by Lisa Torquay
“Bluidy hell!” he exclaimed, lamenting this would be of too little duration.
His testicles tightened as he approached the point of no return. But he saw her head retreat from his member, mouth heading on to drag on the ginger hair surrounding the base of him. The woman was going to make him wait.
The tip of him hang in the cool air, his sperm receding, putting him back in control. It did not take long for her to resume her ministrations.
Her swollen lips sucked him, her tongue licked him, her fingers glided over the length. To throw him back at the bursting point.
Quick, his staff fell from her mouth. Her eyes turned up to his. “How many petals does a Bromeliaceae have?”
“You naughty minx!” he expelled, not fooled by her diverting technique.
“Don’t remember?” she taunted, and kissed his inner thigh.
“I think my mind is in no condition of processing anything at the moment.”
“Poor him.” And got back to his erection with renewed enthusiasm.
To explore him until he was on the verge again. Only to let him go.
“Damn it, Harriet!” The agony had morphed into pure despair by now.
“What’s wrong?” she asked all innocence.
“The question is not what’s wrong, it’s what’s hard, and needy, and deprived.” He growled.
“That bad, is it?”
“You have no idea.”
The second she resumed the torture, he raked his fingers in her hair; he would not let go. Ever.
“If you stop now, I swear I’ll go insane,” he rasped, struggling with his urgency.
She did not.
But he was going insane anyway. With a terribly acute pleasure.
His spine arched, his head fell back as he moaned. Her bobbing head sped, her tongue swirled, her hands followed before he felt his seed travel to his stem. One more lick, one more suck and he fell into the abysm in such an intense orgasm, he nearly lost consciousness.
As soon as she had buttoned him up, he caught her from where she knelt and sat on an armchair by the fireplace with her on his lap. Her head rested on his shoulder, and they stayed thus for long moments.
At last, he turned to her to kiss those lips which had made him so happy. “That was a wicked way to appease my…urges, Mrs Stratham,” he mumbled when they parted.
“Looks like you approved it,” a half-smile on her stunning face, her fingers playing with his hair.
“At least you did not have to endure my excessive attentions.” Problem was that he discovered himself unable to keep his hands from her. His hands and everything else.
“Do you hear me complaining?” she asked with a pinch of shyness.
“You are not?” His attention fully directed on her.
“No, Samuel, I’m not.” One hand smoothing his shirt clad shoulder. “I enjoy it as much or more than you.”
He exhibited an impish smile, glad to know his woman accepted his drive. “Good to hear, I’ll make it ten times tonight, shall I?”
“You blackguard!” she jested, breathing a laugh, then went serious. “It’s that…” she hesitated, “it was never like this before.”
“No? Hard to believe,” his thumb played with her lower lip. “You’re so…receptive.”
“You mean wanton?” her teeth nibbled on his thumb.
“No, I mean warm and affectionate.” He adjusted his spectacles and held her gaze.
“Only with you, I suppose. I never…well… never met anyone after my husband passed away.”
Samuel would have punched his own inflated chest were they still living in the wild. He intended to be her second and last man. “You are my first.” She knew it, no doubt. And his last, but he would not tell her that just yet, lest she be scared.
“I’m proud you chose me.” Her hand lined his jaw. And he felt lucky for that, revelling in their tender aftermath. More minutes elapsed before she got down from his lap. “Time to finish our work, Laird McDougal.” She used the term he had taught her, endearing him with her oh so English accent.
Just before dinner, Samuel was folding a letter he had written to Walter telling him about the lecture, when Mrs Marsh came in to handle the mail to Harriet.
“There’s word from the Professor,” she said with a sheet of paper in her hand, reading quickly. Sam raised his head to her, still distracted by his writing. “He says one of his colleagues in Cambridge invited the Hayleys to spend the summer at his house in Bath. He’s due back by the end of July.”
“Mrs Hayley and the children will certainly love it.” He replied, thrilled to have a longer private time with Harriet.
“Yes…” her attention on the paper. “He gives me leave to take time off myself.”
Dinner was announced, and they left the studio for the dining room.
Several hours later, Harriet rested her head on Samuel’s shoulder, after yet another bout of consuming lovemaking. They had developed a pattern where he spent the night in her chambers and returned to his own at dawn to keep a modicum of decency.
Professor’s Hayley’s letter came unexpected to her. Naturally, the university held no courses during summer, but the family rarely travelled as he used the free time to prepare for the next term. The children had fewer hours in the schoolroom and more in open air, but still, a bit of learning took place.
Despite her surprise, she did not lament an extended period for herself. She would catch up on her reading and enjoy the sunny days in the park. Samuel usually spent these months in Scotland with his family. This year, the distance would feel too far and difficult. She remembered a vague longing in the previous vacation. But that one passed fast with her ongoing duties. Alone here, with the family gone and in light of the last few days, she feared she would miss him dreadfully. With the routine back in place next term, they would have too little time for anything else. Not to mention the need for discretion if not a complete ceasing of their recent…activities.
But the luxury of indulging in paramours was not available to her, since she must fend for herself. Her parents passed away a few years ago, and she had no siblings. Distant relatives would not give her support if worse came to worst. Which led her to conclude that this…thing with him would be a summer interlude at best.
Samuel turned, bracing his tall body on his elbow. “Come to Scotland with me,” he invited.
Blue eyes widened on his. Without spectacles, his green eyes shone more intensely. “Are you out of your mind?”
Oh, dear! How many times had she not wondered about his home country? He had always described it as green, wild and crispy when the snow melted. Sometimes she could even inhale the scent of grass, earth and rain in his accounts. And in recent months, the curiosity increased together with her attraction to him. In bed, when he fell back on his brogue, he melted her. She imagined listening to his people talking like him, imagined meeting his clan, seeing those men wearing tartan, looking fierce and masculine. How would he, Samuel, look in it?
“I don’t think so,” his body glued more to hers, making it utterly straining to decide clearly. “I want to show you my country.” He nuzzled her behind her ear sowing goose bumps.
“What will your family—?
“I care nothing for what anyone thinks,” his long legs entangled with hers.
“But I do! I cannot tarnish my reputation.” Her hands held his shoulders in an attempt to keep her own emotions at bay.
“We’ll leave separately and put about you’re away to visit relatives,” his long hands framed her face, his eyes piercing.
The temptation that invaded her nearly chocked. “This is crazy.”
“No, it’s perfect. You’ve got leave, I’ve got vacation. It’s all falling into place.” The light in his eyes told of utter eagerness.
He lowered to kiss her, pressed his hardness on her, and clarity flew through the window.
“I don’t want to be away from you. And I promised Roy
I’d come see him,” he explained after kissing her breathless.
Darn it all to the blazes! She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. His company, a trip to an unknown place. To see his country, his people. And the string of nights in between that…!
“Oh, very well!” Clearly, the lack of oxygen must have addled her thought process.
“Hell, Harriet!” he exclaimed. “You’ve just made it the best summer of my life.”
Then they were kissing again, their bodies joining to embark in an entirely different trip.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Take me in now, Harriet,” sitting on the edge of the inn’s bed, blunt toes on the carpet, he let her straddle him. “I can wait no longer.” Samuel held his utterly erect cock for her. “Ah!” he expelled as they joined their more than ready bodies.
His long arms laced her by the waist to press her down on him. Her tresses fell around her as she wound her delicate limbs around his neck. They kissed with erotic thirst while her hips met his.
That masculine mouth of his dragged down her throat to latch hungrily on one breast, her head fell back with the onslaught of the enjoyment he gave her. When he had caressed this one thoroughly, he headed for the other breast. “I think I prefer this position best,” he rasped, licking her other nipple. “I have access to your delicious breasts.” And proceeded to torment her even more.
If Harriet thought their nights would be steamy, she had been sorely mistaken. They had been downright primal and intense.
They set off from Oxford almost a week ago in a hired carriage and four horses. Correction, he set off as she headed to a coaching inn to pretend to take a coach to Sussex allegedly to visit relatives. Samuel met her there for them to head north. Thus their sensual trip had begun.
In the inns along the way, he hired two rooms for appearance’s sake. But as soon as the establishment went quiet for the night, he slipped silently into hers, where he stayed until dawn. Money proved to be no problem as he said his father gave him more than he needed, and he spent a mere fraction of it mostly on books.
Right at that moment, all thought vanished from her dazed mind as a torrent of pleasure invaded her.
He thrust his hips up, hers meeting his, they moved in tandem in the light from the fireplace. Their need increased, their movements sped. One of his fingers snuck between her thighs to make her fall off the edge, arching her spine and taking him deeper. Her spasms pushed him further, and his seed shot in her with force.
She fell on him and he rested his head on her bosom as their ragged breaths regained their even rhythm.
This inn lay on the edges of the Highlands. The views of the countryside mesmerised Harriet. Old manors, crystalline lochs, dense forests passed by her window, so beautiful she was fast falling in love with the land. And she hoped it was only with the land.
The carriage rides, they spent reading and talking. Which made her see Samuel under a better light. The more she saw of his tender, smart, considerate nature more attached she became. It raged a battle inside her for reality would not allow them more than this limited time. So she avoided thinking about it and tried to enjoy their summer together.
In unison, they lay on the mattress, snuggling under the blankets. The weather got definitely fresher here in the north. Fortunately, she had packed accordingly.
Half over her, his fingers combed through her dishevelled hair, his gaze taking every inch of her face with what could only be called adoration.
“Harriet…” his thumb traced her lower lip. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he rumbled, those eyes boring in hers.
Undiluted sadness invaded her. If only he had not said a thing, she could reside in the illusion that this was one of those clichés of the bachelor and his tryst with a widow merely to tackle his urges.
A large hand stretched to the side-table as he picked up a leather pouch. From inside it, he fished a simple gold ring. “Will you marry me, Harriet?” That he did not kneel or do all the theatrics made the proposal even more sincere and pure. “Give me your hand.” He must have bought it when they stopped days ago in Gretna Green for luncheon.
She did not, instead, she lifted it to line his jaw, meeting his eager gaze with a pensive one. “I cannot marry you, Samuel.” And watched as deep disappointment covered his expression.
“Of course you can. You’re free, so am I.” A scholar’s logic would be irrefutable, were it not their difference in stations.
“You’re the heir to a powerful clan and will need to make a match that reflects it,” she reasoned.
His arms straightened to brace by her sides. “True, but I choose not to do it.”
“It’s not about us, there’s more involved in it, I’m sure you realise that.” Alliances that joined fortunes and reaffirmed networks. His own story made it very clear—an arranged marriage made by his grand-fathers to reinforce the power balance in the Highlands.
Samuel lowered his head as it hung between them with a regretful nod.
“You’ll also need heirs,” she added, but he did not look at her. “In five years of marriage, I did not conceive once, which means I’m probably barren.” The condition caused her sadness for the first time in her life, for him, with him she would have liked all the children he, they, wanted.
He sucked in a heavy breath, his slick hair falling on his brow, hiding his eyes. Suddenly, drops of moisture trickled on her bosom. Tears.
“Oh, Samuel!” she exclaimed, as her hands held his face to turn it to her. Lakes of sorrow covered the green depths, mirroring unrequited love as these Scottish lakes mirrored stormy clouds. Her own tears fell from her onto the pillow.
“I hate this view of women as brooding mares used only to forward clan power!” he hurled in anger.
How would he be wrong? Her thumbs dried the moisture on his face. “I know, I know,” she soothed.
“My mother could not abide by it, that’s why she forsook me,” he justified his opinion.
Her arms wrapped around him as he buried his face on her neck. They held each other for a long time.
He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “At least promise me you’ll not leave me,” he requested.
At that instant, she realised that her refusal equated with the feelings of abandonment he experienced so early in life. Her heart went out to him, wishing she had the chance to heal him, show him that things could be different.
“I’ll not, I promise,” and she meant it, she would be there where she had always been. “You will leave me when the time comes for you to undertake your place as the next Laird McDougal.” Properly married with the right clan heiress, she completed in her mind as a wave of bitterness lodged inside her chest.
A small smile of relief finally drew his lips. “That is decades ahead, my father is young and healthy,” he said. “The Laird just celebrated his forty-third birthday recently.”
She smiled back even as another unpleasant thought occurred. By then, he would have indisputably tired of her. Rich, handsome and powerful like so many of his peers, he would soon realise he must only curl his finger and women would come flocking to him. And why this horrible jealousy speared her heart, she had no idea.
“Sam!” Six-year-old Roy ran to the carriage as it stopped in front to the manor’s entrance.
His mother’s chestnut-brown hair gleamed in the sun and his father’s green-eyes overflowed with happiness.
Aileen, The Lady McDougal, stood on the front steps by her very tall, very attractive—if somewhat overbearing—husband, Taran. Sam wrote he was bringing a friend with him, but gave no more details.
The carriage door opened to produce Sam, who caught his brother in his arms and twirled with him in the air. Putting the boy on the ground, he stretched a hand as a feminine one rested on his. The sun illuminated a beautiful blonde as she alit from the vehicle.
“What the bluidy hell is this boy up to?” a jet-black head turned a scowl to his wife.
A
ileen had no time, or information, to answer to that because the newcomers neared them.
“Father, Aileen,” Sam greeted. Unlike Taran, who wore his usual red and black tartan, Sam looked utterly elegant in breeches, dark coat and cravat over a white shirt. The English style suited him, she must admit. “Let me introduce you to Mrs Harriet Stratham.”
Aileen remembered him talking about her—a lot—since the first time he had visited from Oxford. A widow who held a position as a governess for one of his professor’s children, if memory served.
Mrs Stratham approached and sank in a graceful curtsy before Taran. “My Lord McDougal.” The Laird bowed hardly hiding his conflicting thoughts. “Lady McDougal,” she curtsied again.
Aileen extended her hands to her. She would not mistreat a guest in her house. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Stratham. Please, call me Aileen,” formalities were not her forte.
The other woman smiled prettily. “Thank you, Aileen, I am Harriet.”
“You must be tired from the long travel,” Aileen said. “Come in, I’ve ordered refreshments.”
Now that she sat in this huge drawing room, Harriet questioned the wisdom of having accepted Samuel’s invitation. They entered McDougal’s lands yesterday morning, and the wealth and importance of his family hit her like a projectile hand-slung right at her forehead.
Straight spine, she sat with a cup of tea on the settee, trying not to mind the stares his father flung at her. The man was a good-looking giant, from whom Samuel got those eyes, a trademark of the family, she saw.
“I understand you are in one of Sam’s professor’s employment.” Aileen broke the tense silence.
Harriet managed a polite smile. “Yes, I am the governess and double as assistant for Professor Hayley and Samuel when I have time.”
“Your duties are not required at the moment?” came the Laird. Clearly asking what she was doing here.
“No.” she hoped the answer sounded natural. “The Hayleys will spend the summer in Bath.”
