Knight Everlasting

by Jackie Ivie

  She was pushing . . . at him. Away.

  If he sobbed, that was the sound Aidan made at the manifestation of denial. He yanked his mouth away from hers, lifted his head, and watched the tent weave flex and bow and then turn red with a pressure behind his eyes that pained with each ping of his pulse. He gulped, gritted his teeth, and sent the agony of need through every hiss of breath he made.

  “Jesu’, lass! Na’ now! Christ!”

  He was frightened. Of massive lust. Red-hued and vicious. And uncontrollable. Totally. Everything on him shook with the attempt at holding it back. It was a choking presence and then it went shoving all through his chest and belly and loins, propelling his hardness right between her thighs and against the sweet buttocks he was still holding to.

  “I . . . need to remove my dress.”

  She was tapping at his cheek with a hand, sending a sensation of sharp cuts through the skin with each touch.

  “Aidan?”

  She had both hands on his chin and was forcing him to look down . . . at her. He blinked the red haze in a pink wash. He’d lost. He couldn’t stop. She didn’t know. Aidan’s eyes pled with her silently as he released her buttocks, moving the hand quickly to his groin, shoving plaid aside and fishing for the opening, and then ignoring it completely, to bunch the material out of the way.

  “But . . . my dress!”

  She spoke again. Breathlessly. With more words . . . and none of them made sense.

  “Forgive—”

  The word accompanied his move. Aidan yanked his plaid up and apart, grabbed for her hips, and pulled her atop him, burying himself to the hilt in her moist depths and feeling the trill replicating all over from being sheathed. His groan that accompanied the complete bliss wasn’t deep. It sounded exactly like the sob it was.

  And it got worse as the rush of emotion ran through him, raising gooseflesh and making everything shudder as he fought it, suppressed it, groveled against the onslaught of it. He wasn’t taking her rapidly. He wasn’t! He’d promised her pleasure.

  Pleasure.

  Aidan kept her affixed to him, with such a tight lock on every muscle, he forgot to breathe. Or blink. Or exist. He was afraid to do anything. The pink haze colored everything, going redder with every heartbeat before dimming back to pink. Red. Pink. Red.

  “Aidan?”

  The goddess in his arms was whispering his name, lifting the bit of hair plastered to his earlobe with the whiff of breath. Bringing him back to what he’d done. Forcing him to accept it. And finish it.

  Aidan closed his eyes. Reopened them with a slit just enough he could see and still disguise the self-loathing. He pulled in a huge lung of air that came with an instinctive and unwelcome urge to rock backward from her, and then back in, the entire motion accompanied by the tightness of her embrace.

  “Ai . . . dan?”

  This time she split his name with a worried tone to it. He rocked again, slower this time, modulating the impulse with the need and recognizing a flash of victory at the control he might be winning back. But there was no help for it. She kept calling him. And he couldn’t change it. He was in her woman-place and he was finishing this and he was taking every bit of the experience before he left to castigate himself. Even if she was unwilling. And no matter what she said. He tipped his head down toward her, steeled himself for the look she’d have on her face, and forced the eye contact.

  The pink still colored everything, including the slight pout on her lips as she asked him something.

  “I—can I remove . . . my dress?” she asked.

  “What?” he asked, blinking around the pink as it hit him. She hadn’t fought him. She wasn’t denying him. She wasn’t unwilling, or if she was, it wasn’t in her voice. She didn’t act unwilling either, with a hand about his neck. And nothing about her rose-tipped cheeks looked it either.

  “My . . . dress?”

  “Wh-Wh-What dress?” he asked, swallowing around the stutter on the first word. Christ. He truly did sound like Arran.

  She giggled, and that sent the tumble of motion through her nether regions, rippling down him, and then she sent another one. And another. And a further one.

  Aidan gave another huge groan that trembled in time with the shudders running him. He barely caught the instantaneous lurch he was primed, ready, and compelled to do, finding and using a power no man should have to. It was impossible to tighten everything further, but he tried, going into a bow shape that put his head right next to hers.

  “Jesu’ ! Doona’ do that again,” he begged.

  Her eyes were wide on his but she must have been obeying, since other than a tighter hold on him, nothing else happened. And then she ducked her head a little and went a further rose shade.

  “But . . . my . . . dress?”

  He looked down at the offending garment she kept mentioning. It was balled to her waist, in a crumpled mass . . . hiding what were probably luscious breasts and tempting nipples. But it wasn’t in his way.

  “I’ll get you more.”

  She pinched something about him, massaging and caressing, and Aidan had only a moment before responding. Immediately. Instantaneously. Completely. Her mouth wasn’t far and he slammed his lips to hers, sucking and slurping and taking all her arguments to perdition, while he gripped her to him with a hand cupping a wealth of buttock flesh and holding her exactly where he needed.

  Pressure.

  Exquisite pressure seized his loins and began building. Aidan leaned forward, dropping them onto the mat, keeping from stifling her with his weight by one stiffened arm to support him. The other hand wasn’t moving from where he had it cupping buttock flesh, making certain she stayed sealed to him. And then she made it so much more by wrapping her legs about his lower back, locking her ankles in position, and making everything on him react and start pumping.

  Aidan lifted her to him to make each movement give more, and be more. His hand squeezed without mercy while his loins pummeled. And created the ecstatic pressure. Over and over, sending hard knots of building sensation right to his lower belly, between his legs . . . into his lower back. Creating sensation atop commotion atop tumult, until he was powerless to modulate or control any of it.

  Juliana writhed beneath him, alternately matching him in a sinuous dance of her own creation, and arching away to experience her own special pleasure. And then she’d return, sending her joy over it in little gasps of breath that went all over and through his frame. Again. Countless times. Still he thrust. Pulled out. Thrust back. Over and over and with such intensity and strength and force that it was propelling her along the pallet with each lunge into her sweet cavern.

  Again. And over. Aidan felt the pressure ratchet higher, locking his lower back and buttocks in its grip, and gripping him in a primordial rhythm that had nothing controlled or ordered or influenced about it. Her hands pulled at the hair beside his ears, her lips slid to his ear, and Aidan’s movements got wilder. Slamming into her. Pulling back out. Slamming again. With primitive motions, hard thrusts, and massive pushes. The sensation increased . . . becoming an elevated range of motion and power and strength that pumped through him with every pulse beat.

  Harsh sounds of breathing blended with the heavy beat of his heart, and that was tempered by her soft sighs and cries of pleasure. Aidan pummeled her hips with his, lifting her higher, positioning her so he could fill her completely, taking every bit of the intensifying and building pressure and sending it back at her, over and over. Again. And just when he thought he’d reached breaking point and was going to explode, it happened.

  The mass of pressure burst, releasing bliss and contentment and rapture throughout his frame, pumped there by the solid heavy beats of his heart. Aidan flung his head back to voice the sobbed breath that filled his chest cavity, keening with a throat that felt raw when he’d finished. Aidan was ramrod stiff the entire time, holding the pulse of ecstatic release to him as long as possible, twitching and rocking and pulsing deep in her womb . . . making her take him. O
wn him. Contain him.

  Aidan moved his head down and met her gaze, memorizing and encapsulating the one brief moment in time when he had absolute and total heaven, and then it dispersed. The power ebbed with every continued beat of his heart, pushed out on the heels of the pleasure, and getting replaced with lassitude and complete satisfaction . . . combined with a weariness dogging every limb.

  He dropped, doing his best to land at the side of her, rather than atop her, and turned his head toward her, breathing heavily and deeply as he waited for his heart to calm back to a range that wasn’t frightening in bulk and depth and speed. The pinkish haze had vanished, bringing her into perfect focus. Aidan was still huffing for each breath and pulsing into her but they were jerked in smaller, longer-spaced intervals. He searched her face for tears. Fear. Worry. Disappointment. Anger. And saw nothing but wonder. Wide-eyed wonder.

  He smiled slightly. She went a rose shade and tipped her eyes away, putting the brown feather of her lashes onto her cheeks again.

  “Oh . . . my,” she whispered into the air.

  Absolute emotion hit him. From those two words. Aidan put the thumb and fingers of his free hand against his eye sockets and held them there while pings of sensation stabbed at him. He’d never had to deal with this before. Ever. And from those two words.

  It wasn’t like him, and by the saints, it was ceasing. And before much longer.

  Aidan held his fingers where they were and modulated his breathing. And begged the fates for a little time . . . time to get control over this odd condition that couldn’t possibly be weeping. He should’ve known it was useless. As was every prayer he’d winged this day. He’d lost his charms.

  “Aidan?”

  He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, trying for a masculine range. “Aye?” he asked.

  “That was . . . oh my.”

  Satisfaction and contentment warred through every limb, and then it hit his torso and throat. Aidan moved his fingers away and blinked her into perfect focus. He didn’t know how to answer her, or even if he could.

  “Is it that way . . .”

  She was having trouble pulling in breath for the words. She was blushing, too, if the pink tone of her cheeks was any indication. Aidan’s lips twisted.

  “What way?” he finally asked.

  “Uh . . .”

  She flashed a glance up at him, pulled her lower lip into her mouth to suck on it, and then looked away again.

  “Nae,” he told her and squinted slightly as she looked back toward him. “’ Tis na’ . . . that way. At least na’ . . . Ever. That was the most—you are the most—Jesu’.” And that came out exactly as lame and stupid as it sounded.

  Her smile was brilliant. Heart-stopping. He had to look away for a moment. Blink. Return to her.

  “But . . . I don’t understand.”

  She was speaking to his chest. Aidan waited for her to glance back at him, and he waited what seemed a long time before she did it. And then she shied away the instant she touched his gaze. From there she appeared to be looking at his chin.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m . . . not supposed to . . . enjoy . . . it.”

  The complete pleasure of hearing that choked off his throat for a moment. Aidan had it disguised by a huff of breath all over her frame. He watched what looked like shivers ripple over the exposed flesh of her throat and the hint of perfect breasts he had yet to see. Due to his rash, reckless, and thoughtless curse. He swallowed and tried for a low masculine tone again. “Who would tell you such a thing?”

  She ducked her head again. Aidan had a finger beneath her chin and raised her again to face him, although she kept her eyes lowered, giving him a view of brown sweep of eyelashes against perfect skin.

  “Well, whoever they were . . . they either dinna’ do it proper. Or . . . they dinna’ wish you to know. That way they could save your maidenhood. For a spouse.” He lowered his lips to her nose, pressed a kiss there, and felt her gasp.

  “I appear to be a tad . . . impatient.” He moved to the neckline of her shift and ran his fingertip along it. And watched her blush deepen.

  “You didn’t grant me time . . . to take it off.”

  “True,” he replied finally. “And that is my loss. Again.”

  “What?”

  She had deep blue-green eyes. Deep, fathomless blue-green eyes. They’d stunned and enraptured him from the moment he’d first seen them. Taking his wits and tossing them aside. And they did it to him again. He swallowed. “It won’t happen again, lass. You have my promise.”

  Her eyes widened. Aidan winked. And then he rolled onto his back, separating them with the move. Then, he wet his lips and pursed them, and gave a weak attempt at a whistle.

  “What . . . are you doing?” Her voice rose slightly.

  “Calling Arran. Poorly.” He wet his lips and tried again, with the same result: a weak, barely audible whistle.

  She gasped loudly. “Now?”

  Aidan sucked in on his cheeks. “You have an issue with now?”

  “You—you’re not wearing anything.”

  She sounded embarrassed. Aidan tipped his head to look. She looked embarrassed. “’Tis only Arran,” he told her.

  “Aidan!”

  She gave him a moment of time before she moved, pushing at him, although it didn’t do much except slide her along the mat. He watched as she went to her knees, shimmying with her body and working her shift back into place. It wasn’t just wrinkled at his impatience. It was darker in spots as well.

  “What?”

  She didn’t answer him. He watched as she pulled her legs beneath her in a cross-legged sit. And just sat there watching him. With those blue-green eyes, and that reddish cloud of hair all about her. Aidan pulled in a huge breath and tried to whistle for Arran again.

  “Aidan . . . please?”

  She sounded shocked. And then she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth again. He smiled slightly.

  “Aye?” he asked.

  “C-C-Could you move . . . to your cot? And perhaps . . . dress?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “So Arran won’t see.”

  Aidan grunted. “Lass, I am na’ moving anywhere. I’m na’ interested in moving anywhere, and I’m na’ caring to move anywhere. Aside of which, I’m na’ certain I can move anywhere.”

  “But . . . why?”

  “Because I’m . . . drained. Weak.” He pulled in another breath, pursed his lips again, and whistled. It was stronger. Louder, too.

  She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. Then she lifted both brows, putting disbelief into that look. He didn’t have any trouble reading it.

  “Weak?” she asked.

  “Aye. Weak. Were you na’ new to this, you’d already ken it.”

  “How weak?” she asked.

  “Uh . . .” Aidan didn’t finish. He didn’t know how much weapon to give her. He decided to show her. He pulled in a breath and sat up. Curved forward over his legs and stretched.

  “You don’t look weak,” she said.

  Aidan sighed out the breath and sat fully, put his hands on his thighs, and looked across at her. He watched as she glanced at his nakedness before moving back to his face. The blush was easy to spot, even in the storm-washed twilight outside their tent. He decided to go against his instincts and tell her. “Should an enemy accost my door, I’d find strength and fight him,” he told her. “But ’twould be against nature. Tupping a woman drains a man. Especially . . .” He cut off the words. He didn’t know how to explain it.

  “Especially what?” she asked.

  “E-E-Especially . . . you.” He finished. With a cursed stammer. It came out even lamer and stupider than his earlier words. She had an odd expression on her face. But it was soft and luminous. A slight smile touched her mouth first, and when it reached her eyes, he had to glance away.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Oh Christ! And damnation! He wasn’t explaining. He couldn’t. He did
n’t know why it was she who did these things to him. And he didn’t know how. Aidan looked at the crossed knives at the tent door and cursed the impulse that had him deciding to talk and explain anyway. It was the loss of all his luck amulets and charms. He wasn’t doing anything normal and by rote. Nothing.

  So he gave her silence. She filled it in. Just like a woman.

  “I mean . . . you said—more than once. You’d take me . . . more.”

  Aidan scrunched his eyes shut. Reopened them on the improvised fastening he’d put in place at the door flap. “Oh. That. After sufficient rest . . . aye. I’ll perform again. You’ll have nae complaint.” He tried not to sound defensive, but didn’t manage it. He kept his eyes on the locked knives and fought the rising flush.

  “I have no complaint now . . . Aidan.”

  She sounded completely content and close to a purr. Aidan licked his lips, put his head back, and whistled again. This time it was loud enough to penetrate the wind-whipped rain outside.

  And then it penetrated his skull that he was looking at locked knives Arran couldn’t get through. There was nothing for it. Aidan went onto hands and knees and crawled to the door and started pulling knives. He put a curse on innocent lasses with winsome faces and bonny frames, who wouldn’t allow a man respite from questions and emotions. And he added to that. And all the time, he could sense her behind him.

  Chapter 13

  There was something to say about these Highlanders . . . something large. They truly knew how wonderful it would feel to be ensconced in a sturdy tent, with a lit wick in an oil bowl for light, fed a large bowl of stew created from a combination of their game meats, given a foam-topped tankard of ale that was refilled, washed off with a rag dipped in clear, cold water, and been directed to open the little trunk and fetch one of Aidan’s clean shirts while the underdress she’d rinsed dried where it was laid out.

  They’d crafted a very sturdy tent with what looked to be thin hemp strips, interwoven with wool. She couldn’t be sure, since the ale made everything nice and blurred and unclear, but that was what it had appeared to be when she’d first been imprisoned in this small tent. The impression didn’t fade or change as she ran her fingers along the side she leaned against. Such material woven as tightly as it was made a structure that was impervious to the elements, although it did look darker along the top edges where water must have been getting absorbed. She already knew light didn’t penetrate easily, so rain must have had the same issue. Very sturdy and very well made. About the only thing the material couldn’t withstand was their laird, Aidan, when he wanted out. But maybe cutting the holes in the fabric in order to lace the opening closed had weakened it.