The MacTaggart Brothers Trilogy

by Anna Durand

  "What?" He gaped at me like I'd confessed to armed robbery.

  "Chill, Rory." I pressed my body to his, moving my hand up his thigh and across his hip to cup his erection. "I didn't tell the girls anything private. But I did tell them you're awesome in the sack."

  His lips arched into a devilish smirk, and his hands wandered up to my waist. "I'm awesome, am I?"

  "Absolutely."

  My thoughts drifted back to lunch, when I'd mentioned I owned a copy of the Kama Sutra. Erica had chuckled and said, "No wonder Rory's so happy lately." Though I longed to ask him if he was happy with me, I knew that would be a bad idea.

  "I spoke to Aidan earlier," Rory said. "He called me 'sweetie-pie.' Twice."

  I winced, baring my teeth. "Whoops. Erica said Lachlan told her you can be a grump sometimes. I told her maybe, but you're also a real sweetie-pie." I bit my lip. "Calli must've told Aidan what I said."

  "Heaven save us from blethering wives. I warned you if Aidan heard your silly names for me, he'd be calling me 'sweetie-pie' for the rest of eternity."

  "I'll make it up to you, promise." I slithered down his body until my face aligned with his cock, barely restrained by his slacks. The sight of that bulge made my mouth water. "If you'll let me."

  His chest swelled on a huge intake of breath.

  My hands on his thighs, I took hold of his zipper with my teeth.

  The breath exploded out of him.

  I pulled the zipper down, down, down.

  He grasped the back of my head, halting my progress. "No, Emery."

  "Why not? Because it's daytime?"

  "Because… Just donnae."

  He didn't want to lose control. I understood this, but I couldn't help feeling rejected — again.

  My hands on his thighs, I jacked my body up, employing him for leverage. "Okay. Your loss."

  Rory stood and slapped my behind. "Off with you. I have work."

  As I headed for the door, I waved my fingers at him. "That excuse won't work forever, you know."

  Though he said nothing, the resignation on his face answered for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  That night, I was in my room at ten o'clock wearing only my short, satin robe — pink, of course — and picking out my clothes for the next day. My mood had soured around sunset when I figured out I wouldn't see Rory tonight, the sixth night without him since we'd tied the knot. Damn, he had repression down to a science. I'd gotten him riled up good yesterday, and again today, yet he kept his distance.

  After setting out my ensemble for the morning, I ambled to the bed and flipped the covers back.

  A knock resounded through the door. Two quick, crisp raps.

  Rory.

  I glanced at the doorway, my mouth open, but I never got the chance to invite him in. The door pivoted inward, and Rory sauntered inside.

  My open mouth tightened into a smile, and a sumptuous warmth rushed through me. He was completely nude, with his erection curving up to bob in front of his lower belly.

  He shut the door on his way to me, halting a few feet away at the foot of the bed. "You win."

  "Just like that? I mean, you could wait a couple more hours and it'll be day five. You'll have won the bet."

  "Donnae care about winning." He caught sight of my legs, and his engorged shaft jerked. His taut expression mutated into pain. "I need to fuck ye, m'eudail. Now."

  "Oh God, I want you too, baby. So much."

  His hands came up to rub my upper arms. "The wager was we'd be naked in your room in four days. Cannae wait another day to feel the heat of your soft, slick body around my cock."

  I sagged into him, angling my head up in a silent plea for his mouth on mine.

  He skimmed his hands up to my shoulders and down along the neckline of my robe until his fingertips teased my breasts. With one hand, he freed the sash around my waist, and the robe fell open. He pushed the satin off my shoulders, letting it flutter to the floor.

  "M'eudail," he whispered, "you are the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on." He dragged his hands over my breasts, onto my belly. "Or laid my hands on."

  His touch felt so good I spread my hands on his chest. "I want to touch you the way you've touched me, the other times we were together. I want to feel every inch of you."

  "This is what you want for the bet?"

  "No. This is extra, and you can say no."

  Grasping my upper arms, he pulled me into his body. "Have your way with me, m'eala-fhiadhaich. Donnae let me fetter your wings."

  "My wings?" I hopped up on my toes, twining my arms around his neck. "What was that you called me? It sounded lovely."

  "M'eala-fhiadhaich. It means my wild swan." His fingers manipulated my flesh, the pressure as gentle as the emotion in his voice. "You are a free and untamed lass, and as elegant and beautiful as any swan."

  My throat went thick, my stomach fluttered. An endearment? I wanted to shriek my joy while jumping up and down, but this intimacy between us was fragile. I'd dared to ask what he'd said, and he had confided the truth to me. Enough for tonight.

  He'd also given me permission to have my way with him. A thrill rippled through me, energizing my skin and electrifying every fine hair.

  I moved back a half step, just enough to get more room to admire his body — dear God, I could've licked him from head to toe, especially that glorious erection — and more room to explore him. The golden light from the bedside lamp burnished his skin, except for the red tip of his erection. The whisper-thin, cinnamon-colored hairs scattered over his skin seemed more golden in the muted light, and I placed my palms on his belly to glide them up, reveling in the silky sensation of those hairs brushing my skin and his warm flesh under my hands.

  His eyes drifted almost shut, with only a sliver through which he might glimpse me. The slight space between his lips beckoned to me, promising a scorching kiss, but I had my sights set on another goal.

  With my hands, I explored and memorized every valley and swell of his muscles, marveling at the contrast between taut sinew and tender flesh. Up his chest my hands traveled, across his shoulders, down his arms and back up his sides to his narrow hips. I moved my palms to his ass, but they couldn't cover the expanse of his firm buttocks. My body flush against his, I ran my hands up his back, feeling the hard curves of his shoulder blades.

  He exhaled a jagged breath. His voice gruff with need, he said, "Ye plan on killing me, then, lass?"

  "You won't die from lust."

  "Maybe not." His body shuddered on a sharp intake of breath. "But I might caith before you're done."

  Caith? In the instant I wondered what he meant, his shaft throbbed against my belly and I got an inkling. "Do you mean ejac —"

  "Yes," he hissed, his cheeks turning a dusky pink.

  My poor Rory, all pent up and needy. "I can help with that."

  I went to my knees at his feet, my face positioned before his penis. My mouth watered at the sight of it so close, of his smooth flesh stretched tight over his engorged length and at the bead of moisture poised on its rosy head. I leaned in, opening my mouth.

  He stopped me with two fingers on my lips. "Don't. Please."

  Gazing up the expanse of his body to meet his eyes, I understood he'd made all the concessions he could. His rejection stung less this time, moderated by the knowledge we would share intimacy this evening. Maybe one day he'd let me taste him, but not tonight.

  I rose and laid my hands on him once more.

  He picked me up and laid me down on the bed. The silken sheets felt so good on my skin, a little shiver of pleasure rippled through me. Rory climbed onto the bed, towering above me with his knees at either side of my thighs.

  Gorgeous. No other word seemed appropriate. He was gorgeous.

  He moved one knee between my thighs, urging me to part them.

  Like I could resist anything he wanted. Naked Rory was a force of nature, one I gladly let sweep me away on
the winds of passion. I spread my legs for him as I raised my arms over my head, my hands just above the pillow.

  He skimmed his hands up my belly. His fingers molded around each breast while his thumbs pushed under them to rub slow and delicate circles on the undersides.

  My body arched into his touch, starved for the sensations he evoked with such ease. Had it only been a few days since he'd laid hands on me? His thumbs swept up to toy with my nipples, and my neck bowed, driving my head deeper into the pillow. Oh God, it felt like forever since he'd touched me this way.

  He smothered my nipple with his mouth, saturating my skin with moist heat. The areola pebbled and darkened to a dusky shade of pink.

  The breath caught in my throat.

  With his eyes trained on mine, he slid his tongue around my nipple like the tongue of an erotic serpent tasting my flesh with aching slowness, unleashing a torrent of pleasure that rippled down every nerve all the way down to my clitoris.

  I clenched my hands around the rails of the headboard, hanging on for the tempest to come. More, please, more. My voice had abandoned me, so I implored him in my mind as if he might read my thoughts and grant my desperate wish.

  His tongue. Licking, licking, licking. His thumbs. Flicking, flicking, flicking. Every movement was deliberate and precise, building the pressure little by little. His erection grazed my belly, and I bucked my hips in mindless need.

  My eyelids fluttered half closed.

  Panic spiked through my chest. My lids sprang open.

  Shit. I'd almost shut my eyes after promising him I wouldn't. But his mouth, the way it tormented my nipple, the impulse to close my eyes intensified every second, the craving to lose myself in the bliss of his touch irresistible.

  Oh God. So close to coming, so close, right on the edge. My mouth gaped open on a gasp. Oh God.

  My eyes tried to shut again.

  I forced them open, gripped the headboard tighter until pangs shot through my fingers, and let out a frustrated whimper.

  Rory lifted his head, his thumbs going motionless. "What's wrong?"

  "I —" The onset of tears stung my eyes and burned in the back of my throat. "I'm trying not to close my eyes, but I don't think I can stop it. I'm sorry, I know I promised, I'm sorry."

  He supported his body with one arm, laying a hand on my cheek. "I'm the one who should apologize. Please forgive me, m'eudail. I never meant to cause you pain."

  With his hand on my cheek and his gentle eyes searching my face, I couldn't deny him what he asked for, couldn't hold on to my anguished frustration any longer. It dissolved in his reassuring presence. A couple much needed breaths soothed my nerves and evaporated the tears.

  "It's okay," I said. "You didn't do it on purpose."

  He smoothed his hand over my hair. "Forget what I said. Close your eyes if you need to."

  "Are you sure?"

  His breaths tickled the hairs on my cheek. "Aye. That rule is rescinded."

  One more rule gone. More progress. My heart exulted as if he'd declared his eternal love for me though all he'd done was let me close my eyes. Stupid, but I no longer cared if my reactions to him were moronic. Instead of suppressing these feelings, I would marvel at them, relish them, envelop myself in the tempest of emotions this man evoked in me.

  And if he never shared my wonder… That was beyond my control.

  "Kiss me," I said.

  His cheeks dimpled. "I will."

  Lighting a kiss on my nose, he shimmied backward down my body until his face hovered over my groin.

  I tipped my head up. "You didn't kiss me."

  "Ahm about to. Feel free to close yer eyes and scream mah name."

  With two fingers, he separated my folds. "Mah lass loves pink. So do I, when it's the rosy color of yer succulent, slippery skin."

  He skimmed his tongue straight down the center of my cleft, dipping it into my opening only to snatch it away.

  "Don't stop," I said. "Kiss me the way you did on our wedding night."

  One side of his mouth kicked up, and he placed a soft kiss on my clitoris. "Mah woman needs to come, and ahmno letting ye down."

  I lashed my hands around the headboard rails again, my chest heaving with each breath, the weight of need bearing down on my belly.

  His lips engulfed my clit, but even as he began a tortuously deliberate pace of lapping and suckling, his gaze remained riveted to mine. Those glossy eyes simmered with desire, captivating me so I couldn't have shut my eyes if I'd wanted to. His cheeks caved in as he suckled hard. His lips puckered around my nub, and he rasped his tongue over it. I writhed, my hips bucking every time he pulled on my flesh, only to bounce down on the mattress when he released the pressure for a heartbeat.

  I thrashed my head and whimpered, this time in sheer ecstasy.

  He wedged a hand between my thighs, and his questing fingers found my entrance.

  "Rory," I gasped.

  A single finger dived inside me and whisked back out, only to punch in again and retreat. A second finger joined the first, both pushing inside me and then pulling out in a thrusting motion that drove me to moan and writhe with a hunger too intense to deny.

  "P-please," I begged between harsh breaths. "Please, oh God, make me come."

  His eyebrows eased upward, and his lips tightened as he smiled around my nub. He never let up, not the tiniest smidgen, in his suckling of my flesh. He crooked those fingers inside me, stretching them toward a hidden spot, stroking it so deftly while he nipped at my clit and chafed his thumb along the center of my cleft.

  My back arched into the bed, raising my hips, and my knees folded until my heels lifted off the mattress. I clung to the rails, breathless, shocked by the power of what I sensed mounting inside me.

  And I did it. I screamed his name.

  The climax ripped through me, even as his fingers rubbed that magic spot inside my opening. The exquisite agony of sexual release squeezed sharp cries from me while I flailed like I might fly up to the ceiling if not for Rory's body pinning my hips to the bed.

  Spent, I went limp beneath him. My mind seemed to float in a weightless bliss, and the aftermath of unbelievable pleasure shivered through my body.

  Rory rose onto all fours and crawled forward until his face was above mine. "Ye didnae close yer eyes."

  "Couldn't. You were —" I gulped in cool, delicious oxygen. "Didn't want to stop looking at you."

  He fanned his hand over my belly. "I love the way yer always wet and ready for me."

  I lifted my trembling arms to clasp his nape. "You make me hot and wet without even touching me, just the look in your eyes does me in."

  He nuzzled my throat. "You make me hard as granite with only a smile."

  "Really." I freed one hand to wrap it around his rigid shaft. "Oh. You weren't exaggerating."

  "Complete honesty, that's what you wanted."

  I guided my hand up to the base of his erection, then smoothed it down his velvety flesh. "Honesty can be so hot."

  He flailed an arm out, fumbling for the drawer on the bedside table. His big fingers located the metal latch, and he yanked the drawer open. His breaths panted as he grabbed for a condom packet. It slipped from his grasp. With a sputtered curse that must've been Gaelic, he snagged the packet and slammed the drawer shut.

  "Let me help," I said, reaching for the foil packet.

  He closed his fist around it and growled, "I'll die from lust if ye lay even one of yer wee, dainty fingers on me."

  "Told you before, no one dies from lust."

  "With you, a man could." He tore the packet open with his teeth and spat out the fragment. "Ye turn me into a bampot, with yer smiles and the way ye move that body."

  "What's a bampot?"

  "Me." He sprang to his knees, rolling the condom over his thick cock with surprising calmness.

  The muted lighting glistened on his skin and highlighted the contours of all those muscles. When he fell to his hand
s and knees, I frisked my palms over his chest, delighting in the firmness of his pecs and abs.

  "Oh Rory baby," I drawled, my voice going husky, "I want you, all of you. On top of me, inside me, any way you want me."

  I'd thought those words more than a week ago, back in New Orleans, when he'd approached me in the bar. To speak them now felt like… destiny.

  "Emery, mo leannan," he said, "I want ye every minute of every day."

  He let out the longest, deepest groan, an expression of a need so intense he couldn't speak its name, and lunged his hips down to plow his length into my flesh. He stopped there, arms shaking from the effort of holding still.

  I shackled my hands around his biceps.

  "Say that again," he whispered.

  "What?"

  "Call me —" His lips quivered. "Call me Rory baby again. Keep saying it. Please."

  That night in the dining room, he'd admitted he liked the nickname. For him to want me to say it while he made love to me… My God, it had to mean something.

  I squeezed his arms. "Rory baby."

  He pulled out and plunged into my depths, slow and easy, doing it over and over, each stroke a decadent glide of his hardness merging with my tender flesh. My body hugged his length as he possessed and abandoned me. Sweat beaded on his skin, shimmering on the tips of slender cinnamon hairs.

  I moaned his name, gasped his name, shouted his name, a litany of "Rory baby" that spilled from my lips one after another.

  The pleasure mounted, sweet as honey and rich as hot oil.

  Rory gave an anguished groan and bent to cover my mouth with his, swallowing my cry along with his own.

  I clung to him through every undulating spasm of my climax. He was my anchor, the center of my existence, the source of everything good in my world. He pumped his hips with enough power to bounce my breasts each time he pounded me into the mattress, until he went rigid and roared with his own release. The universe telescoped down to the two of us, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths ragged, our bodies bound.

  He collapsed on top of me, his head on the pillow next to mine, his face in my hair.

  I swathed him in my arms, satisfied in every way, basking in the bliss of climax but also the rapture of his weight atop me and his semi-erect cock nestled inside my body.