by Quinn, Paula
“Aye,” she whispered. “But only if I can do the same to ye. I love ye, Gregor.”
Despite her father looking on, Gregor dropped a kiss to her lips. A soft one, over far too soon. But when he straightened, her fingers were curled through the linen of his shirt, and she looked as if she was having trouble standing on her own.
Duncan Sinclair cleared his throat. When they both looked over, he was smiling.
“I take credit for this, ye ken. I knew Pearl needed a husband who’d keep her here.”
Gregor blinked, not understanding. In his arms, Pearl frowned. “Da, ye tried to engage me to Laird Sutherland.”
“Aye,” he said with a huge smile, “Only to force yer hand. Ye had me worried with the nunnery nonsense.” He began to chuckle. “But why do ye think I assigned my Hound to guard ye, rather than Dougal?” His laughter began to boom. “I see things, ye ken!”
As the old man slapped his belly and kept laughing, Gregor turned back to Pearl. Was it true? Had the Sinclair approved of him as a suitor for Pearl, before Gregor wondered at the possibility?
He never had the chance to ask, because Pearl surged up on her toes to kiss him, then, and he was distracted. Her fingers dug into his back, and he knew she was just as desperate for more as he was.
And behind them, the Sinclair called out, “Now, let’s start plannin’ a wedding!”
Chapter Twelve
The small kirk in the village was so full, clan members stood on the steps to watch the Hound marry one of the laird’s jewels. They cheered when she walked toward Gregor, standing beside the priest by the altar, even louder when he took her hand.
But when he bent down to whisper, “They love ye,” in her ear, she knew he was wrong. She just shook her head, smiled softly, and stood on her toes to whisper in return.
“Nay, my love. ’Tis ye they’ve come to support.”
The way he shook his head as he turned them both toward the priest told her he didn’t believe her, but that was all right. She had the rest of their lives to convince him of how respected he was by the clan.
As the marriage of a simple warrior, their celebration should’ve been modest. But since Agata’s first wedding had taken place at the Mackenzie keep, and the twins’ marriage contracts stipulated weddings on their husband’s lands, the laird had been determined to celebrate Pearl and Gregor’s marriage without sparing cost.
The servants dragged tables and benches to the courtyard, and course after course of food was brought out, toast after toast given until many of the Sinclairs were too drunk or too sated to stand. And Pearl spent the time passing from one clan member to the next, thrilled beyond measure she’d be able to stay here with them.
When the sun began its descent in the west, Gregor stood up and took her hand. There was much cheering and yelling of advice, but he just gave the gathered crowd a good frown, which made Pearl smile as her heart began to pound.
She knew what was coming.
She watched her husband—husband—hold up one fist in some sort of signal. The men instantly quieted, which was good, because that was the only way they’d be able to hear his rasp.
“Thank ye,” was all he said, but it was enough. He was thanking them for their support, their love.
Pearl echoed in a whisper. “Thank ye.”
Her people knew how much they meant to her.
Gregor turned to her father, his father-in-law now, and placed a fist on his chest, and bowed once, a sign of respect and loyalty. Pearl peeked up at her father, sitting on a dais with the twins—it was a shame Agata couldn’t be there—and Dougal. Pearl gave them all a little curtsey, as benefitting the wife of a Sinclair warrior.
Da, of course, beamed.
And when Gregor swooped her up into his arms so quickly that she gave a little squeal and wrapped her arms around his neck, Da’s laugh boomed louder than everyone else’s.
It was the first time Gregor had carried her this way, and Pearl found herself growing breathless at how high off the ground she was. Or mayhap it was the way his large hand rested against her rear end, lifting her effortlessly.
Or mayhap it was because she was being carried to her new home, by her new husband, for their first night together.
The small cottage was at the end of a row. Her father had them built for the warriors and their families, and this one had sat empty for years. In the weeks since the laird had commanded them to marry, Gregor had ceased his constant watch on Duncan Sinclair, and begun sleeping in the cottage. The twins had even come down yesterday to help prepare it for Pearl to move in. But Pearl hadn’t seen it since Gregor had taken up residence.
He pushed open the door and set her down inside, and Pearl sucked in a delighted breath. Her new home was…perfect.
“’Tis exactly how I’d hoped,” she breathed, turning in a circle in the middle of the space.
The main room contained the kitchen area with a cream-colored cloth embroidered with the Sinclair blue and green thrown over the large table, and an earthen pot of wildflowers. Another pot adorned the small table between the two chairs set in front of the hearth. Open windows allowed the breeze in through the embroidered curtains, obviously more of her sisters’ work, and a tall screen blocked off one corner of the room.
She hurried to duck behind it, not surprised to see a huge bed with green blankets taking up most of the space. It had to be newly made, to accommodate her husband’s height and broad shoulders. Her more serviceable gowns were already hanging from hooks on the walls, and another small table held an ewer and basin as well as her hairbrush.
When she turned back to Gregor, who stood alone in the center of the room, she allowed all her love to show in her smile.
“Thank ye for this.”
“Ye like it?” he whispered.
The uncertainty in his eyes made her smile grow. “How could I not?” she asked as she crossed to him. “This is everything I ever wanted from life. I’m home, and I have a good man to share it with.”
She took his hand in hers. “Ye’ve made me verra happy.”
His face was his usual mask when he pulled her closer. “No’ as happy as ye’ve made me, wife.”
Wife. It was still hard to believe it was true.
“Are ye sure?” she teased. “Ye donae look happy.”
Wrapping one arm around her, he placed her other hand palm-down against his chest. “I’m happy here,” he rasped. “Where it counts.”
He lowered his head and brushed a sweet kiss across her lips. When he pulled back, she had to stop from kissing him again. Since he’d shown her such bliss that night at the inn, Pearl had found herself anxious for his touch. He’d treated her like a jewel after Da’s announcement of their marriage, careful not to be alone with her too much. But Pearl would’ve happily crawled into his lap and placed his hands all over her, if it allowed her to feel the same way she had the evening before their return.
Moreover, she wanted to give him the same pleasure he’d given her. She’d whispered to Saffy and Citrine about it, comparing speculations and theories, but it was nothing compared to actually touching Gregor. Her husband.
She wanted to run her hands over his skin, to feel his heart beating against hers. She wanted to touch him—everywhere—and explore just what this was between the two of them.
And she wanted to be able to do it without making him feel guilty.
“Are ye happy, Pearl?” he asked.
She closed her eyes on a shiver, the same delicious feeling she got whenever he said her name. “Aye,” she whispered.
“Are ye sure?”
He needed reassurance? She opened her eyes and met his. “Aye,” she whispered again. “I’ve been sure, ever since…”
When she bit her bottom lip, not quite willing to share all her secrets, he lifted one brow, prompting her without words.
She tutted at her old hesitation. “When my sisters would talk about men, an’ how desire felt, I would dismiss the topic. I had no interest in marrying some
far-off laird, so I thought love-making wasnae for me.” Her cheeks grew warm at the confession. “But the way they described desire…” She dropped her gaze to his chin. “’Twas familiar.”
“Aye?”
“Ye see, there was this warrior. A man, a big man. An’ I would watch him sparrin’ with the others, sometimes. I’d watch his arms and his bare back, and I’d wonder.”
When he pressed her against him with a soft hiss, she felt the hard length of his shaft pressing against her belly, and nearly moaned in anticipation. Already, she felt the pressure building at the juncture of her thighs, and wondered if he could tell.
“What did ye wonder, Pearl?” he whispered in that harsh voice of his.
She shivered, as she always did when he said her name. “I’d wondered what it was like to touch him. To let him touch me.”
She couldn’t help the little gasp of surprise which escaped her lips when he dropped her hand and lifted her. With both hands under her rear end, he spun and placed her on the table, and nudged her legs apart. She ended with her hands on his shoulders, and him standing between her knees.
He leaned down. “An’ if ye had him here? What would ye do with him?”
“I’d…” She lifted her hands to run them down his arms, then back up to his chest. “I’d demand he remove his shirt, because there’s far too much linen between me and his skin.”
He made that hissing noise again, which she was learning was his version of a grunt, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. In one swift move, he pulled it over his head, much faster than the time he’d done so beside the loch.
In a heartbeat, Pearl was staring at the wide expanse of his chest, sprinkled with wiry hairs a few shades darker than the auburn on his head. She flexed her fingers twice, then placed her palms against his chest, right over his nipples.
They both sucked in air.
“Then what?” he asked in a choked whisper.
“I’d touch him the way I’d been thinkin’ about.”
Using just her palms, she ran her hands lightly over his chest. When she brushed against his nipples, he hissed again, so she did it a second, then a third time, until the little nubs were hard.
And under her gown, her nipples matched his.
Her grin was a little smug as she ran her hands over his taut belly, and around his sides, admiring the firmness of his muscles and the way he jerked under her touch. Oh, not much, but she noticed he was sensitive along his sides, and when she stroked him there, he twitched away from her fingers.
Was the Sinclair Hound ticklish?
Taking pity on him, she returned her attention to his arms and shoulders—they were her favorite parts, after all. She made sure to brush against his healed wound, and the part of her which wasn’t completely focused on the pleasure to come, noted he didn’t seem sensitive there, which was a good thing. But he was sensitive other places…
With her hands still on his shoulders, she leaned forward and ran her tongue across his left nipple.
He jerked again, then allowed his head to fall back. “Oh God, Pearl.”
She loved it when he said her name like that.
Since she sat on the table, her legs dangled free, and she opted to put them to use. Wrapping her ankles around his knees, she tugged him until he shuffled closer, then turned her tongue and her attention to the other nipple. His hands clenched into fists by his side when he hissed again.
Feeling bolder, she straightened and lifted her chin. “Ye’re still wearing far too many clothes, Gregor.”
Those deep blue eyes she loved so much flashed. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, mimicking the feel of his mouth on hers, imagining what it would feel like to have him kiss her, touch her.
It must’ve shown in her eyes, because his hands fumbled for his belt and he jerked off his plaid.
With her ankles still hooked behind his legs, he stood between her thighs wearing only his boots, and proudly met her eyes.
Breathless, she dropped her gaze to the shaft jutting from the dark hair between his legs. She’d seen it that morning at the loch, but he’d been so far away then.
Now? Now she could touch it.
She wrapped both hands around it, one palm brushing over the smooth tip. When she rubbed it, the entire length felt like…like steel encased in the softest leather.
“God’s teeth, lass!” He twitched under her touch again, but didn’t move away. “Ye’re killing me.”
She hummed, her attention on the fascinating shaft in her hands. Would it really fit? Gregor was so much bigger than she was. But as she stroked it, she felt it growing even larger, if such a thing was possible, and when she brushed her palm against the tip, a bead of liquid leaked out.
“Pearl,” he hissed, “I need to touch ye.”
She’d been so focused on her explorations, she’d forgotten to watch him. She snapped her attention back to his face, and was struck by how tortured he looked. His hands were fisted by his sides, his head thrown back, and he was breathing deeply. He seemed in pain.
All because she was touching him? Or because he wasn’t touching her?
“Aye,” she agreed curiously.
Faster than she could blink, his fingers were in her hair, tugging her head back. She sucked in an excited breath just as his lips slammed down against hers, then moaned. With his shaft pressed between them, she opened her legs wider and reached around to cup his rear end, while his teeth nipped at her lower lip.
It was a few moments before she realized she was unconsciously rubbing against him, flexing her hips forward and back, causing his thick member to rub against the most intimate part of her.
She felt…warm. No, hot. She ached, and was definitely wearing too much clothing. “I need…” She moaned against his lips. “Gregor!”
“Aye, lass,” he rasped, easing his hold on her. “I ken.”
One of his large hands dropped to her knee, where her gown was already bunched. He tugged it further, until her lower legs were bare, save her stockings. It was enough for him to step back and run his hands up her thighs. She shivered at the sensation, and dropped her hands flat to the table behind her to support herself.
He pushed her skirts higher, past her stockings, past the ribbons which kept them up, until he draped the material over her hips and stared down at the curls covering her womanhood. If she hadn’t seen the look of hunger and appreciation in his eyes, she might’ve been embarrassed, but as it was, she remembered the feel of his fingers inside her, and was desperate for it again.
Without breaking his gaze, she thrust her hips forward once more, offering herself to him.
His gaze dropped to her center, and he ran his palms up the insides of her thighs, stopping only when his thumbs touched her core. He brushed circles across her skin and curls, and Pearl felt the tugging at her center. His gaze was riveted on her, and it made her feel…powerful. Desired. Needed.
“God’s teeth, Pearl, ye’re already wet for me.”
She understood what that meant, and what would happen, so she just nodded and squirmed under his touch. “Please, Gregor…”
Without lifting his hands or halting his motion, he met her eyes once more. “Yer gown?”
It was all he needed to say. She nodded eagerly, and he pulled her from the table and reached for her laces. It was the work of a moment to pull the gown off, then her shift.
When she was standing there in her stockings—it was fair, because he was nude aside from his boots—he sucked in a breath and lifted his hands, palms out. As if he wasn’t sure if he could touch her. But the way he looked at her! As if he was a drowning man, a starving man, and she was his salvation!
So, she stepped forward, pressing herself against his palms, and he hissed in satisfaction as he cupped her breasts, one in each hand. The way he squeezed sent shivers through her, and when he brushed his thumbs against her nipples—the thumbs he’d so recently used on her core—she surged against him.
“Yer boots,” she panted.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her down as he fell back on the bed, and she ended up plastered against his chest, his shaft nestled against her center. She moaned at the delicious sensation and rotated her hips, pressing his hardness between them, against the spot where the need had built beyond her control.
Stilling her with his strong hands on her hips, he ducked his chin and caught her gaze with a question in his dark eyes. He was asking if she was ready, and Pearl didn’t think she’d ever been more prepared for anything.
“Show me what to do,” she commanded, breathless with desire already.
He slid his hands down her thighs to her knees, tugging until she was straddling him. His thick shaft stood straight against her core, and it was easy to see how this would work.
His breaths were coming in pants now, too. “’Twill be more comfortable for ye,” he managed to say.
Eager now, Pearl moved forward as he guided himself towards her opening. She allowed herself to take him all in, inch-by-inch, until she was seated fully on him.
He was right. She controlled everything from her position. And down there…
Gregor was lying as still as a stone, both hands resting against her thighs, his eyes on her, his breathing even. He was waiting for her to take the lead.
She rocked forward, then back once, and he closed his eyes. The knowledge she was in control made her smile, as did the sensation of him moving within her. There’d been pain, aye, but she’d barely felt it.
A few more gentle rocks, and the pressure began to build in her. Gregor began to flex, to buck just ever so slightly, to meet her rocking with thrusts of his own. One of his hands crept up to encircle her breast, and the other reached for the nub of her pleasure.
That was the end for Pearl. The knowledge this man, this good man, had given control to her, and cared about her pleasure, sent her over the edge. She stilled, gasping, as her muscles clenched around him, and she reached for him.
