Page 27 of The Story of his Highland Bride
Peter never had. Peter had hated anything that involved her pleasure, before the main event, basically calling it a “chore.” But Jackson seemed to enjoy seeing her passion and hearing her bliss, his eyes gleaming with desire as he listened to the sound of her pleasure, his fingertips changing pressure and position depending on her response. He was attuned to her after just one kiss, doing what Peter hadn’t been able to do after six years of being engaged and seven years together.
Eloise rocked her hips upward, to meet the push and ebb of his fingers, wishing she was bold enough to just tear his kilt away and feel him inside her, properly.
“Oh, Jackson,” she purred, her head spinning as he tugged aside the neckline of her dress and freed her breast. His warm mouth closed around her nipple, sucking gently to the rhythm of his strumming thumb. It was like a symphony of ecstasy, and everyone was playing the right notes, sending her body into a rising crescendo that she could barely wait to reach.
I can’t remember the last time… I can’t remember it ever feeling like this—Her mind sighed, as she grabbed his face and brought his lips back to hers, kissing him with all the hunger that raged in her veins.
It wasn’t long before the crescendo reached its peak, the expertise of his fingertips and his kiss and his tongue and his caress playing her to the greatest climax of her life. She didn’t even think about being quiet as she cried out in ecstasy, her entire body seizing as the wave crashed through her, her limbs shaking.
“Oh, Jackson! Jackson!” Her fingertips were in his hair, tugging lightly as he slowed everything down, letting her savor her euphoria.
All too soon, the pleasure faded, and she was left trembling and gasping on the desk beside her manuscript, filled with a thousand ideas of what she wanted to write next. This scenehadto be in it somewhere, though she didn’t often write about sex. She used to think it was because she lacked the inspiration; being with Jackson had all but confirmed it to be true. In fact, after just that appetizer of what he could do, she had inspiration by the bucketload.
“Ye’re nae afraid to show yer bliss,” Jackson growled, slowly withdrawing his fingers. “Daenae change that.”
Eloise’s cheeks flushed with self-conscious warmth. “I didn’t realize I was loud.”
“Daenae change it,” he repeated, with a grin.
As he leaned in to catch her mouth with his once more, they froze at the thumping sound of a knock at the door. It beat louder than the thud of Eloise’s heart.
“Who is it?” Eloise called, clamping a hand over Jackson’s mouth, as he stifled a laugh.
“It’s Kaitlyn. I was told that His Lairdship had come to visit ye, and I’ve urgent news for him!” Kaitlyn replied, as the iron ring of the door handle began to turn.
In a rush, Eloise wriggled off the desk and pulled up her underwear, struggling to rearrange everything Jackson had set askew. Meanwhile, he turned his back and pretended to be looking out of the window, likely to hide the fact that he was still very obviously aroused.
Eloise had just made it to the armchair she’d left where it was, by the fireplace, when Kaitlyn entered. Glancing at Kaitlyn as innocently as she could, Eloise noticed the maid peering around the room with suspicious eyes, as if she’d been expecting to walk in on something she shouldn’t. In fact, Kaitlyn almost seemed disappointed that she hadn’t.
“M'Laird, there ye are.” Kaitlyn rallied quickly. “I’ve news from Falkernside, and it’s nae good.”
Jackson twisted his head back to address Kaitlyn. “Falkernside? What has the righteous Father done now?”
“A lass, M’Laird.” Kaitlyn’s voice hitched. “He’s… about to burn her. They’re buildin’ the stake in the village square as we speak.”
In the armchair, Eloise’s blood ran cold. For a blissful moment, she’d forgotten where she was… and precisely why she had to leave, as soon as humanly possible. It didn’t matter how passionate or wonderful Jackson had turned out to be; if she didn’t go, she could very well be next.
15
Snow clouded the roads, all the way to the village of Falkernside, falling thick and fast against the darkness of night. It made an already unpleasant journey far more unpalatable, as Jackson’s stallion trudged through the dense blanket of white, while Lennox rode alongside.
Why tonight of all nights?Jackson cursed the priest who had caused this outing, for Jackson’s thoughts were still far behind him, at Castle Faulkner, in Eloise’s bedchamber. He longed to be warm and content, entangled with her upon the bed, heating each other through the icy night like they were their own personal hearths, sharing in one another’s fire.
“Ye look like ye want to strangle somethin’,” Lennox remarked, as the horses continued to follow the now-hidden road.
The beasts’ noses could scent what men’s eyes could not see, and their memories did not need to be jostled by what physicallylay in front of them. Otherwise, Jackson was fairly certain they would have all been lost by now.
Jackson laughed gruffly. “Aye, if it wouldn’ae cost me eternal damnation, I’d strangle that priest for his wicked ways. How does he have the gall to call followers of the Old Gods heathens, when he’s the one burnin’ young lasses who havenae done aught wrong?”
“Maybe she cast a curse.” Lennox shrugged, though he did not seem convinced. Indeed, since the dinner with Eloise, he had seemed a lot more amenable toward women who were, perhaps, a little strange.
“Aye, and maybe she dinnae, but whatever the case might be, I’d like to ken what right he thinks he has to take the lives of people inmeterritory?” Jackson spat, knowing he ought to calm himself down before he reached the village. “If he trusts so wholly in his God, why is he nae content to let his God pass judgment when someone’s life comes to a natural end? Why does he feel the need to be the holy executioner?”
Lennox shook his head. “I daenae ken, M’Laird. I just… I just hope it’s naemeJane that he’s thinkin’ of burnin’, else there’ll be trouble.”
Jackson was aware that his Man-at-Arms had enjoyed a fleeting courtship with a woman from Falkernside named Jane McBride, but the lady in question had called a halt to it some months ago. Lennox had insisted that he was glad that Jane had ended thecourtship but, glancing at his friend, Jackson had to wonder if it was not quite so simple.
“Do ye still care for the lass?” he asked.
