Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  Perhaps a little bit of the older woman was still there, too. Oh yes, she wanted to touch her new husband. Every single hot, slick inch of him. She wanted to run her hands across his corded muscles, she wanted to grasp his large cock, and she wanted to feel the power of the man coursing beneath her fingertips. Her hands itched with the desire, with the need to do just that, but she was too overcome with shyness to even try.

  He must have sensed her nervousness and her need, because a moment later, Quint lifted himself off her and slid to her side. He took her small hand into his large one, ran it down the length of his body, wrapped her fingers around his cock, and held them there. “Every bit of me was made for ye pleasure, my Beth, as ye body was made for mine. There is nothing I will deny ye in our bed. Ye ken?”

  She wanted to cry, and tears stung the back of her eyes. Burt had certainly never cared if she’d had pleasure. As a matter of fact, within moments of him getting his rocks off, he’d been snoring every single time.

  Quinton MacLeod’s shaft pulsed beneath her grasp, and Beth shook her head. She would not cry, and she would not let that monster of an ex-husband spoil this moment for her like he’d spoiled so many others before.

  Beth banished the thought and memory of Burt Anderson from her mind and from her wedding night bed. With a smile Beth hoped her brand new husband would interpret as flirty and with a playful squeeze of what she held within her grasp, she gazed intently into his stormy-blue eyes. “I don’t know what to ask for, my lord.”

  He chuckled, and the feel of his joy vibrating against her skin had tiny bursts of pleasure pulsing straight through her heart.

  He rolled her onto her back once more and hovered over her. “First, I want ye ta call me, Quint, lass. It’s what those closest ta me do. I long to hear the sound of my name upon ye lips while we make love. Oh—” He chuckled. “—and I’ve an idea or two of what ye may come ta like.” He laughed once more. “It’s just a guess, though, ye ken?”

  His mouth devoured her—her lips, her ears, and then her neck. His tongue lavished her heated skin while his hands freely roamed the contours of her body. For a fleeting moment, Beth regretted the fact that the real Elspeth Frasier was missing out on this most exquisite experience.

  Then the laird—no, she wouldn’t think of him as the laird again, at least not for the remainder of this night—Quint captured a pert nipple between his teeth and nipped. She forgot about everything she’d ever known of passion except for the feel of his very talented mouth.

  “Oh, Quint.” She moaned.

  His tongue traveled as his fingers led the way. Across her chest from breast to breast, down her ribcage, and stopping for but a moment to playfully lap at her bellybutton. Her insides throbbed and pulsed. Her blood heated to a fevered pitch as his kisses burned a path ever downward.

  Beth gasped as she realized where his tongue was headed and what he meant to do with it. How many times over the long years of her marriage had she given blowjobs to her ex and never once gotten the female equivalent of that oral gratification in return?

  Her face burned. How many times had she listened to her girlfriends brag about their husbands and lovers? How many times had she contributed comments so they wouldn’t realize she’d never personally had that particular experience?

  Well, she meant to have it now.

  Beth grinned in the darkness and spread her legs in anticipation. So what if it had taken a lifetime to finally find out what it would be like to have a man, an incredibly hot hunk of a man, kissing her, nipping her, licking her, and sucking her there.

  As a matter of fact, in truth, it had taken more than her one lifetime, and she meant to savor every last second of it.

  She held her breath, and then gasped as Quint’s fingers gently parted her folds and his hot breath brushed across her tender membranes no longer than a heartbeat before his lips captured her nub and sucked.

  Sparks of pure sensation streaked from her clit straight to her core. Exquisite, absolutely mind-blowingly, heart-stoppingly exquisite.

  No vibrator ever manufactured could do Quint MacLeod’s tongue justice. He was like a man on a mission, and Beth loved it. He lapped and sucked, nipped and teased. She convulsed with pleasure, one moment trying to pull away as the delight became too intense and the very next second grinding against his wonderful mouth, begging him for more.

  Pressure built deep within as the throbbing pleasure intensified. Tremors of white-hot jolts skittered through her belly, and quivers shook her frame. She fisted her hands in his hair and rocked her hips, hard against the pressure of his tongue, seeking, searching for, demanding release.

  When it came, her orgasm was like being struck by a bolt of lightning. Swift and shocking, catching her by surprise, curling her toes, and crossing her eyes.

  Once the pulsing waves ebbed, Quint placed a kiss upon her damp curls and chuckled as he slid up the length of her body. “I think it’s safe ta say ye liked that, my Beth.”

  She stretched beneath him, still marveling in her very first orgasm ever without batteries, and was taken totally by surprise when he entered her. He was big, oh my god was he big, and Beth froze, expecting pain. It didn’t really hurt this time, though. There was a pinching sensation as the head of his cock broke through her maidenhead, and she couldn’t help but wince as he buried himself deep within her. But the sensation she now had of being wonderfully filled had nothing at all to do with pain.

  He held himself perfectly ridged above her once more. “Are ye all right then, lass?”

  Beth forced herself to look Quint in the eye. She wanted to tell him not only yes she was all right, but hell yeah. She didn’t though. She held her tongue, nodded, and slowly wrapped her legs around his waist, burying him even deeper. She rocked her hips up against his and let her body do her talking.

  His breath let out in a whoosh as he began to move, sliding in and out, first slow and steady, then faster, harder, and deeper.

  Beth forgot to breathe, and she forgot where they were and why they were even here. All she could remember was the rock-steady arms as her Highland husband held her, his muscular thighs between hers, and the most superb penis she’d ever seen or felt in any time period anywhere was now pumping furiously into her, over and over and over again.

  If this wasn’t heaven, it certainly should’ve been.

  She clinched her legs and arms tightly about his torso as she sought to find her own rhythm. Stroke after delightful stroke filled her, and in response, pressure began building once more.

  At first, she ignored it. Orgasms with toys had been hard enough to achieve, let alone a second one tonight during a real sexual encounter. It couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. But still, with every downstroke Quint’s thick cock made, the sensations grew until she found herself whimpering, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, for the love of God, please don’t stop.”

  His chuckle sent a wave of shivers skittering along her spine. “Ye have nae ta worry about on that count, lass. Being inside ye feels like flying ta heaven and coming back home all at the same time. I could nae stop right now, even if our verra lives depended upon it.”

  With that, he redoubled his efforts and pounded into her furiously.

  Her breath caught in her chest as a sense of wonder engulfed her. Spasms of pure pleasure flooded every fiber of her being a mere heartbeat before Quint stiffened above her and found his release.

  She gloried in the feel of his hot semen coating her still trembling insides, and with a sigh of contentment, she drifted off to sleep, wrapped securely in Quinton MacLeod’s arms.

  ****

  Beth watched her husband sleeping, her eyes drowsily threatening to close. The warmth of his arms lulling her into an unfamiliar feeling of safety.

  She smiled and almost laughed but covered her mouth to stifle the noise. She didn’t wish to wake the sleeping Highlander beside her. For waking Quint might also awaken his seemingly insatiable hunger for her. What had it been, twice, no, three times he�
��d made love to her, with her, with such tenderness and passion his efforts had brought tears to her eyes.

  Hmm. On second thought, perhaps she should wake him.

  Beth did giggle then.

  The thought of making love once more, then actually falling to sleep in his arms again, in the same bed as this man was so foreign to her, it struck her as funny. How long had it been since she’d made love, then peacefully slept the night through beside a man? She couldn’t even remember. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t dated since her divorce. She hadn’t wanted to tell some guy that though they could join their bodies in the most personal of ways, he couldn’t possibly spend the night.

  Even after eight years of being single, being alone, there were still nights she’d wake in a cold sweat and fearful. Not knowing exactly where she was or what was about to happen.

  It had been one of Burt’s favorite games. He’d wait until she was sound asleep to attack. At first, it had been a quick hard shake or slap to the face. Then began the hours of yelling and the punishments.

  “How dare you sleep when my sons are dead because of you,” he’d scream. “You killed them, and you don’t even care. No one cares but me. You’re happy they’re gone, aren’t you? Admit it, bitch.”

  She probably would’ve survived with only superficial wounds to her soul if shakes, slaps, and words had been where it stopped. It wasn’t, though, it had only been the beginning. Next came the ripping off of whatever she’d worn at the time. Then the rapes. Though since they were legally married, she couldn’t even call them that. Finally, the last year of their marriage, Burt had added the beatings to what he’d termed what she had coming.

  Not long after that, he’d demanded she file for divorce. There truly was a God above, and he’d found Burt a new love on the Internet, six states away. Someone who’d promised to come to Florida and give him back what he felt Beth had taken from him. She couldn’t have been happier to oblige. It had been the final straw that had freed her.

  Actually getting away hadn’t been as easy as it should’ve been. It hadn’t taken Burt long to figure out Miss Internet Lover wasn’t all she portrayed herself to be. He changed his mind about the divorce and demanded Beth put a stop to it. After all, without her income, who would support him?

  But after the glimpse of freedom the idea of a divorce awarded her, there was no going back. That was the first time she’d out and out lied to him. The first of many more to come.

  She even let him listen into the call she made to her lawyer’s office telling him to stop the previously uncontested divorce proceedings Burt had already signed off on. But he didn’t get a chance to hear the conversation between her lawyer and herself the next day when she’d assured her legal aid the call had been made under duress and to ignore it.

  For the next three months, while the divorce proceeded without Burt’s further knowledge, Beth hid things she couldn’t live without in her lunch bag. Instead of taking her normal apple and salad or soup and sandwich, she substituted treasures. She’d stashed her stolen booty safely in her locker at the middle school where she taught.

  Every day, she’d taken something else, pictures of her children, their birth and death certificates, school report cards, popsicle stick Christmas ornaments, baked clay handprints, birthday and mother’s day cards the boys had given her, articles of clothing she’d need, and anything else she couldn’t bring herself to leave behind. She’d tucked all of it away and waited.

  The day the divorce papers came she tucked those away, too, and started a job search on the Internet. Wanting to get as far away from Burt Anderson and Miami, Florida, as she could get, her job search took her to Anchorage, Alaska. It took less than a month to land a new teaching position beginning in the fall and even less time to horde away what she could from the household allowance and secretly purchase a plane ticket.

  The last morning she’d seen Burt Anderson’s face, she’d kissed him goodbye the same as she always had. She wished him a good day, told him she’d be late getting home because of a teachers’ meeting, and walked out the door. By the time the last bell of the school day finished ringing, Beth had cleaned out their bank account, was thirty thousand feet in the air, and half way to Alaska.

  Tears threatened at the memory, and she quickly swiped them away. She hated that even now, even almost four hundred years in the past, she still allowed her jerk of an ex-husband so much power to hurt her.

  Quint stirred and wrapped an arm possessively about her middle. His voice was no more than a breath upon the air. “Why are ye crying, lass?”

  “I’m not.” She sniffled.

  Quint chuckled. “I ken the sound of tears when I hear them, my Beth. Perhaps I can think of a way ta make ye forget whatever’s causing ye sadness?” He nuzzled her neck and ear. “I’ll nae have my wee wife weeping on her wedding night. Nae as long as there’s breath left in my body ta prevent it.”

  And thankfully, that’s precisely what he did as he parted her thighs and slipped his cock deep inside. Wonder replaced sadness as with stroke after stroke their bodies melded into one. Shivers of heat scampered along the curve of her spine, and a steady pulsating throb of delight tapped out a rhythm of ecstasy upon her clit until she was sure she’d die of pure pleasure if his attention went on for even one moment longer.

  She didn’t die though. On the contrary, she soared as the bliss of release once more shattered her soul into a million bright shiny pieces and then brought them all back together again, safely held within the confines of Quinton MacLeod’s big, strong arms.

  Beth contently closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. For the first time in ever so long, she felt safe, truly safe.

  Chapter Five

  Quint studied his bride from the bow of the boat and shook his head. His wife sat huddled in her cloak, shivering against the brisk wind, as if she hadn’t been born and raised, at least partially, in the Highlands. The crossing between the Isle of Lewis and the Isle of Raasay wouldn’t take very long, but the small channel was well known for its invigorating breeze.

  Who was this fey creature now his wife? It was as if she were somehow two different people, one by day and yet another by night. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never truly understand the workings of a woman’s mind.

  As the light of morning dawned, Elspeth Frasier MacLeod had once more become the same spoiled, self-centered harridan he’d met a few days past.

  After the wonderful night they’d spent in each other’s arms, he had been so sure she’d be different, but she wasn’t. She’d still ordered his people around, as if she were a princess and her needs the only ones important enough to be met. Even an entire boat had been required just to haul her trunks.

  How could one wee female possess so much?

  In all fairness, it hadn’t actually been his Beth who’d shouted out demands. It was the red-headed hag of a maid, Bronwyn, who Lady Lydia herself had sent along to personally see to Elspeth’s needs. No servant would dare do such a thing without her mistress demanding it, though, would she?

  But Elspeth hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to anyone the entire morning. Not as they’d shared a trencher to break their fast, and not even as they’d said their goodbyes to Lady Lydia and her brother, the Mackenzie.

  This…Elspeth was a direct contrast to the Beth he’d held in his arms all through the night. Though his Beth had been a shy innocent one moment and a demanding vixen the next, at no time had she ever been quiet.

  He hardened once more at the memory of her soft sighs, moans, gasps, and squeals of delight. They’d made love four times before the first rays of sunlight streaked the eastern sky, and then once more for good measure before rising.

  What had caused this change? The poor lass was no doubt a tad tender from his overzealous ministrations, but in all fairness, he had warned her. Could it instead have something to do with what the viscount had said to her as the two passed on the stairs?

  As short as the conversation was, it
couldn’t have been much of an exchange. And Beth hadn’t spoken so much as a single word in response to whatever the viscount had leaned in to say. The short conversation had been over almost before it began, and if he hadn’t been watching for Beth, he would’ve probably missed it.

  But whatever the viscount had said, Quint had every intention of finding out the moment they reached Brochel Castle.

  The Beth he’d held last night couldn’t possibly be in league with Telford, and therefore a traitor to him and his people, could she? Not after what they’d shared. And which woman would he be presenting to his people this day as their lady when the boats landed, Elspeth Frasier of the English court or his Beth, his wife of the night past?

  He hoped it was his latter.

  ****

  God, she so needed to talk to Fate. Would he know where Quint was taking her? Would she be able to find a few moments of privacy to call for him?

  Beth wrapped her cloak closer about her shoulders and shivered. Not knowing if the cold was from the wind or her fear. The words of the creepy viscount still rang in her ears. “I hope you got a good start on producing that heir, my dear. Remember, our plan counts on you delivering.”

  Our plan?

  She had racked Elspeth’s mind for any more memories that might give her answers and had come up empty. She wanted to sleep, maybe she’d remember then. Yes, she so needed a nap. Not that trying to remember Elspeth’s memories had anything to do with the reason she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

  That thought brought a small secretive smile to her lips. Oh no, she certainly hadn’t slept much last night, and though what sleep she had gotten between bouts of lovemaking had been short, she didn’t regret that fact for a moment.

  Quint had been amazing, and though she should probably feel guilty for doing what she’d done with such a young, hot, sexy man, she simply didn’t. And not only didn’t she feel guilty about it, but she couldn’t wait for her next chance to do precisely the same thing.