by Mary Wine
“Stop it.”
He leaned closer. “Stop what, madam? Did ye think the place the queen offered ye would be so easy to earn? Joan Beaufort is a queen. She gives nothing away.”
“I am no’ lazy, and will earn my place, sir. Now ye are the one thinking ye know me, when it is clear ye underestimate my determination to be something my father can be proud of. That duty has naught to do with the sordid suggestions ye are attempting to discuss.” She reached for the butter with her own knife. “Ye are attempting to trick me into challenging ye so ye have an excuse to handle me.”
His hand shot out in a motion as fast as a flash of lightning. He captured her wrist, and she lost her grip on the knife. It fell into the butter without a sound.
“Be sure I will handle ye when I want to, Deirdre. I do nae need an excuse to stroke yer creamy skin. I’ll take credit for me own actions, never doubt that. But I can understand yer desire to escape a place where ye are considered naught but a disgraced woman.”
His eyes filled with approval, and she discovered she enjoyed seeing it more than she had anticipated.
“I understand ye better than ye think, because ye and I are a great deal alike.”
He lifted her wrist, rotating it so that the delicate skin of her inner wrist was exposed. He brushed his thumb over it, sending a torrent of sensation up her arm. Goose bumps rose in response, but what sent a chill down her spine was the promise glittering in his eyes. It was hot and solid, and she drew in a shaky breath because she began to doubt her ability to refuse him.
“Nor do ye seek my permission either.”
His thumb traveled over her inner wrist once again, more firmly this time, and she felt the touch deeper. Her belly tightened, excitement rising in spite of her attempts to drown it with reason.
“I’d have yer permission and more.” From any other, she would have been able to accuse the man of being presumptuous.
But she wouldn’t make that mistake with Quinton.
No, he was dangerous. Dangerous because he unleashed a weakness inside her that she couldn’t control. Failing to admit that to herself would only give him the advantage. She looked at the plate in front of her, trying to bring Melor’s smirking face to mind. For the first time, her memory failed to offer up her last sight of the man she’d defied her father to have.
“Do nae do that, Deirdre Chattan.” Quinton released her hand with a sound of disgust that drew her attention back to his face. He pointed at her. “Ye have more confidence than a girl who needs to stare at a tabletop because she’s afraid of her own nature.”
“It is nae a matter of confidence, but one of morality.” She spit the word out and then realized she’d tumbled neatly into his snare. His lips twitched before he stood up in another quick motion that sent the chair behind him crashing into the floor.
“Nae, it is a matter of passion.”
He looped an arm around her and pulled her out of her chair. A soft sound passed her lips, but she honestly wasn’t sure if it wasn’t born from her rising excitement or her temper. Both seemed to be combining inside her to intensity how aware of him she was. Her heart was racing, and her senses keener than ever before. She reached for him this time, enjoying the way he secured her against him. His body was harder than hers, and she made another sound of enjoyment as her breasts compressed against his chest.
She liked everything about the man too much for her own good.
His mouth claimed hers in that savage kiss he had denied her earlier. It seemed like she had been waiting for it ever since, and she opened her mouth to allow him to thrust his tongue inside. He held her neck securely as his mouth moved over hers in a kiss that stole her breath.
But she kissed him back, her hands holding on to his shoulders while she turned her head slightly to allow their mouths to fuse more completely. His tongue speared deeply into her mouth, and she let hers tangle with it. A groan shook his chest, and she rubbed her hands down, stroking over the hard muscles that only a thin shirt separated her from.
He picked her up and moved her to a bare section of table. The candleholder shook and fell over, and the flames died in a quick sizzle. Darkness closed in on them, heightening her awareness of him even further. She couldn’t seem to kiss him hard enough, couldn’t manage to touch all the places on his body she had admired with her eyes.
She wasn’t the only one who felt such a frenzy.
Quinton cursed beneath his breath before he pushed her thighs apart and used his hands to pull her hips toward the bulge of his member.
“Ye drive me insane with the need to have ye, Deirdre.” He ground his hips forward, and she felt his hard flesh against her spread sex. Need tore through her, so hot that it threatened to overwhelm her. She gripped the front of his shirt so tightly that she heard it tearing at the shoulder seams.
“Then have me.”
There was no thinking, only responding. Her body wanted to twist and writhe against his, but most of all, her passage wanted the hard flesh pressing against her driven deep inside it to ease the emptiness tormenting her.
“I intend to, lass… I swear I’d kill to have ye at this moment.”
His hands left her hips, and he tossed her skirts in a sharp jerk. They settled around her on the tabletop as he smoothed his hand up the inside of her thigh.
“But I’m going to make sure ye’re as hot to have me as I am to be had.” His voice had lowered, so much so that it was only a rasp in the dark chamber. The roar of the river interfered with her understanding, but all thought ceased the moment his fingers touched the curls guarding her sex. Her clitoris pulsed with anticipation, eager and needy. Her hips pressed forward, and he didn’t disappoint her.
“Ye see, lass, ye are nae afraid of yer own passion, and that makes ye the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.” His fingers delved between the folds of her sex, until he was teasing the sensitive bud that lay between them. “I’ve dreamed of ye since I stole that embrace at the abbey.”
Deirdre couldn’t think of a reply, she failed to think at all. Her body was a twisting length of rope, knotting tighter and tighter with every rub of his fingers. Her breath became raspy, and a tiny moan surfaced from the need tormenting her so acutely.
“I’ve wanted to wring that sound out of ye.”
Her eyes opened as her pride surfaced from beneath the flood of pleasure his touch filled her with.
“Well, I—”
His arm wrapped around her hips to hold her in place when she tried to scoot back so she might regain her wits.
“I will pleasure ye, Deirdre,” he snarled softly as he pressed harder against her clitoris. She lost the battle to ignore the need roaring through her. It rose into a wave and broke with a shaft of pleasure that made her cry because she simply could not contain it inside herself. She shook with it, her hips straining toward his hand, but a moment later bitterness clawed at her.
Her passage was still too empty. She groaned, the sound rising out of her unsatisfied need.
“It wasna enough… was it, hellion?” He withdrew his fingers and cradled the back of her neck so her face was angled toward his own. “Ye crave it all… do nae ye? Partway will never satisfy ye, admit it.”
“No, it was nae enough. Ye arrogant man. Why do ye think I told ye I did nae want ye for my lover?” She shoved at his chest but only gained a chuckle from him.
It wasn’t a nice sound. It was low and almost savage.
“Ye do crave me as yer lover. Ye want me because I will nae finger ye and think ye are content.”
She felt him shift his kilt aside and then the hard head of his member was pressing against the entrance to her body.
He grasped the sides of her hips, and she shook with excitement. “Ye want me to fill ye, and I am happy to be of service.”
His words were blunt, but they also promised to feed the hunger tearing at her insides. The darkness surrounding them seemed to grant permission for her body to seek what it wanted. She reached for him, her hips lifted
as his hands pulled her forward, and his hard flesh split hers.
She gasped, because the entry burned. Not as badly as the first time, but it stung as he thrust forward.
“Ye’re tight.”
His voice was full of victory and male pride.
“That does nae mean I was saving myself for ye.” It seemed ridiculous to be angry with him, considering their position, but she felt her lip curl up as she snarled at him.
Quinton laughed, low and deeply, as he withdrew. She growled at him as her body demanded more of his member. Desperation was raging through her, and her fingers curled into claws, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders.
“Yes, ye were, hellion.” He thrust back into her, his hard flesh gaining more ground this time. A sound of satisfaction passed her lips even as her passage protested being stretched around his girth.
“Ye would nae spread yer thighs for any man who does nae impress ye.”
He whispered his words against her ear as he began to drive his length in and out of her. His tone was raspy and edged with what had to be wickedness, because she felt like she was caught in his spell. Her body strained toward his, her hips eager to take the next thrust. She craved it insanely, every muscle she had tightening in her effort to match his pace.
“Ye need to be taken, Deirdre, and I swear to ye, I am the man bold enough to give ye what ye crave.” The table creaked as he drove his member harder and faster into her. His lips brushed over her ear and down to the tender skin behind it.
A moment later he bit her. She bit him in return, but the small bite heightened her enjoyment, rippling down her body while the pleasure of his hard cock being worked against her clitoris spread upward. It was too much and yet not enough. The first climax he’d wrung from her had only taken the edge off her hunger. Now her body wanted a deeper release. She lifted her hips, trying to take all his flesh while her thighs clasped around his hips and her head fell all the way back. There was no reason to keep her eyes open or to worry that her heart might burst because of how violently it was pounding.
All that mattered was keeping pace with her lover. She needed to be closer to him, and her thighs ached with the strength she used to bind him to her.
“That’s it, hellion… demand what ye want of me.”
His breath was rasping through his teeth, but she couldn’t pay attention to such details. Her body was beginning to erupt in a climax that was far greater than any she had ever experienced. It tore through her, she arched her back to take his member as deep as possible while she used her legs to clamp him against her. He snarled and pounded her, thrusting while pleasure lashed her in waves so intense that she cried out.
Her lover didn’t lack for pleasure either. He tightened his grip around her hips as he drove his length deep and groaned savagely against her neck. She felt his seed hit her womb, the hot spurt unleashing a second tremor of enjoyment, which was deeply rooted inside her belly.
Her lungs burned, caught between breaths, and she sucked in a huge amount of air as she collapsed backward. Her hands tried to support her but slipped on the polished surface of the table.
Quinton held her, raising his arms from her hips in a flash to catch her before she fell backward.
“Sweet Christ, that was intense,” he muttered before lifting her off the table and cradling her against his chest. “But too fast. Too bloody quick for how many nights I’ve dreamed of having ye in my bed.”
He crossed the chamber, the lack of light never giving him a moment’s pause. He lowered her legs, and she felt her knees quiver as she was forced to take her own weight.
“But I always imagined ye nude.”
Deirdre frowned. “And how did ye do that? Ye have never seen me without me robes.” She was being surly, and he caught her head, tangling his fingers in the strands of her hair. He pulled them slightly, but once again the tiny pain only managed to accent the moment and her awareness of him.
It was a truth she enjoyed feeling his strength; the fact that he controlled it excited her. Only a mere whisper of pain went through her scalp, but it sent sensation rippling across her skin.
“I enjoyed contemplating all the possibilities.”
He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, the hand in her hair holding her prisoner while his mouth played over hers, teasing the delicate skin before pressing her to open her mouth for a deeper kiss. In spite of the fact that satisfaction was still glowing warmly inside her belly, his kiss was intoxicating. Or maybe it was the scent of his skin or the grip in her hair… Deirdre didn’t know. She only knew she wanted to kiss him back, and the consequences could wait until later to contemplate.
He broke their kiss and released her. She heard a soft sound of disappointment rise from her chest as he severed their connection.
“Do nae fret. It would take an army at me gates to take me away from ye this night.”
“Ye assume I want ye to stay.”
He framed her face between his warm hands, gently brushing his thumb over her lower lip. A breath got caught in her throat and emerged as a raspy sigh.
“The way ye tremble says ye want me to remain.” His words were soft and tender. He placed a simple kiss against her lips before lifting his hands away from her face. The night air was chilly by comparison, and she shivered.
But a moment later he tore her sheer underrobe in half.
“Are ye mad?” She jumped away from him, but he maintained his grip on the two sides of the robe, and she ended up aiding him in baring her.
“That robe is no’ mine.”
He chuckled and tossed the twin pieces aside. “Joan Beaufort should have her servants pack more appropriate garments for where she is traveling. The Highlands can be a harsh place for such delicate items.”
The single shutter she had left open allowed enough moonlight in to cast him in silver. He looked more at ease in the night than he had sitting in the fine room where he attended to his duty as a noble peer. He pulled the end of his belt and caught the wool of his kilt before it hit the floor.
“But I admit seeing yer rose-tipped nipples through that silk was enough to make me drool.”
“Ye could see…” Her voice trailed off as she heard him laughing. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it over the chair his kilt rested on.
“The candles served their purpose quite well, illuminating ye like an angel.”
“Stop it. Yer words are too bold. Angels are heavenly creatures, above earthly sins.”
He patted the surface of the bed. “Agreed. I’ll call ye a siren, for I find myself more interested in earthly pleasures.”
She stepped back, and the meager light allowed him to see her frown. “Ye’ve had that.” Her voice dipped with disappointment because she’d known full well his interest in her was fueled by lust, and yet she had failed to resist him. She’d suffer for it once he was sated and gone, while the gossips enjoyed telling the tale.
“And ye think my only interest was to fuck ye on a tabletop? Is that it, Deirdre?”
She stiffened. “Ye need no’ insult me, but I suppose I should nae be surprised to hear it, for men often spit on the women they’ve used to ease their lust.”
He watched her for a moment, a long moment that felt like an eternity. She swore she could feel his gaze cutting into her, but what it truly did was mesmerize her, for he moved while she was frozen in place, wrapping his arms around her and binding her to his body.
“Do nae compare me to that bastard Melor Douglas who used ye to strike against Connor Lindsey. I did nae whisper promises in yer ear to get ye to allow me to part yer thighs.”
She strained against his hold but accomplished nothing but a renewed shaft of pain from her wound. “I am nae a whore to want promises of what ye will give me for my favors. I learned that lesson from Melor, sure enough.”
He cupped the back of her head to hold her face steady while he loomed over her. Completely nude, she felt his warm skin against every inch of her body, and sensation began to course t
hrough her.
“Nay, hellion, ye couldnae ignore the passion that has sparked between us since the moment I set eyes on ye in yer father’s home. Ye spit in me eye then, just to see if I would take the challenge. That is who ye are, and ye will no’ ever be content unless ye accept it.”
He lowered his face until she could feel the brush of his breath against her still-wet lower lip. “It filled me with need, Deirdre. I have no’ wanted a woman as fiercely as I did ye in that moment when ye refused to let me name and title make ye meek. No quick fuck is going to satisfy either of us.”
He swept her off her feet and deposited her in the bed. The bed ropes groaned as she was dropped onto the surface. He didn’t follow her immediately but sat down on a small stool to remove his boots.
But he never took his eyes off her. She felt his gaze slipping over the mounds of her nude breasts and lingering on the hard points of her nipples. He looked at her like he was contemplating the best way to consume her, and God help her, she felt excitement burning brightly inside her once more. He was correct; she wasn’t truly satisfied.
“My nature is a curse,” she muttered.
The bed rocked when he entered it. He crawled onto it like a large animal stalking his prey.
“Ye’re a hellion, and I find it irresistible.”
She shivered, enjoying the compliment even if there were many who wouldn’t have considered his words kind.
She did, because they were honestly spoken. Quinton Cameron was a Highlander, and pretty words were something he’d only ever learned to be polite. He pressed her back against the plump pillows, sliding his hands over her bare skin slowly. It was bold and sensual, taking her back into the sweet intoxication that had seen her clinging to him.
“I cannae wait for yer leg to heal so ye can ride me, and I’ll be free to watch these teats bounce.” He cupped her breasts, drawing a hiss from her as sensation spiked through her. Her body seemed to respond faster to him now that it had experienced the pleasure he might give her.
