by Mara
“Tell me now.” His palm rubbed upward. She shook her head again and whimpered, afraid she was about to climax. She didn’t want this ever to end.
“Ah, God, I canna stop.” His fingers passed the thatch between her legs. “I need tae stroke you here.”
She cried out when he slipped the pad of his thumb against her clitoris, rubbing it sensuously. Another finger delved to her slick sex. “So wet.” He lowered his head, and against her damp nipple, he said, “You’d be ready for me, would you no’?”
When he spread the moisture and continued his slow, agonizing strokes, she writhed helplessly to his touch. “Please, Hugh,” she said, panting. “Don’t stop.”
He raised his head, studying her face. “I will no’.” His voice sounded hoarse, lost. “I want tae make you…make you come for me.” He stroked more firmly. “Tae see you—”
She gave a strangled moan—she was already there.
Twenty-three
Hugh gazed in awe as she suddenly arched her back, hands clutching the sheets.
Without thought, he set four fingers on her, cupping and rubbing her sex fast, mouth sucking greedily on her nipple to make it stronger for her. With his other hand, he snatched up her gown so he could watch her body twisting with pleasure.
She gave a breathy cry that made his cock jerk painfully in answer, and her knees fell wide open. In utter abandon, she rocked her hips against his hand, over and over, until the tension left her.
Trembling, she fell back onto the arm he’d draped behind her, lying docile and open as he slowly continued to pet her flesh.
He couldn’t catch his breath. The sight of his fingertips against the wet auburn curls at her sex…He was going to lose his seed right in his trousers.
She leaned up to bury her face against his neck. To his disbelief, she whispered how much she loved his touch. His touch. After a decade fantasizing about it, he’d made her come.
And it was the most incredible experience he’d ever had.
Her breaths were warm and quick, and between her words, she gave his neck little licks that made his cock grow impossibly hotter and harder.
At that moment, spending in his pants did not strike him as a bad idea.
He inwardly shook himself and pulled away, but she’d looped her soft arms around his neck and eased a knee up beside his waist.
“Hugh, what about you? Won’t you stay with me?” She tugged gently, until he allowed himself to settle his hips between her thighs.
She wanted him to come as well? Could he drag himself away? Not when she undulated her bared sex against him. Impossible. He was burning to free himself and sink into her slick heat, desperate to ride her mindlessly, finally taking what he’d needed for so long.
Instead, when she did that sensual roll of her hips again, he tentatively thrust back against her. She sucked in a breath.
“Dinna hurt you?” he choked out.
When she said, “No, darling, no,” he leaned up and found his hand shooting between them to rip open the fastening of his trousers. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, baring his cock, so that it hung down over her.
They were both breathing heavily, staring at where their bodies almost touched. Their flesh was so close. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stared at his shaft, at the slick head. As if in a dream, he watched as she rolled her hips again, seeking him. He put his straightened arms on each side of her, holding himself up, sweating with the effort not to take her.
He knew he couldn’t have her, even when it felt so right to be here with her like this. He was awash in how right it felt. Yet, unable to stop himself, he pressed his own hips down. Lower, so slowly, until his shaft grazed against her swollen little clitoris.
His eyes rolled back in his head.
She gave a cry and another undulation that nearly put his cockhead inside her, ending everything. One of his hands shot to her hip to pin her down, then he pressed his shaft harder against her mound. He stayed there, letting it throb against her. Where his control came from, he had no idea. He only knew he had to stretch out every second, to make it last the rest of his life.
But when she reached eager hands forward to grasp him, he grabbed her wrists, knowing he’d come before her last finger had wrapped around his shaft. “Put your arms over your head, Sìne.” She let them fall above her. “Keep them there for me.” She nodded, as if she understood his struggle.
Soon the urge to thrust grew overwhelming. He obeyed it, pushing slowly over her sex, slipping up to her flat belly, then back, a near-constant groan rising from his chest. With his position and the movement, he was close to being inside her, as close as he would ever allow himself to get. Her cries would be the same—as would the way she was gazing up at him when she spread her legs wider and whispered, “Oh, God! Yes, Hugh!”
He savored even this agonizing pressure. Another slow push over her sex.
“Jane,” he groaned. Each time his shaft slid over her, he could feel his sack tightening until it ground against her wetness too. She made some unintelligible sound at the contact.
The pleasure was too great. He was going to come, and he was going to come hard.
He dropped his head and rasped, “Arch your back for me. Have tae taste you again.” When she rushed to do so, he sucked her nipple between his lips, then tugged it with his teeth until she moaned.
Was she telling him she was about to come again? He’d make her. He’d hold on until she did once more.
The pressure had nearly turned to pain when she cried out his name and thrashed beneath him in her orgasm.
Lost, he ground himself determinedly up and back against her. “Ah, God, Sìne, I have tae…come,” he groaned, beginning to ejaculate. He gave a brutal yell each time the hard spurts lashed across her belly…over and over until he’d finally emptied his seed.
His body wracked with after-shudders, he sank onto his elbows with hoarse exhalations of breath against her damp neck.
He couldn’t believe he’d been thrusting over her like that. He closed his eyes in shame—he’d spilled his seed on her.
Drawing away, he tucked his sensitive shaft back into his pants, then rose to grab a towel. When he returned he couldn’t bear to look at her, even as he wiped her skin and pulled her gown into place. He tossed the towel away and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Never had he felt so ashamed, so low. How was he going to face her tomorrow? Didn’t matter, he’d have to.
No matter how badly he needed to leave, they couldn’t be separated.
“Jane, I doona know what happened. I’m sorry.” He should be humiliated to be near her, and yet it was she he wanted to be with in the face of his shame—so that he didn’t have to take it alone. It was enough to drive any man mad.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” She sat up on her knees behind him. “Nothing.”
“No, I should have had more control.”
“Hugh,” she murmured, rubbing his back, “it’s just me, remember? It’s just your Jane. We were always comfortable around each other.”
“This should no’ have happened,” he insisted.
Just when he’d decided to rise, she said, “Stay. Sleep with me, please.” She coaxed with light touches and soft words until he somehow found himself out of his pants and in bed with her. When he’d resigned himself to staying like this, he drew her back to his chest, his arms smoothly crossing over her as if he’d locked her against him thousands of times before.
As he’d imagined that last summer again and again, she was finally naked in his bed. He’d stared at this very ceiling and fantasized about touching her, kissing her. He’d dreamed of holding her as she slept.
The reality was so much more. He’d known he would love the scent of her hair. He hadn’t known he would want to groan and shove a handful to his face. Or that he would realize her hair was long enough to brush his legs if she threw her head back while she rode him.
He’d known he would love the feel of her, but he hadn’t rea
lized how round her arse would be or that it fit like a puzzle piece to his lap.
“No more nightmares, Hugh,” she whispered drowsily. “Or we’ll have to do that again.”
He already wanted to do that again, was even now growing hard against her bottom. When she sighed in contentment, he frowned as he tried to recall how he’d ever thought living with her was bad.
Twenty-four
When she woke the next morning, Hugh was sleeping soundly. She lay staring, fascinated with the man before her.
With his jaw unclenched, his face looked changed, younger even. The gashes on his cheek were healing, giving him a roguish look. That made her smile. He was a rogue—a mercenary—but he wasn’t a rake .
She skimmed the pad of her forefinger over his bottom lip, remembering how he’d kissed her last night—deeply, desperately, like it was the last kiss he’d ever take from her, and he had to make it last.
Everything in her had responded, and she’d let herself go. She shivered just recalling how he’d rocked his massive body over her, sliding his shaft against her sex until he’d brought her twice to orgasm. And then to see him take his pleasure as well, to see him spending over her flesh…wondrous. Though judging by his discomfited reaction last night, she doubted she’d ever be seeing it again.
Which was a problem, as she’d all but decided Hugh MacCarrick had to be her first lover.
If she’d ever needed her cousins’ advice, it was now.
Today. Surely, today they would arrive.
When she tenderly brushed a lock of black hair from his forehead, his gorgeous dark eyes eased open. Seeming still half-asleep, he reached his hand up to stroke her cheek. When she smiled, his brows drew together in puzzlement.
Then he shot away from her.
After stabbing his legs into his pants, he paced for long moments, the muscles in his upper body growing more and more tensed. “This should no’ have happened, and it canna happen again,” he finally said.
His tone implied that they were discussing a tragedy, something akin to a death in the family—not the most mind-boggling pleasure she’d ever imagined. She couldn’t help but feel insulted, and sat up, drawing the sheet up to her chest. “Honestly, Hugh, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” She waved her hand dismissively. “We…trifled a bit.”
Instead of being grateful as she’d expected—after all, she could have called him a cad and pressed to stay married—he appeared furious. “If we’d ‘trifled’ an inch lower, there could be dire consequences. Have you forgotten that we both agreed no’ to do this? We agreed at the outset. Do you want to get stuck in this marriage?”
“I wish you would stop living in terror that you might get trapped in marriage with me. We didn’t make love. Now, it’s very simple. We put this behind us and never speak of it again.”
“I’ve never met a woman who could skewer a man’s sense of self-worth like you can. Whoever marries you in truth will need to be a better man than me.”
She glared up at him. Skewering had never been her intention, but at that moment, she didn’t regret the outcome. “You are making too much of this,” she insisted. “Why are you so angry when nothing permanent occurred? You’re acting like a provincial.”
“Maybe you can easily put it behind you, but that trifling affected me.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed as he lunged forward to grab her elbow. “You’re no’ a virgin, are you?”
She drew back her head in bewilderment. “Why would you ask that question?”
No, no, Hugh. Don’t be like this. For ten years, he’d been out sowing his wild oats; yet he probably expected her to have been waiting for a husband. Of course, she was a virgin, but, as was often the case, right now she wished she weren’t.
Such a narrow-minded expectation was galling.
“Answer me.”
Her tone cold as ice, she said, “Darling, I’ve been as celibate as you have been since we last saw each other.”
He released her, but kept his hands raised as he backed away, as if he couldn’t believe he’d touched her.
“Why would you care if I bedded a dozen men?” she asked in confusion.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Because women like you doona get ‘easy annulments.’ No’ based on lack of consummation.”
Women like me.
He hit the wall, making her jump, then turned to her with the air of some trapped beast who knew the end was near. He was that averse to having her as his wife?
“How in the hell did you plan to end the marriage?” he demanded. “How?”
“I’m sure my father can manage something—”
“It will no’ bloody stop me, Jane. I dinna sign on for more. If our annulment does no’ go as planned, I will still leave you.”
Her heart went cold. Memories of loneliness and hopelessness washed over her.
He’d left her before without a warning. He would again, this time after telling her to her face that nothing would cleave him to her—even as she sat naked in a bed still warmed from him.
No longer would she open herself up to him. She couldn’t. Self-preservation, Janey. Hugh MacCarrick was the only man who could ever make her cry. False smile in place, she said with all honesty, “Of course you will leave me, darling. I never expected anything else from you.”
He shot her another disillusioned look, then strode away.
After his behavior the night before, this morning had already been grueling enough. But now to learn that Jane had definitely had at least one man was punishing for him.
He’d suspected she and Bidworth had been lovers, but to know …
The idea of Bidworth, or another man like him, taking her innocence made Hugh’s stomach clench, made him want to roar with fury. He felt this even as he knew he had no right to, no right to hate the fact that she’d welcomed another—or others—into her bed.
He’d said those things to Jane out of jealousy and because he’d been furious with himself—for one foggy moment when he first awakened, he’d been about to start the madness again. Even now, he found himself wishing he’d just gone ahead and taken her last night, or even this morning, when she’d looked so tousled and well-loved.
He’d taken his frustrations out on her, sounding like some inflexible old-guard Tory, and she hadn’t deserved it.
Jane was unique and independent, and she couldn’t be judged by others’ standards. She was twenty-seven and had a very healthy sexual appetite. Even as he understood this, the idea of her appeasing her needs with others maddened him.
Because he was obsessed with her. He wanted her to lavish that desire on him, wanted her all to himself. The idea of Bidworth trying to handle all her passion was laughable. After last night, Hugh knew that he was the man for it—even as he knew he could never allow himself to have her.
He’d given her a few hours to get over her pique, but now they needed to talk about what the hell they were going to do about their annulment. Hugh loped to her room, but found no sign of her. He made his way to the upstairs parlor. After dressing this morning, she’d sat in the window seat there for hours, gazing out at Vinelands as she had for the last two days.
He and his brothers used to do the same constantly. They’d first traveled down to this property at the suggestion of concerned relatives in the clan. Ethan had just received the injury to his face and would be able to heal in a more private setting; Court would have no one to fight….
They’d been there only a week before the Weylands had descended on the area.
From the lofty vantage of Ros Creag, the three brothers had sat and watched the goings-on at Vinelands. Always a huge fire burned outside, people danced in the yard, and singing and raucous laughter carried across the water.
Hugh, Ethan, and Court had gawked in confusion. Their existence had been dour, their home in the north of Scotland dark ever since the death of their father. They’d rarely spoken to their mother, Fiona, who couldn’t recover from the loss of her beloved husband Leith.
<
br /> The day he’d died, Fiona had pulled at her hair, screaming at her sons, “I told you no’ to read it! How many times did I tell you? It always wins!”
Hugh shook himself, preparing to face Jane as he entered the parlor—the empty parlor. She wasn’t in the window seat. Excellent, she was avoiding him again.
Or would she have tried to leave, after his callous words this morning?
A sense of unease settled over him. He bellowed her name. Nothing. Just as he was about to go tearing through the house, some movement outside caught his attention. He glanced out the window, saw bairns piling out onto the front lawn at Vinelands, with some harried woman running after them. Adults alighted from carriages. Weylands were here? Now? Brows drawn, he strode forward to peer out.
