clitoris so engorged and achy it almost hurt. No man had a right to be this hot. It had to violate the laws of nature.
He widened his stance, wiggling side to side until his knees parted and his cock aligned with my opening. His hands were still locked on my hips, his eyes never wavered from mine. I swore little blue flames flickered in those irises, hints of the inferno he held inside.
