Romancing the Rose

by Mary Anne Graham

  She’d get her chance.

  Still holding his sumptuous burden, Ram sat down and lay back in the reclining alcove worn into the rock. He swung his legs up, stretching them out along its length. Ram nudged her and she stretched out, propping herself on her elbows and moving her legs, clearly preparing to rise. Smart lady.

  Ram raised his knees, trapping her legs between his.

  “Laird Sutherland,” she said. “This is improper.”

  “Laird Sutherland?” He reached towards her neck and seized the plaid he’d tucked inside her neckline. Unwrapping the fabric, he separated the sides, holding it so that each end dangled below her nipples. He flicked the trailing ends of the fabric, snapping it against her nipples. She gasped and he said, “Try again.”

  “Ram,” she half-said, half-sighed, “This is -”

  “Erotic?” He suggested. “Arousing?”

  She moaned as he pinched the wool to drape the ends in pleats. His knowledge that those pleats folded around her peaked nipples bubbled the melting chocolate of his eyes. The feel of it set the gold dust in her eyes sparkling.

  “The wool is rough, isn’t it, sweets?” Ram asked, tugging on the fabric. “The pleats caress your nipples. When I move the plaid, the wool grates your tender flesh–not much, not enough and almost too much. Now your nipples beg for a harder touch or a lighter one but they get neither.” Ram shifted the wool, shimmying the pinched pleats around her again before he perversely halted, holding it still.

  She moaned and shuffled, seeking the sliding rasp of the wool. When Ram didn’t respond she made an exasperated, frustrated noise and scooted forward, arching until her nipples touched the fabric. Feasting on the sight, Ram watched her rub against the wool like a cat trying to scratch a particularly pesky itch.

  He should leave her alone and gather his scattered wits. He had to tell her the truth in such a way that she allowed him some time. Then he’d have to do the same with Flora and Laird MacKenzie, but he couldn’t think about that now. Hell, he couldn’t even think about what strategy to use with English because he couldn’t leave her alone long enough.

  On the heels of that thought, Ram fed his one-eyed monster’s rebellion by snatching the plaid Rose rubbed against. Then he nearly swallowed his tongue. She lurched, chasing the plaid. Part of her dress was trapped between his legs, so her breasts spilled out. The plaid slipped from his fingers and he muttered an oath.

  “Ram,” she said. “Rammmm..”

  He swallowed that last ‘m’ in his name as he took her lips, tasting cinnamon and something else–something sweet and earthy, like roses and musk mated and produced this flavor that belonged to her alone. He’d never forget it. ‘Twould be impossible.

  While that horrifying reality didn’t bring sanity, it brought some measure of reason. He could think well enough to remember to be considerate and to realize that he’d seized her mouth like a crust of bread dangled before a starving man. She returned his kiss–awkwardly–but her lips trembled like her hands, which clutched his shoulders. He needed to slow down.

  Ram lifted his mouth but kept his face close to hers and felt a jolt of joy when she didn’t pull away a’tall. She didn’t look upset or appalled. She looked the way he felt -aroused and confused.

  “I did it wrong, didn’t I?” Rose asked. “I’ll do better if you’d like to try again.”

  She puckered her lips and Ram chuckled like a bell drug through rocks.

  Her face fell and she shoved away from his chest to kneel over his lap. “But you don’t want to try again. You don’t want this; don’t want me.” Thunderclouds rolled into her eyes as her temper rose. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? You brought me out here to tell me that you were sweeping out the English rubbish, betrothal or no, didn’t you?” She cocked back her fists and punched his chest. “Didn’t you?”

  Heat lit Ram’s eyes. “You’ve fire beneath that English ice, lass.”

  “What of it?” Rose asked, stiffening her spine. The proper posture thrust her bosom forward.

  Ram’s inner laird had him convinced to agree with her assessment–false as it was–and to tell her that he was betrothed to Flora and would honor that agreement. Then her spine stiffening bobbled her breasts at him, her bare breasts. And his inner man knocked the laird out cold with a single punch.

  Rose’s skin matched her name. She’d started flushing when she felt the bounce but her pink turned blooming red from following Ram’s eyes. By the time her hands reached up to tuck her bosom back into her gown, she encountered an unexpected obstacle. She gasped and her eyes flew to Ram’s as his hands spread out to cup her breasts.

  “Sweets,” Ram said, “please ken that my eyes meet yours as ye look up.”

  “You’re touching my, ahm, personal parts,” Rose said.

  “I’m cradling your breasts,” Ram said, “And, my adorable little virgin, I’m looking in your eyes. For that, I get ‘understanding points.’ Since I’m frequently willful, egotistical and stubborn, I’m confident I’ll need to collect on these points–so tally them well.”

  “Understanding what?” Rose mumbled, wondering if he’d do more than cup her breasts with his hands–wondering if he wanted to, and doubting he did. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I shouldn’t do this,” Ram agreed. “But I do have to. Just like I have to do this again–but I’ll get it right this time. I won’t scare you.”

  Ram leaned forward, bringing his lips close. He nearly shouted “Hallelujah,” when she moved forward to meet him partway. His lips brushed hers this time, sliding side to side in a hot, wet, dirty cinnamon dance. It got hotter and wetter when Ram thrust out his tongue to trace the outline of her lips. But it wasn’t long before they panted into each other’s mouths and the bonds broke on Ram’s control and he did it. He did it.

  He moved his hands.

  ***

  Rose jumped when the hands holding her breasts dropped them and moved up to cradle her nipples between his thumb and the curled fingers of his hands. Those curved fingers were a poker, tugging her nipples towards the fireplace. Then his index finger swept across the peak of her pointed nipples, tossing her into the fire.

  He lifted his mouth to growl into hers. “My fingers feel better than the wool. I can do more for you than the wool. Much more.”

  Oh yes, Rose thought, yes they could. And they did. They pinched and pumped her pinched nipples for one beat, two beats, three. And then they ceased the pumping to stroke across the tip once, and far too quickly.

  “Again,” she moaned.

  For long, heavy minutes no sound troubled the gentle air of the night save the heavy huffs of their breath. Their eyes held, his so black that they’d have been one with the night, save for the shooting stars streaking across, heading for her golden green gaze.

  “I’m going to do it again,” he said, and his words sent a tingle straight to the secret spot between her legs. “I’m going to do it again, but this time, I’m going to watch myself doing it.”

  “Oh, my,” Rose murmured.

  “And you’re going to watch too,” Ram said.

  Watch? She nibbled her lower lip while she thought, considering the wickedness of his suggestion. Suggestion? ‘Twas a command.

  “That sounds like an order,” she said.

  “It’s very much an order,” Ram replied, dropping his eyes while she watched, moving his gaze down to the tender flesh suspended between his hands. “And ‘tis one ye’ll obey because your breasts ache and your nipples throb in a pale echo of the ache and throbbing you feel between your thighs–in your pussy.”

  “My… pussy?” Rose asked, knowing the word was dirty. She’d heard it before, during a vile conversation with her brother and later during one with Jack. She’d not ask either of them to explain anything.

  “My pussy,” Rose repeated, mostly to see if Ram would once again shut his eyes, get all tense and mutter Gaelic phrases she couldn’t understand but suspected were oaths. He did.

  R
ose smiled. As exposed as she was, she didn’t feel that way. His vulnerability made her stronger.

  “Watch,” he said, “I’ll give you what you want if you give me what I want.”

  That’s what she thought he said. His voice was so strained, so low and so broken that she had to listen carefully. Ram hadn’t begged, but he hadn’t ordered either. He’d bargained. She could accept a bargain. She looked down and his fingers resumed their stroking, pinching, gliding caresses. And she didn’t think a’tall.

  Sensation buffeted her with his light, teasing strokes and it swamped her with his firm, pulsing tugs. Her nipples were full and tight, reaching out for him, needing him, needing more of him. He read her mind, or her body, or perhaps–both.

  “I can do more for your aching breasts, sweets,” Ram said. “I can give you more. Do you want that–or–is this enough?”

  “More?” Rose asked.

  He stuck out his tongue and rimmed his lips. “More,” he said, stroking his teeth with his tongue. “Mooore,” he said, drawing out the word with a pucker.

  She couldn’t look away from his mouth, couldn’t summon a single thought that didn’t involve his lips or his tongue or his teeth. She shivered, dug her nails into his neck and shifted on his lap. He groaned and thrust up, not quite connecting with her most intimate area. He put his hands on her shoulders like he wanted to push her down, but he watched her face while he did it and her expression must have betrayed her fear.

  “God, you’re not ready for that,” he growled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he settled down–slowly, moving his hands to cup her breasts and bending towards them. He paused, a breath away from her right nipple. “But you’re ready for this.”

  She was ready for his tongue to lap out and circle that rigid peak. And it did– hot and cold and wet and astonishing. But she wasn’t ready for the connection that sizzled between them like echoing lightning. It echoed but the light and energy didn’t diminish. It grew and it kept growing.

  ‘Twould have scared her more if Ram hadn’t paused, lifted his head to meet her eyes and reverently said, “Dear Lord.”

  It was a prayer and the lost look in his eyes told her that the place they’d entered felt as foreign to him as it did to her. So she echoed his prayer. “Dear Lord.”

  He wrapped both hands around the base of her breast. “Do you know what I’m going to do to ye now?”

  She couldn’t speak, so she shook her head no.

  “I’m going to fasten my lips around your nipple and suckle it,” Ram said.

  Her lips tried to form the question, but she still couldn’t gather herself enough to make her voice work. But he was still reading her mind, because he answered the question she hadn’t asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “like a bairn.” At her confused look, his voice gentled. “A babe.”

  The “our” he hadn’t said throbbed between them as he lowered his mouth. He spoke next against her nipple, “Watch me take you this way. Watch.”

  His lips surrounded her nipple loosely. He puckered gradually, a bit at a time, so that she felt his panted breaths as hot puffs of air across already heated flesh. When his lips closed more, pressing against the rise of her breasts, those puffs carried traces of moisture. The wet heat sent a trail of goosebumps cascading down–way down–where they had no business being, awakening parts that should sleep until after their wedding.

  But she was a bad person. No doubt about it. Instead of calling a halt, she reveled in the hot chill knotting her female parts like a ball of yarn someone kept tugging on. She gave in and rubbed her legs together, causing her yarn tugger to smile enough to break the magic dome of his mouth.

  She growled and sunk her nails into his neck.

  He growled back before he latched onto her nipple with firm suction, varied when he paused to swirl his tongue around the peaks and dimples. The tingle followed the trail of those goosebumps, leaving in its wake a sharp ache. It migrated down in pieces, leaving as much heavy pain as it lost.

  She moved her hands to his head, shoving his mouth to her breast. That left the other pain to attend and instinct prompted her to surge down onto his male area–a bulge grown from large to enormous. She surged down and ground against him.

  He went completely still for a second before he growled the word, “stop,” against the flesh in his mouth.

  She withdrew, but the feeling of his full flesh against hers was too powerful to resist so she lunged again.

  He thrust up to meet her a single time before he growled against her breast again. “We can’t. Stop. Talk. Have to…”

  She didn’t listen–couldn’t listen–couldn’t stop. The sliding, shoving, grinding friction offered the promise of ease, freedom from the vise of sensation holding her captive. She tossed her head back in wild abandon as she lunged one more time.

  Ram released her breast and raised wild eyes to meet hers as he clamped heavy hands around her hips. “Damn you,” he barked. “Damn you for making me do this. Damn you for making it impossible to stop. I tried. Remember that I tried to stop.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, to question, but his heavy hand shoved her hips down as he thrust his up and what left her mouth was a purring moan. He rubbed his thick, wool-coated shaft against her silk-clad groin, pounded against it for long heady moments. Then he pushed her back as he withdrew.

  She grabbed his hair, pulled it, and begged. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  “I can’t,” Ram said, in an older-than time and younger than fault tone he’d have used to confess a childhood offense or the murder of a friend. “I can’t, sweets.”

  He moved his hands to her sides and flipped them on the narrow stone bench so that he ended up on top. He propped himself up on his knees and pulled off his shirt, throwing it across the pavilion. He laid down, coming over her slowly, fitting his groin to hers, until he lay full over her, supported on his hands, only a breath separating his bare chest from hers.

  “I can’t take you,” Ram said. “But we must have each other, now–or we’ll nae survive. I’ve not felt that before, but I feel it–know it–now. So, unmanned I’ll be, but if I must be unmanned, then I’ll do it myself. I’ll cede that power to no woman.”

  “What?” Rose asked, having not the slightest idea what any of that meant.

  Ram ignored the question and lowered himself, so that his chest met her still-tingling nipples. Then he swore quietly and lifted his groin enough to snatch his kilt up in the front. The wool flared around him like her hair flared around her and it all proved what a loose woman she’d become. She strained to get a look but he settled before she got a chance.

  “Ye’re nae ready for that sight, lass” Ram said.

  She chewed her lower lip to try to keep it in, but the question burst forth anyway. “How is that fair?”

  “Because I’ve the sight of your breasts, you mean?” Ram asked, and she nodded. “Well, I’m not shocked or intimidated by seeing your breasts, lass.”

  “Because you’ve seen breasts before,” Rose said.

  “Aye,” Ram said, bluntly.

  “And mine are nothing special,” Rose concluded.

  The chocolate in Ram’s eyes bubbled like a cauldron stirred by a witch casting a very dark spell. “Think you that I’d be helping to unman myself were that true?”

  Rose shrugged.

  “Had I not seen your breasts, love, then nothing more would have passed here than a kiss and some conversation. Your breasts are,” he said, shifting from side to side, “an invitation to sin.”

  She didn’t answer, unless her moan counted.

  Ram allowed more of his weight to lie upon her, so that her peaked nipples burrowed beneath his springy chest hair like twin talons. The full shaft between her legs unfurled, stretching as he muttered, “I hope I have the will to do this without lifting your gown.”

  Rose’s reply came between pants. “Would … that…..be….so bad?”

  “By the Highland’s grace, don’t say t
hat,” Ram near pleaded.

  He thrust, and his eyes flew wide in shock as his staff found the open seam in the center of her drawers. His erection wrapped itself in the silk of her gown and the whisper thin petticoat beneath. His next thrust shoved the silk-sheathed head of his member just inside her inner chamber, across the threshold of the space he couldn’t enter.

  She let out a keening wail and raised her knees, sending him a wee bit deeper. He’d have gone in all the way had he nae shoved a hand on her hips to stop her instinctive thrust. “Don’t,” he said.

  She bared her teeth and wailed again.

  “You’re not……. I didn’t……..,” Ram paused, took a deep breath and asked the question he prayed she’d answer with a yes that would remove all need for caution, and cast the safety of his clan to the wind. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

  “I want you,” she said.

  He made a sound somewhere between an oath and the howl of a newly treed fox as he shut his eyes, pushed back and shoved up the hem of her gown. He didn’t open his eyes again until she felt his engorged member plop onto the throbbing nub normally hidden by her lady lips. He shoved her gown down around them and opened his eyes in the same instant.

  “I want you too, sweets,” Ram said. “I want you more than almost anything–or anything. I can’t take you until, unless–bloody, almighty hell.”

  He shut up and thrust against her, there where she felt so much. He thrust again, swiveling his hips to send his member swaying, back and forth against that spot, that sweet, yearning spot. She started yowling “Oh, my,” but the “Oh” went on for a couple more of those delicious thrusts. That “My” turned into “Yes,” which she was still saying when she shot through the stars, passed the moon and landed on the sun.

  Ram said it too, and he was still saying it when his next thrust sent him hurtling through the sky, sending him plopping down beside her, on that great ball of fire that should’ve come from his loins instead of his soul. That realization sent him lurching to his feet, grabbing her hands to pull her up. In something akin to a blind panic, he snatched down her gown while he hooked his shirt with his boot and kicked it into his hands. The stained, spotted linen muffled his words for he spoke as he snatched it on.