Page 69 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Relieved, Iain fell back against her, closing his eyes, savoring the feel of her soft skin melting around his cock.
Intending to make the most of it, and savor every second, he withdrew the first time with a little shiver and then pushed himself back inside … only the tip.
“One,” he said, and withdrew again.
“That was two,” Page said firmly, although her breath now sounded labored to his ears.
Iain groaned with pleasure. With careful control, still savoring the moment, the way her body stretched and closed about him, he withdrew once more, and Page said, “Two.”
Iain tried not to laugh.
“Three,” she whispered.
“Four,” he said.
“Five.”
The tension in Iain’s shoulders was palpable. He froze, dreading the moment of separation. If she just let him doita few more times, he would gift her with the seed of his love—and mayhap give her another child—mayhap a son.
The stable went completely silent.
It was dark now, the air musty with the scent of sex.
“Six,” his wife said quietly, and Iain remained very still, not wanting her to claim he’d gone against his word. “Six,” she said again and moved provocatively against him, tilting her hips so as to give him better access.
Iain pretended to resist. “But you said…”
Her hand moved behind his arse, pulling him back. “Dinna mind what I said, now I want six,” she demanded.
Iain laughed. “And now who is the insatiable one?” But he gave her what she asked for, pushing himself inside once more—this time much more than just the tip.
He waited to see if it pleased her, and when she buried her lips against his neck and nipped his skin, lifting one leg about his waist, he knew he had.
Page sighed contentedly. “You can have ten,” she offered, pulling him down toward the ground. Iain followed her down, covering her body with his own. He moved against her, worshipping her body, withdrawing and pushing back inside with arousing slowness, wanting to pleasure her first. Each time, she took him more fully, widening her legs a bit more, nibbling his neck a little harder…
“Page,” he whispered, “Cèol mo Chridhe, Keh-ole moe chreeyeh.”
You are the music of my heart.
* * *
“And you mine,” Page said, feeling every bit the wanton.
Her senses heightened.
Her husband was a master puppeteer, knowing her only too well. They had a houseful of guests, a wedding to see to, and that was only if you somehow managed to forget that they had a village to rebuild. With so much work to be done, this was not where she should be right now, though she must confess, at the instant, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
Iain loved her sweetly, filling her wholly, caressing her body from the inside out. Here, alone in the stables, she felt like a new bride lying beneath him, arching for his loving, letting him fill her as deeply as he pleased.
It was easy to see how young folk could get carried away, and Page was so pleased for Constance. This was the reason for life…
She cared not one whit that the ground was cold, or that the smell of pigs and horseflesh surrounded them. At times like this, she was again that lost little girl who had loved her reluctant champion so madly.
But she detected other scents… scents that were hardly suited to a stable. Cinnamon and ginger. Lavender. Cloves. Page froze.
“Iain?”
Her husband stopped loving her at once, responding to the tone of her voice.
“Did you order supplies to be stored in the stables instead of the storehouse?”
“Nay.”
“It’s dark,” she said. “Light a lamp.”
“Right now?”
His voice sounded incredulous, but Page had a sudden and unshakable sense of peril. Before either of them could entirely regain their senses, she heard the crack of metal against bone and felt Iain crumble against her.
