Parlor Games

by Jess Michaels

  He held her pinned with his weight, while he pushed his braies down, his cock erect, rising against his belly.

  He lifted her higher and she sighed when he thrust inside her wet heat. He cupped her ass, his fingers gripping her tight as his strokes increased.

  She kissed his jaw, his ear, her tongue stroking the ridge before dipping inside.

  His groan filled the room, and she clung to his shoulders as she started the ascent toward climax.

  Her entire body trembled as she came, her channel gripping him tight. He nipped at her ear as he held her hips steady, his cock embedded deep inside her.

  Nails biting into her tender skin, his strokes increased, harder, faster. Brochan groaned, his head falling back on his shoulders as he thrust and ground into her, not withdrawing this time.

  With trembling hands, he set her back on her feet, and she stumbled, her knees weak. “Ye have bewitched me, sweet Annabelle,” he whispered, kissing her once more before he pulled his braies up and tied them.

  Feeling his absence already, she let her gown fall back into place, glancing at the door to see a guard standing there.

  She blushed to the roots of her hair. Had he seen them make love? Chances were good that he had.

  “When will you return?” she asked, desperation in her voice. She glanced past his shoulder, to the sparse furnishings in the cell. The bed shoved into the corner, the desk and chair, a large trunk, which hopefully contained a good book or two.

  “I will return after dinner.”

  Was this how she would spend the rest of her life? Waiting for him to come to her? To make love to her? Maybe she should have tried to escape after all?

  She should have headed back to the priory to see if she could return to her own time now that Brochan had kidnapped her.

  Back to Elliott.

  To her horror she tried to conjure up her fiancé’s image but failed. All she could think of was the man before her. His green eyes watched her, his jaw clenched tight. Despite their intense attraction the fact remained he didn’t trust her…or perhaps he didn’t trust himself.

  She could tell in that look that he didn’t want to imprison her any more than she wanted to be locked in this solar.

  “I shall see you soon, Annabelle,” he said, a soft smile on his face, before he walked out the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Brochan watched his men from his vantage point beside the roaring fire.

  The winds had come, and blew with a force that sent embers flying from the giant hearth.

  “Even the weather celebrates the capture of MacLellan’s daughter,” his uncle said, taking a long drink from his leather trencher. Ale fell onto his shirtfront, and he pressed a palm against it. Brochan looked away, disgusted. His uncle had never been known for his manners. His father’s younger brother, Hamish had always resented Brochan and even Tristan, his late younger brother. Since Hamish had never married, or had any children, Brochan had hoped his uncle would embrace him as his own child, particularly since Brochan had lost his father early on.

  But it would never be. Too much jealousy made it impossible.

  “Stories are circulating about you and the girl,” Hamish said, a slow smiling spreading across his weathered face. “You’ve bedded the wench, haven’t you?”

  Brochan felt a blush rush up his neck. He knew his behavior was uncalled-for. He had not expected to have this attraction toward Annabelle, or for it to be reciprocated. Already he had ravished her a handful of times in one day…and still it was not enough. He wondered if he would ever get her out of his blood.

  “They are merely stories, uncle.”

  Hamish snorted. “I do not blame you, nephew. She is a tempting piece, to be sure. I’d not mind giving her a tumble meself.”

  Brochan cracked his knuckles, right tempted to knock his uncle flat. “The girl will not be touched, uncle.” He tried to keep the anger from his voice but failed.

  The door opened, and Brochan looked up to find Fergus walking toward him. His friend could always make him smile, and he was in need of a good laugh right now.

  “Brochan, the girl is requesting a carafe of wine.”

  His uncle’s laughter burned in his ears. “She is a spitfire, that one. Mayhap Eva can befriend her.”

  Brochan tried hard to contain his growing temper. Eva, a seamstress who lived in the village, and who had been Brochan’s lover for the past few months since her husband’s death, would not take the news that he had found a new lover well.

  Though comely, Eva had a temper that had shocked him on occasion. He had visited her hut once a week, and she had satisfied his desires, his physical need, but that was before Annabelle had come into his life. With Annabelle it was more than just sex. They had a connection that went beyond the physical. “Mayhap ye can see that the wine is taken to the guards, uncle,” Brochan suggested, tired of his uncle’s smug expression.

  His uncle came to his feet, and finished off the rest of his ale. “I shall take the wine to the guards then.”

  Brochan rose, nearly upending his chair in his haste, and put a heavy hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Ye will leave Annabelle be, uncle. Hear me and hear me well. Ye are not to enter the solar or engage in conversation. Speak to the guards only.”

  The smile left his uncle’s face, and his brows furrowed. “Nephew, you mistake my meaning.”

  “I have said my piece and I will say no more,” Brochan added, while watching Hamish walk away.

  “You would be wise to send him away, Brochan,” Fergus said, brushing a hand through his hair. “He will cause you nothing but grief. In truth, he will probably go to Eva’s hut to tell her of Annabelle.”

  “Eva will not be allowed to get close to Annabelle.”

  “She will be furious, Brochan. You know that.” Fergus rested his elbows on his knees and reached out to the fire. “She is a comely wench, but I would warn you to be careful, Brochan. I say this only because I do not trust Annabelle or her people. ’Tis possible she is pretending, trying to save herself with her feminine wiles. She could be using you.”

  The accusation felt like a slap to the face, but he knew his friend spoke from the heart. It had always been that way between them. “Aye, I understand yer concerns and I shall be wary.”

  Fergus nodded. “At one time you said you would as soon kill the girl as give her back to her father. I know you spoke out of anger, because you would never kill an innocent. Tell me, would you still take a ransom for her?”

  The idea of parting with Annabelle made him uneasy, which terrified him. What the devil was wrong with him? “I know not what I would do, aside from getting her with child.”

  Fergus laughed. “Aye, Angus would be mighty furious to know you took his daughter’s innocence.”

  Brochan was not about to tell Fergus that someone else had taken Annabelle’s innocence. A fact he’d like to forget himself. And strangely, the thought of Annabelle carrying his babe made him smile.

  “Perhaps you will tire of her soon.”

  “Perhaps,” Brochan replied, though he doubted he would ever feel that way. But he would not tell Fergus of his feelings toward the lass. Honestly, he did not understand his emotions where Annabelle was concerned. He just knew he had never been so attracted to a woman in all his days.

  “Hamish was overheard by some others saying he would sample Annabelle once everyone fell to sleep. They say he bribed a guard, Brochan. Mayhap you should replace the man with someone more trustworthy?”

  Furious, Brochan started for the door. If he had to, he would keep Annabelle in his chamber every minute of the day, locked away, where he could keep an eye on her always.

  6

  She was completely shit-faced.

  Lying on her cot, and staring at the ceiling, Terri had started counting the bricks…for the fiftieth time. She always lost count and had to go back to one yet again.

  With each sip of wine the gray walls blurred even more.

  She had always been a
cheap drunk, normally limiting herself to three drinks whenever she went out.

  However, tonight she had made an exception to her self-imposed rule. The empty carafe lay on the floor. She had rolled it back and forth, over the uneven wood floor, as she waited for Brochan to come to her.

  It had to be close to dawn, and still he had not checked in on her…and still she couldn’t sleep.

  No doubt he could not bring himself to come to her, especially since he had already fucked her once today.

  What was the old saying? Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free? Those words burned in her mind. Would Brochan walk away and forget about her? Let her live out what was left of her life in this stifling solar?

  Unfortunately her body still burned for the sexy Scot. Even more so now that she’d drunk the entire bottle of wine. Horny and frustrated, she turned onto her side and started counting the bricks on the far wall.

  It was going to be a very long day…

  Behind her, she heard a door open and close. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find someone there. But there was no one.

  She frowned. She had clearly heard a door open.

  Perhaps it had come from the room beneath her?

  A second later she heard a familiar male voice. Brochan, and he spoke to Fergus. She held her breath, wondering if she was just hearing things. “I will see you on the morrow,” Brochan said, then closed the door.

  Her heart tripped. Could it be Brochan’s room beneath her? She remembered passing by the chamber on her way to the solar. Dropping onto the wood floor, she searched the planks. They were large and had no gaps, yet she could hear him moving around beneath her.

  Excited, she crawled across the floor, finally finding a place where a sliver of light shone through. She went flat on her belly and looked through the crack, down into the room beneath her. It was Brochan’s room!

  She watched as he undressed.

  Her stomach tightened as he slipped out of his tunic and braies, tossing them aside. His cock, now flaccid but still large and thick, sprouted from a nest of dark hair.

  Her clit twitched, remembering the feel of that big rod stuffing her. She rubbed her legs together. She wanted him. Desperately. Her body was oversensitive to him. Aching for him. Should she call out to him?

  No, that would be too desperate.

  A knock sounded at his door, and he seemed irritated as he pulled his braies back on and tied the cord quickly.

  He walked across the room, and flung open the door.

  A woman stepped in. Dark-haired, wearing a rough-looking gown, she threw her arms around Brochan’s neck.

  Terri’s heart dropped to her toes. Reminded of Elliott’s betrayal, she clenched her teeth to keep from yelling some derogatory remark. Could it be that Brochan was married already? She knew nothing about him, and had only assumed he didn’t have a wife since they’d had sex.

  But since when did marriage stop a man?

  “Eva, what are ye doing here?”

  The brunette pulled back, her brows furrowed. “I heard that you brought the woman here.”

  “Aye, Annabelle is here.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  Brochan pulled away, his fingers raking through his long hair, causing the muscles in his bicep to move under his golden skin. “Eva, I am tired and in need of sleep.”

  “I have come to spend the night with you.”

  Terri released the breath she’d been holding. She must not be his wife then.

  She embraced him again, pressing herself against him.

  Terri felt like yelling, Get off him!, but she couldn’t, and even more, she wouldn’t. No, she wanted to see what kind of a man Brochan Douglas was.

  Was he like all men, and would he cheat on her with the pretty brunette, who was no doubt his lover?

  To Terri’s chagrin, he hugged the brunette, kissed her forehead, but then he steered her toward the door. “Not tonight.”

  The brunette turned and slapped his cheek. “It is because you were with MacLellan’s daughter! That whore!”

  Terri blanched. Whore? A bold statement from someone who was throwing herself at the man.

  “I have no desire to continue this conversation tonight, Eva. I am exhausted.”

  She planted her hands on her slender hips. “What does she have that I don’t?”

  Brochan ran his hands down his face, his agitation obvious by his rigid stance. “Eva, ye need to return to the village. I will see to it that a guard walks you back.”

  She stomped her foot like a child. “Mayhap I shall stay the night in the hall. Perhaps one of your men will be willing to slake my lust, as you are not man enough to.”

  The words did not have the desired effect. She watched him, waiting for a jealous reprimand, but it never came. Instead, he shrugged. “Do what ye must, Eva. I’ve made no promise to ye. Ye are free to make love with whomever ye please.”

  “But I am your lover,” she said, her voice shrill and loud. “I want no other man. No one else can fuck me like you, Brochan.”

  “Lower yer voice,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye will wake everyone.”

  “Wake your whore, you mean.” She glanced up at the ceiling and Terri held her breath. Thankfully they did not look directly at her. She would be horrified to be discovered eavesdropping. When Brochan lifted his head, she rolled away from the crack, hoping he had not seen her watching.

  “It is time ye leave, Eva. I am tired.”

  Her sobs filled his room, and Terri, too tired and drunk to watch any longer, crawled back to her cot and lay down.

  Tonight had been a wake-up call. Though Brochan had turned the woman away now, what about tomorrow or the next night? Maybe all men were alike, and whether she wished to believe it or not, Brochan wanted her for only one thing…as a piece of ass. She couldn’t fall in love with the man, because she would only be devastated when he replaced her down the road. What she did need to do was find a way out of this solar and back to her own time. Before she lost her mind.

  Brochan glanced toward the solar for the tenth time in as many minutes. He had been gone all morning, hunting with Fergus and a handful of his men.

  Since his return he had hoped to get a glimpse of blond hair, to see the familiar blue eyes searching for him.

  But Annabelle never appeared at the narrow window.

  When he had checked on her last night, he had been tempted to enter, to make love to her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he replaced the guards at the door with his most trusted men, and returned to his chamber.

  Morgar, who had watched her throughout the night, had said she did not make a sound and had requested nothing.

  Brochan had sent a tray of food up earlier, knowing she must be hungry.

  He would check on her directly, just to make sure she had not taken ill.

  Along the castle’s battlements his men walked back and forth, awaiting Laird MacLellan’s arrival.

  Angus would be on his way with a small army directly.

  And they would be ready to fight.

  Every last one of his men.

  To the death if need be.

  Will you give her back to her father? Fergus’s question still burned in his ears.

  Would he give Annabelle back? What if MacLellan agreed to pay a ransom? Would he be willing to part with her then?

  He knew the answer already. Nay.

  He thought of Annabelle’s pledge to marry her cousin. Would the cousin demand her release as well? Would he come with MacLellan?

  The thought of Annabelle spreading her thighs for the man made him curse beneath his breath.

  Over his dead body.

  He remembered her as she’d been in the moonlight. Rising out of the lake like a pagan witch. Her creamy skin dripping with water. Her pink nipples tightening from the cool water. The strip of hair that covered her succulent treasure, her core so hot and dripping that he had slid right in, stretching her, filling her so completely.

&nb
sp; His cock twitched.

  He looked toward the solar again.

  “Fergus, I shall be back directly.”

  He didn’t wait to see if Fergus had heard him. Last night he had lain awake wondering if Annabelle was all right. After Eva’s visit he knew that the wench would not take well to another woman sharing his bed, and perhaps might try to harm Annabelle.

  He took the steps two at a time. The guards came to attention, and he nodded at them. “Open the door,” he said, and waited, his heart pumping with excitement and something else as the door opened.

  He closed it behind him, his gaze immediately going to the cot, where she lay unmoving. Did she still slumber?

  The blanket had fallen off, and she lay on her stomach, one leg hitched up, her bottom in the air.

  His cock swelled, pressing against his leather braies.

  “Annabelle,” he said, approaching her.

  She turned her head slightly, blinking repeatedly. A moment later her lips curved into a smile and his heart missed a beat.

  “Good morning,” she said, stretching.

  The chemise stretched against her skin, the material hiding nothing from his gaze, only enticing him to look at the dark places in shadow.

  The crack of her beautiful ass being one.

  Untying the cord of his braies, he stepped out of them and pulled his tunic off. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t stop him.

  He stood at the foot of the cot, and taking the hem of her chemise, he drew it up and over her bottom.

  He groaned as she spread her legs a little, her plump cheeks enticing him. His body covered hers, his cock resting against the cheeks of her firm bottom.

  His hands moved beneath her, cupping her breasts, playing with the erect nipples.

  She lifted her ass higher in the air.

  Adrenaline rushed through his veins like liquid fire. She wanted him to take her.

  One hand slipped between her thighs, to find her hot and dripping, so ready.

  He entered her, sliding easily inside her wet heat.

  She cried out as he moved against her. He was already so excited, he would not be able to hold off for long.