Some Like it Plaid

by Angela Quarles

  He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. He closed his eyes and moaned.

  She clenched again as understanding flooded her, just as swift and powerful as a fresh wave of desire.

  That action…

  The slow methodical way he was taking her…

  He was claiming her.

  Every step creating a path to making her fully and completely his—entering her that first time in shallow thrusts to make her come from a G-spot orgasm, to tasting her, to…whatever he was about to do next.

  A flutter of panic at the idea that she was being tied to him more than she’d bargained for signaled from deep within, but it was too weak to overcome her overwhelming desire for this man.

  Then, his attention fixed on her, those fingers popped from his mouth and disappeared behind her, and she knew by the rhythmic tightening of his forearm and biceps, he was slowly stroking himself. Then the hand on her back eased forward until it gripped her shoulder, his strong fingers just inches from her face but hidden by the cloth of her tunic.

  Then. Oh then…he thrust. Thrust into her hard and sure, bucking her forward.

  She dropped her forehead to a mitten and gasped. Oh holy altar to all penises, this man was large. And she was tight and it had been so long, he didn’t fully enter despite how wet she was. Heat seared her insides as he stretched her.

  He eased his hips back, his cock leaving her in a slow drag, the friction of which was insane. Then he tightened his grip on her shoulder and thrust back inside, plunging farther this time.

  Deliberate. Purposeful.

  The first full claiming of her as he worked his hard length deeper with each thrust until with a shout, he slammed back into her, fully seated.

  Her breath tore from her, and she bit her lip, afraid she’d start babbling about how incredible he felt inside her, filling her fully for the first time. How right it felt. How that scared her senseless and could he go back to thrusting so she could pretend they were just fucking?

  Instead, he was still. So still.

  What was he—? She placed her chin on her upper arm to turn and look, but stopped. Because oh-my-God-did-she-know that just looking at him right now might pull her in deeper into his orbit.

  Fuuuuck.

  Open your eyes. He’s just a man.

  She relented. But, oh, what a man. His eyes were closed, his bottom lip between his teeth, his head dipping back slightly, highlighting the strong column of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. Then, barely perceptible except she was watching him so closely, enthralled, his whole body trembled and then stilled.

  That he seemed to also mark this moment, relish it, melted a part of her into a holy-shit-you’re-amazing goo. Then he lowered his head, his eyes dark with need. Never taking his eyes from hers, he eased out, his hand gripping and massaging her shoulder and the other kneading her butt cheek.

  The moment stretched, then snapped as he rammed forward. Then their movements were frantic as each searing stroke awakened a deepening throb of pleasure where they were joined, until it became all she could see, all she could feel, all she could hear. But sweet relief remained poised, right at the brink, swelling her, threatening her, and she whimpered and quaked with need.

  Then he licked his finger. The cool shock of the wet tip flicking her nub—that was all it took. Scorching pleasure cascaded through her, rushing through her veins, and now she did close her eyes because holy shit. She shook and shook and shook as convulsions wracked her.

  His movements stuttered. “Ashley,” he whispered, his voice bouncing off the cave’s walls, wonder and need filling out the vowels. Never had her name sounded so…laden with awe.

  Then he became frenzied, less controlled, and the solid weight of his chest covered her as he drove into her one more time. He bit her shoulder on a moan, and his length kicked and throbbed inside her walls, the heat of his orgasm a delicious searing.

  His cock eased slightly out and back in, and he curled his hand around to her stomach and tugged her tighter against his hips as if he couldn’t get close enough for a final thrust.

  She gulped quick breaths, her heart beating so hard it pounded in her ears and throat. She collapsed onto the blanket, and he eased off to her side, groaning. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She gladly curled into his side and fought to catch her breath, her arms tucked up against his chest, since they were still tied together.

  The intensity of the moment clutched her senses, clutched her throat. To her horror, tears welled and her breathing hitched.

  No.

  She swallowed the hot tears, the hot panic. She inhaled slowly. Pushed her breath back out.

  It was not phenomenal. Nope.

  It was just exactly what she’d wanted, and now she could go back to her own time.

  Yep. Go back a satisfied woman. Go back knowing what sex should feel like.

  She repeated that lie to herself as she soaked in his warmth and masculine scent. And his sweetness as he snuggled her tighter against him and kissed the top of her head. Then he tugged on her wrist, and she brought them into view. A slight smile on his face, he gently worked his fingers on the knot until her mittens were unlaced.

  Then she shook them off and did what she’d been dying to do ever since she’d first seen him back in San Francisco, and even more so today—she skimmed her palm up his abs and across the chiseled chest and cupped his powerful bicep. Her fingers barely reached halfway around.

  See? This is just physical.

  That was all the energy she had left, and her eyes drifted shut.

  But would it be so bad to stay here, with him?

  I’m so screwed.

  …

  Ashley’s grip around his bicep loosened, but not the grip the woman had around his heart.

  As he lay there, said heart beating from the exertion, an odd mixture of triumph and exhilaration poured through his veins.

  Aye, he’d known their joining would be unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But one could still be overcome, and a bit in awe, by the shape an expected experience took.

  He’d gained her affections—gained her as his wife for true—by exercising patience. When she’d uttered the words, “I want you,” their sweet tones filling the cave, he never knew such joy. For such a woman as her, to desire him.

  He wanted her to have no doubt as to their equal participation, even as he set about claiming her fully. As his. He’d yet to bring her request before the council, and now that she’d become his, there’d be no need—she trusted him now.

  But as her breathing evened, and his own finally calmed, he felt a new truth. He was hers, irrevocably and completely.

  And while that weakness should shock him, should scare him… It didn’t.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two days later, Connall reined in his horse outside the stables on the lowest terrace, now completely rebuilt from the fire. Rònan forked fresh hay into piles around the outside run, but Connall barely greeted the man in his haste.

  Ever since that feverish encounter with his wife in the cave, he was starved for her. Starved for running his hands along those sweet curves. Starved for seeing her face when she found her pleasure. Starved for, aye, the cuddling she loved to indulge in afterward.

  Oh, he’d had her again. And again. Implanting his essence deep inside his wife. Implanting all the burgeoning feelings inside her that he dared not utter aloud. But it was never enough. That first night in the bed she finally let him share with her, they’d made love by the hearth fire, and the next day, without saying it was their plan, they’d brought a load of stones to the build site for their midday break. And stopped at the cave, though there was no storm.

  This morning, after they’d parted to attend to their many chores, he’d sneaked out to their cave with the softest furs he possessed to make her more comfort
able. He’d also searched for the clever pin she’d crafted for him, but as yet had not found it. He’d noticed it missing several days ago and it bothered him that he’d been so careless as to lose something she’d made.

  His loins stirred in anticipation of finding her and beholding her beautiful face upon seeing his gift of soft hides in their cave.

  He rubbed down his horse and put away the tackle, making sure there were fresh oats for the beast, and then, breath quickening in excitement, he worked his way around the incline, aiming for the kitchen where she’d most likely be.

  But as he reached the main courtyard, he stopped. He’d been so keen on seeing his wife, it only struck him now—with every villager crowded into the courtyard—that the terraces had been devoid of their faces, their chatter. He strode up to the edge. “What is amiss?”

  “Nothing that we know of,” Sionn the blacksmith replied. “But there’s a Roman inside.”

  A Roman? “Just the one?”

  Sionn nodded.

  Odd. He knew from his father that the earlier visitation had been a whole retinue of guards, along with a handful of emissaries and their attendants.

  He glanced at the door to the kitchens, where Ashley was working, and grimaced. He blew out a frustrated breath—their pleasure would have to wait. After pushing inside the keep, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior. At first he didn’t see any Roman. With a jolt he realized his mistake, for there was a stranger in the grouping around the hearth, but he wasn’t dressed like a Roman.

  In fact, if Connall had been asked, he’d have guessed the visitor was another tribesman, except he lacked the telltale blue ink that marked a warrior come-of-age. His father waved him into their circle, and Connall slipped into a gap.

  His father raised a hand, indicating the stranger. “This is Nonus Octavius Vibianus, who has only now arrived with his commander’s tidings.”

  Connall nodded to the man. “A hundred thousand welcomes to Dunadd.”

  Easily as tall as himself, Vibianus, however, wasn’t a warrior. Wiry but not unhealthy. And while the angles of his features and warmer tones of his skin marked him from another land, his clothes and the styling of his hair were like his own people.

  “You aren’t dressed like a Roman.”

  Vibianus shook his head, his temple braids swinging. “I’m an arcani.”

  He frowned at the unfamiliar word, even though the rest of the words were in his own tongue. Unlike all the other Romans he’d encountered, this man needed no interpreter.

  “It means ‘secret ones.’ We’re charged by the emperor to interact with the tribes between this wall and the one to the south. Sometimes we act as scouts. Or, in this instance, as a ready messenger.”

  His father turned to him, his face grave. “Our part of the alliance is to be paid sooner rather than later, it seems.”

  The arcani supplied the rest. “Your people will need to muster a force to send to Bearsden in five days’ time for a fight against the Caledonians. We’d hoped to bribe them into peace, but they are recalcitrant. It’s time we marched north.”

  Though he relished a fight, an unfamiliar emotion settled in his gut.

  Regret.

  He glanced in the direction of the kitchens again, as if he could see through several walls. Then he briefly dropped his head.

  Regret that he’d have to leave his wife so soon.

  And then he brought himself to his full height and faced this arcani and his fate. A lashing of anger tightened his shoulders. Anger that an emperor he never met could take him away from her.

  He ground his teeth and willed his hands to unclench from the tight fists he’d formed, pushing the swirling emotions down. It was time to act as a warrior and protector for his people.

  …

  Ashley snuggled up against Connall’s chest, the sweat from their lovemaking cooling on her skin. The hearth fire sizzled and popped behind them and lent a pinkish glow to the hut’s interior. Every day since their first encounter in the cave, they’d made love there on their return trips from the site, as well as every night in their bed.

  She bit her lip and traced her finger around his nipple. He was an awesome mix of carnal and sweet. Unlike her assumption in the cave, doggy-style was not the extent of his knowledge. That night he’d taken her slowly, face-to-face, as he kissed and stroked her unrelentingly to a mind-blowing orgasm.

  More and more she caught herself daydreaming about what it would be like to stay here. Then she’d shake herself for even thinking it, because it was dangerous, on so many levels, to stay. Even though her life had sucked in San Francisco, she had access to hot showers, toothpaste, and modern medicine. She didn’t regret fleeing that shithole of a situation, but couldn’t she have fled to a safer spot in her own time?

  Thank God she’d been taking the pregnancy-prevention herbs. But that was one of the dangers, wasn’t it? Besides the pregnancy itself, the herbs might not work. And then where would she be?

  It had been easy enough to eat the seeds of the Queen Anne’s Lace she’d bought in Bearsden with no one wiser, but the stash was dwindling. And it wasn’t like she could go to Eithne and say, oh hey, I know the tribe wants babies, but do you have Queen Anne’s Lace to spare?

  And even if she could think of some way of asking Mungan, he’d already left this morning after only two short days at Dunadd. That meant one full moon had now passed, and the next would potentially see her tether weakened.

  And a new danger emerged, driving the point home—Connall was leaving in the morning to fight in a friggin’ battle.

  Ever since the Roman had visited four days ago, Connall had been as thoughtful and diligent as ever, but a slight wall had arisen. She tried not to be hurt, because she got it—his mind was focused on the upcoming fight. Even now, he wasn’t quite here with her, despite the amazing sex they’d just had.

  Her throat swelled as tears threatened, and she swallowed hard.

  Oh God, she cared for him.

  And some barbarian could slice right into the skin she was touching. She stopped stroking his nipple and buried her face in his chest, hugging him tight.

  His arm encircled her. “Shhh. All will be well.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “You can’t know that.” Dammit, that had come out high-pitched, though it was muffled because her face was pressed into his body.

  Swallowing her fear for him, she straightened up on her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face.

  “How long will you be gone? Will you be back before…” Wow, just even voicing the idea that she had a deadline looming was hard. A deadline where she had to decide whether to remain here—with him—or go back to her old life. A deadline that was twenty-four days away.

  And when had her friggin’ brain—or God, her heart—morphed it into a decision? When had she stopped seeing it as a given that she’d go back?

  She shivered at the implication—and the fear for him blended into a fear for herself. Was this the magic at work? Was she accepting her life here? With him?

  Pain flashed briefly in his eyes. “I will be back before the spring equinox. I swear it. Even if I have to leave before the battle is waged. The Romans will not miss one man.” His eyes searched hers. “Have you made a decision, then?”

  There was one part of her life here that wasn’t quite ideal. While he was a complete marshmallow when they were alone, he tended to be all he-man-I’m-in-charge when they interacted with his people, which was annoying as hell.

  “If I decide to stay and be your wife, you need to treat me as an equal.”

  His forehead creased, but he nodded.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, because that had been too easy. He probably didn’t really understand what that meant yet. But he would. His ass needed to be woke.

  When he came back. Because that’s all she’d allow
herself to believe.

  He stroked a finger across her cheek. “I will return. Do not fear for me.”

  She smiled but knew it was tremulous. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, needing to taste him again. Taste him so she could memorize him and this moment.

  At first their kiss was languid, a bittersweet expression of parting. And that effin’ wall was still there, keeping him separate from her.

  Fuck that wall. She poured herself into the kiss, desperate to break through. Desperate to make him not forget her. Desperate for him to want her enough that he’d return alive.

  And then their kiss grew heated as his hands cradled her face and he took control. Even though they’d just made love, urgency built within her again.

  Yes! One last chance to have him again. One last chance to break through to the man she’d been starting to fall for before he left for a friggin’ battle.

  He flipped her onto her back. “Do not move.”

  She smirked at him. “Real men ask nicely.” It had become their thing whenever he gave an order. Though most of the time it was because he truly needed to learn.

  He smiled. “Real men know how to give orders.”

  This time he made love to her with a new urgency. And as she cried out her release and he stilled inside her with his own, his eyes flicked to hers.

  And there he was. The depths of his green eyes no longer eerily flat.

  He was here in this moment with her.

  But he’d be gone in the morning.

  Several days later, Ashley caught herself. As happened so often lately, she’d been doing an activity and had just…stopped.

  This time it was a shout that startled her into awareness, and she found she was in the middle of churning butter, her fingers gripping the plunger.

  She dropped her hands. Eithne, who’d been stirring a pot of stew by the hearth fire, put down the ladle and stood, wiping her hands on her skirt apron. A frown creased her pillow-soft forehead. “I wonder what’s amiss?”

  “I don’t know.” Her tone was snappish, and she winced, as Eithne had been nothing but nice to her. But the truth was, she was pining. Pining for that dang Highlander. And eaten up with worry. Last night as she’d lain in their cold bed, brushing her hands across the space where he usually slept, she realized she was now spending more time thinking about him than of her old life in San Francisco.