Page 71 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
“Ye’re made fer love, lass.” He groaned inwardly, wanting her so badly but calling on all his willpower to give him the restraint he’s promised.
But he was wrong, she was not yet satisfied.
As she gazed up at him, he caught her lips quirking in a mischievous grin.
“’Tis well fer me, Mackenzie, but what of this.” She reached a hand to grasp his shaft, still rigid and defiantly unyielding.
He groaned and rolled onto his back, where it stood to attention, ignoring his will to render it useless.
Tyra laughed. “What can I dae fer ye, now that ye’ve pleasured me so perfectly. Should I kiss and caress ye there as ye’ve done fer me?”
Despite himself he felt his face flush with heat.
“Are ye certain lass? Ye dinnae need tae?—”
In answer, she leaned over and planted the softest of kisses on his tip.
He groaned again. “Lass, if ye’re wanting tae transport me tae paradise, yer touch needs tae be firm.”
In response she gripped his shaft and moved her hand up and down its length.
“’Tis a formidable weapon ye’re brandishing me laird,” she said with a little laugh. “Shall I ply it wi’ me tongue?”
“If ye wish it, I shall lie here at yer mercy. Dae as ye please.”
He placed his hands under his head and lay back, as she stroked him and placed her lips around his tip.”
“By all the fallen angels ‘tis certain ye’re bringing me tae bliss, wee wifey.” He bucked his hips under her hand, and lips, as her tongue found his slit and toyed there. He groaned loudly as his senses flew him to a feverish state of utmost bliss, infinite and amazing, that ended all too soon.
He felt the inevitable surge beginning somewhere near his nape, rushing down his spine, storming through him to his shaft in starbursts and flashes of light. Groaning and roaring her name, he lost himself in wonder, spilling his seed in a series of ecstatic spasms so powerful that they left him momentarily drained of strength and robbed of breath.
He returned to earth for just long enough to pull the covers over their nakedness before they curled into each other and within two heartbeats were both lost to sleep.
The morning broke soft and grey over Eilean Donan, the mist rolling off the loch like a living thing, curling around the stone walls of the castle and the heather beyond.
Tyra breathed in the smell of damp moss and pine, as she and Ewan accompanied Edmund and Annora through the heavy timber sea gate, the cries of gulls echoing mournfully above them as they descended the stairs to the landing
Edmund’s birlinn sat waiting on Loch, his men already at their oars and taking other positions on board. The sailmaster raised the sail as they stepped up to the boarding platform.
Annora adjusted her cloak against the chill. They had lingered longer than intended, but both knew their absence from their own keep at Scorrybreac could not stretch further. Duty called them home, as surely as the tide pulled at the loch’s edge.
Tyra stood before them, trying to keep her expression composed though her throat ached. She had grown used to having her brother’s presence near these past days. His teasing, his steady strength, and Annora’s soft laughter that had warmed the hall. Now, watching them prepare to leave, she felt as if a part of her life were being pulled away once more.
Annora reached her first, eyes bright with affection. “Ye’ll dae well here, Tyra. I can see it in the way Ewan looks at ye – he’s already lost, in love.”
Tyra laughed, though her eyes shimmered with tears. “And ye’ve grown bold with yer words, me sister.”
Annora smiled. “Marriage daes that. Ye’ll learn soon enough.”
They embraced tightly, and when Annora drew back, she brushed Tyra’s cheek with her thumb. “Keep faith in him. And in yerself. But promise me ye’ll stay vigilant, follow what ye’re told and dinnae take any risks.”
Tyra nodded, her blood chilling at the reminder of the danger which was as potent as ever.
She made a faux laugh. “Dinnae fash, sweet sister. I’ll be as cautious as a wee mouse. Ye’ve nay cause fer concern.” She glanced shyly at Ewan, who was deep in conversation with Edmund. “As ye ken, I am well protected and our castle stronghold will keep out any who would dae me harm.”
Then Edmund stepped forward. His broad shadow fell over his sister, and though his face was solemn, his eyes were gentle. “We’ll be nay more than a day’s sail. If ye’ve need of me?—”
“I’ll send word,” Tyra finished for him. “Aye, I ken.”
