Surely knowing wasn’t necessary. It would be easy to keep Madge from finding out as Hamish would be busy with the whisky when they returned and MacKenzie would not mention it. By the time they both got to London and went their separate ways, it would be a nonissue entirely as he would find a way to see it dissolved. After all, in the event one of them did remarry, their children would be illegitimate.
Certainly he did not wish to pursue their marriage. Especially when he was familiar with the hatred wrought by a marriage between the English and the Scottish.
Alistair merely grunted in response to Emma's thanks. He pulled out his flask, but she reached out for it before he could offer it to her. “Might I have some?”
He handed it to her. “By all means. Are you seeking some courage?”
“I fear I’ve already lost it.” She swallowed a dainty sip with a wince and returned the flask to him, which he tucked into his jacket without drinking. Depending on how the night went with her state of duress, she could be in need of more later.
“You see, I…” She trailed off. “I am horrible at figuring out the right thing to say in situations such as the one downstairs, and even this one. It’s why I prefer to be alone in the country. This.” She gestured between them. “This is why I wish to be alone. Why I wish not to even have a husband who I might embarrass.”
“No man would be embarrassed to have you as a wife,” Alistair protested.
She shook her head. “Do not start with your flattery again. I thought we were beyond—”
“I will not publicly have a wife who I do not respect enough to compliment. And I would not marry a woman who was unattractive.”
Frustration creased her otherwise smooth brow.
“You are beautiful, Emma.”
She lowered her head, but he caught the point of her chin in his hand and gently angled her face back up toward him. Her eyes were the last to follow, but when their gazes finally met, he saw hurt there, raw and deep.
“You don't have to do this,” she gritted out. “I am not your wife. You do not have to degrade either of us with meaningless compliments.”
Alistair studied her face, the line of her brows set in the typical stubborn expression she often wore, her eyes large and rimmed with thick black lashes. And that mouth, lush and tempting.
All of her was lush and tempting. This last week had been sweet torture with a lust his own hand could not sate. He need only recall the way her breasts had teetered precariously in the red gown and would immediately experience the stirrings of a cock-stand.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered.
“Because you're the loveliest woman I've ever met in the whole of my life.”
She twisted out of his gentle hold. “Please stop saying that.”
“Tell me why you have this misguided view of yourself.”
A tear hovered on her lower lash line.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“It has been remarked upon. By several different people on many occasions.”
Anger charged through him. Who would tell a woman she was unattractive? Especially one as appealing as Emma.
More of the English mindset, no doubt. They believed a woman with fair hair was the loveliest, a woman with a straight, slim figure and a demure countenance. To Alistair, they were fragile, helpless damsels.
“Whoever said such rubbish were fools, the whole lot of them,” he said vehemently. “I have no desire for your money, Emma. I do not pay you compliments based on your wealth, or in the hopes you’ll marry me. I already told you, I have no mind to wed. I say what I say based on how bonny I find you.”
Her mouth quirked. “Bonny?”
Damn. Being in Scotland always did seep into his refined vernacular. But then, Scotland was his soul. He was no cosseted Englishman, he only squeezed himself into the appearance of one to ensure he might be taken seriously by men whose opinions he shouldn’t care about.
“Aye, verra bonny, lass.”
She smiled up at him and the tension in her shoulders relaxed.
“Did you know your hair has these golden strands that lightens up like honey when the sun strikes it? It shines as though it’s been lit with fire,” he said.
Wariness tightened around her eyes and she shook her head.
“Your eyes are the perfect shade of blue, and remind me of the heart of the ocean. And your mouth…” He glanced to her lips and his throat went dry.
“My fish mouth,” she scoffed.
Fish mouth?
“Your mouth is the most sensual I've ever seen.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. She was warm and silky.
“Sensual?” She drew her lower lip into her mouth, as if savoring his caress.
Alistair gritted his teeth to keep his wits about him. “You have lips that make a man have sinful thoughts.”
She flushed and he realized he had gone too far. “What sinful thoughts?” she whispered.
Dear God, she was killing him.
“Kissing you,” he murmured. “Tasting you, teasing you until…”
She was an innocent. He had to remind himself of that, to ensure he did not push her too far.
“Until?” she pressed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dilated to pinpricks of black in a sea of endless ocean he could fall into. “You would tease me until what?” she asked.
He groaned and lowered his face to hers, capturing her full lips with his. She tasted of whisky and lust and met his kiss with equal passion. Her tongue swept his mouth and he darted out to graze hers. She moaned against him and rose on her tiptoes to better reach him.
His hand smoothed down the coarse cotton of her gown to her narrow waist and drew her more snugly against him. He was already hard and throbbing for her. Her hips pushed against his and he tried to pull back, to keep her from feeling his obvious arousal, but she leaned forward until their bodies were flush against one another.
“I want to tease you until you are sated with pleasure,” he growled. “Until you know exactly how beautiful you are.”
Chapter 8
Emma was indeed beginning to feel beautiful. And desired and alive. She burned with the most intense awareness of her life, encouraged by Alistair's attentions, the heat in his gaze and the passion in his voice. He held her to him as though she were his, as though he meant to possess her.
Good heavens, she wanted him to possess her.
Alistair glided kisses down her jaw and neck, the same as she had done with him the prior week while smearing her carmine. Only different. Very, very different.
His mouth was hot, his breath a soft contrast to the rough scrape of his unshaven jaw against her incredibly sensitive skin.
Emma moaned and curled closer into him. His hands smoothed up her gown, along the sides of her breasts, and her nipples tingled with desire. Her body arched against him and the length of hardness straining against his kilt. It rubbed deliciously against the building heat between her legs and sent prickles of bliss over every bit of her skin.
Alistair groaned, a sound both primitive and desperate. She was attractive then, and powerful.
She may be an innocent who was only kissed for the first time by Alistair, but she knew what their bodies were preparing for. She'd heard the servants speak about such matters when they didn't know she was nearby. At first, she had been shocked, but later, after having given it some thought, she had been curious.
Now with Alistair, with her blood simmering in frenzied passion, she was eager to fully experience what she'd only heard secondhand. She flexed against the hardness once more. She was rewarded by both the wave of pleasure at the intimate place between her legs, and by another of Alistair's ragged groans.
He pushed up at her breasts so the bulk of them threatened to spill over the top of the blue frock and his mouth moved over them, kissing. Goodness, kissing and licking.
Her whimpers of excitement came faster and she found herself thrusting her bosom forward at him, offering them to him. Emma
spread her legs to better feel the length of his hardness rub against her, and her trembling knees gave out. He caught her before she could fall even a fraction of an inch, his strong hands holding her upright initially before he lowered her to the bed.
Alistair leaned over her, his mouth fastening to hers, his tongue teasing against hers. He nudged against her, hot and hard beneath the kilt, and Emma's legs parted so their hips met amid layers of clothing. The solid length of him ground against the wild throb between her thighs with an intense, thrilling heat. She cried out and clung to him.
If it was so exquisite to connect there, it was no wonder the servants spoke dreamily of a man's cock being buried within them.
“We should not be doing this,” Alistair gritted out.
“But I'm your wife, remember?” Emma jested breathlessly. Her head spun with sensations she never dreamed she could feel –reckless abandon, lustful wanton, raw, unfettered lust. She wanted to experience them, all of them, to let them soar and carry her where she’d never been.
She rolled her hips and the juncture at her legs trailed over the entire length of him. He closed his eyes as if pained, but she knew he was not. It was not pain which overwhelmed him. It was the same for her - the intoxicating enjoyment.
He tugged gently at the neckline of her gown until the delicate pink of her nipples peeked over the edge of the fabric. His thumb swept over her breast, freeing the trapped bud completely. Before modesty could plague her with embarrassment, Alistair flicked his tongue against the smooth rosy skin. Wet, warm, and erotic.
The bud drew tight in the cool air, as if beckoning the heat of his mouth. His lips closed over it and he suckled while lightly flicking his tongue over the nub. Needles of pleasure prickled through her and the breath gasped from her lungs.
He eased away with a wicked glint in his eyes. Only when she moaned her frustration did he return to circle her nipple with his tongue and flick it. “You have perfect breasts.” He tugged again at her neckline until her other breast had been freed. His caresses were delicate and reverent, as if he were cherishing her. “You have no idea how difficult it was to exhibit self-control when you were wearing that red gown.”
His mouth closed over her newly exposed bud.
“Self-control?” she repeated with slow encouragement.
“Aye. No’ staring openly at yer magnificent bosom. No’ letting ye see how it affected me.” The burr of his Scots accent was thicker. Something about the purr of it against her body and then igniting everything within her, it was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard.
He cupped the weight of both breasts between his hands and kissed her nipples.
“And how did it affect you?” She was panting, openly, unabashedly. The heat between her legs was building with each stroke of his tongue over her skin, each rub of his cock against her lust.
“It made me want ye.” He moved over her and pressed his mouth to hers once more, his kiss aggressive. “I still want ye.”
He wanted her. Desired her. She was beautiful to him.
Emma arched her hips up to meet the flex of his pelvis. At some point, her motions had hitched her blue skirt higher and higher until it rose midway on her thighs. Alistair's hand rested on the nakedness of her knee and he stared down at her, his blue eyes nearly black with desire.
“My God, Emma.” His hand caressed up her thigh, lifting her gown, petticoat, and shift upward with it. “I want to see ye come, I want to watch the pleasure play over yer face until ye explode with it.”
She blinked up at him, unsure what he meant. Her overheard conversations hadn't mentioned coming. His fingers swept across her inner thighs and she realized he meant to touch her there - where she was on fire with yearning.
Even as the thought jarred through her, she found her legs widening to accommodate his hand, fascinated and eager for his caress at her most intimate place even as the sensible part of her mind balked.
His fingers drew over the slit of her sex, delicate and tentative, yet it shot through her like lightning, jolting every protest from her mind and pulling her to a build of something different to anything she'd ever known.
He groaned and traced the line between her legs, more firmly this time.
“Ye're wet, Emma.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Verra, verra wet.”
With his free hand, he pushed her skirt higher until the thatch of dark hair between her legs became visible. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers so deeply, she could feel him in her heart. “Tell me what ye want.”
“I…I don't know what…I—”
The pressure of his finger settled over her and stars sparkled behind her eyes. Emma gasped. “That.”
He chuckled, low and sensual. “Ye like that?” He moved his digit over her again. An incredible tension strained through her.
“Yes,” she gasped. A bulge protruded from his kilt, a bulge she was certain she had not noticed before. His cock. Hard and ready. For her.
She ached to see it. Alistair stroked the place again and Emma's muscles drew tighter.
“Aye,” he gritted out. “Ye're so close, Emma. Come for me.”
***
Watching the desire play over Emma's face was second only to experiencing the elation himself. And dear God, she was stunning.
Her lips were red from the passion of their kisses, his brand upon her, and her breasts heaved with her uneven breath. She held her legs spread with abandon, fully yielding to him. He glanced down to where his fingers moved over her sex, the pink of her cunny slick and perfectly ready. Her thighs trembled slightly and she gave a surprised whimper.
His gaze shot back to her face as her eyes swept closed and her cheeks flush with a rising heat. Her full mouth fell open and she gave a hoarse cry. Alistair's cock flinched at the sound.
He clenched his jaw and fought down the incredible urge to lift his kilt and take her.
But she was a virgin. An innocent. He wouldn't take her, no matter how much he longed to.
Emma slowly opened her eyes and her brows lifted. “That was…” She licked her lips, leaving them tempting and wet.
The musky scent of her arousal left Alistair heady with lust and nearly drove him mad.
“Is that what couples do?” she asked.
“Part of it.” Only a sliver of a fraction of it, and by God, he wanted to show it all to her. Right here. Right now.
“And what do you do…with that.” She peered at his crotch, where the bulge of his arousal was hardly inconspicuous.
“Nothing that innocent girls ought to know.”
“Am I so innocent?” she asked in a wicked tone.
His cock lurched again, eager to challenge the tease in her tone. “Ye still are.”
“I have no intention to marry, Alistair, as you’re well aware.” She sat up. While her creamy thighs closed, she did not bother to cover her shapely legs. “I've never experienced anything similar to this. Chances are high I never will.”
“Ye’re a maiden,” Alistair said gruffly. On his honor, the woman was the embodiment of temptation.
She rose and stood chest to chest with him, her breasts gloriously naked where they sat above the lowered neckline of her gown. “You said you wouldn't stop until I knew exactly how beautiful I was.” Her head leaned coquettishly to the side. “I’m afraid I do not feel beautiful yet.”
From the twinkle in her eye, and the carnal, confident smile she gave him, the words were obviously an attempt at a ruse. And yet the roaring in his blood would not call her out on such a mistruth.
“I believe I'll have to see ye naked.”
She hesitated, and the sparkle in her eye dulled somewhat. “Naked?”
“I've already seen ye thus.” Alistair swept his fingertips from the sweet, rounded edge of her chin and down her neck and chest to where a pink nipple rose to greet his caress.
Her cheeks tinged a bonny red, and she slowly rounded to reveal the row of buttons he'd so carefully worked to fasten. He reached for the first one,
and his fingers trembled ever so slightly with desire. Undoing them was, thankfully, far easier than securing them.
The gown peeled away from her body, followed by her stays and undergarments until nothing remained between his rapacious interest and her voluptuous curves.
She faced him, revealing the whole of her beauty. Her breasts were firm and the dip of her narrow waist offset the swell of her hips so pleasingly, it made him want to secure his fingers around them.
“By God, ye are a stunning woman, Emma. Anyone who has ever suggested otherwise is at risk of being the most pitiful fool in the entire world.” He trailed his hand down her waist to her perfectly rounded bottom. Her skin was warm and soft.
She drew in a shaky inhale.
“Am I making ye feel bonny yet?” he asked.
She lifted a trembling hand and slid the knot of his cravat free. Slowly, carefully, she unwound the length of silk at his neck. Cool air graced his naked throat. While her slow undressing of him was enjoyable, he was already to the point of nearly bursting. If he allowed himself to be subjected to her delicate disrobing, he would spend himself in his kilt before she could even lift it.
He moved his hands over hers, working buttons and ties and pins until only his kilt remained. She remained quiet with intense fascination while the heat of her gaze grew hotter with each discarded item. When at last, he pulled the belt from his waist and sent the kilt to the floor, her eyes widened.
“Can I touch you?” she asked, her fingers extending before permission could be given.
“Aye,” he said tightly.
Her tentative stroke was light and cool against the raging heat of his erection. She curiously lay her fingers against the length of his shaft and over the spongy head where a bead of moisture had pearled. The pad of her middle finger swept over it and swirled it around the tip of his cock.
Alistair gave a low grunt. “If you want me to have ye, we best do it soon,” he said through gritted teeth.
Emma nodded and stood awkwardly in front of him. Of course, her body would have cooled. But warming her up with sensations would only help give him the opportunity to gain control of himself once more. To hopefully last longer than some green lad spending himself far too soon.
The Earl of Benton_Wicked Regency Romance Page 7
