Page 73 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
They parted at last, and she leaned her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady thrum. “Ewan Mackenzie, ye well ken how tae make me forget the world.”
He murmured into her hair. “Then I’ll count that as one of me few talents.”
“Few?” she teased.
He chuckled. “Aye, few but well used.”
He reached a hand to take hers, pressing it to his lips. He looked up, his blue eyes shining. “Mayhap we should make our way back tae our bedchamber. I dae believe I have some business tae attend tae there.”
He wrapped her waist in his arm, planting a soft kiss on the shell of her ear. “I dae believewehave some business tae attend tae there.”
She grinned up at him as they hastened across the courtyard on their way back to the keep, her senses swimming with the promise of their kiss, her heart warmed by her hand in his.
Ewan carried her in his arms to the bed and laid her down so that she was spreadeagled there. He lowered his head, kissing her throat while his nimble fingers tore apart the ties on her gown, laying her half-naked before him.
With a full-throated groan, he took her breast, cupping it in his hand, suckling it, teasing the hard little nub, reveling in the rush of pleasure he felt when she arched her back, moaning and pressing herself to his mouth. His breath was hurried and harsh, as he reached for her hem and raised it without any further delay pulling it up over her thighs, exposing her to his gaze and his hands.
He wanted her, badly. His body was on fire, the memory of her, pink and glowing, naked in his arms after their bathing, stormed his senses, firing his blood.
He cupped her mound, feeling her heat.
“Ewan,” she cried.
“Ye wish me tae stop?”
“Nay. Nay.” She thrashed her head from side to side. “Ne’er stop,” she trailed off, moaning, her thighs rising to meet his hand.
He parted her folds with his fingers, groaning as he felt the wetness, the sweet musky scent of her arousal filling his nostrils.
“Ah, me bonnie Tyra, ye’re more than I could ever want. But I dae want ye, now.”
She gave a soft laugh, shifting under him, toying with the belt on his kilt until the belt fell away and the plaid dropped to the floor.His shaft sprang free, hard and erect and she captured it in her fist, stroking, until he groaned again in desperation.
They kissed, a mad tangle of lips, tongues and teeth, both of them equal in their eagerness for each other.
“I want ye inside me, Ewan. I dinnae want yer fingers or yer tongue today,” Tyra was still stroking his shaft. “I want tae feel ye where ye belong. I wish tae be most fully yer wife.”
He groaned, his heart hammering, blood roaring in his ears.
He felt the fear and his old determination of celibacy swimming in his senses, almost crushing his desire. Then Tyra called his name and moved under him so that her breasts pressed his chest and her thighs parted and his shaft found his home.
He was poised at her entrance when she wound her legs around his back, holding him, moaning and writhing under him, her head thrown back, her glorious hair spreading on the pillow.
Lost in her fragrance and the satin of her skin, he gave way. There was nothing now that could halt his passion. As he slid his long length inside her he felt her flinch for an instant, and then she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping him, her arms at his shoulders and his neck.
He knew he would not last long in the ecstasy of her wetness, her soft velvet. After only a few thrusts he felt her tightening around him and the inexorable pull of pleasure began to takehim, almost making him forget the world so that he was nothing but sensation and the sheer molten pleasure of desire. Yet, he was not lost, but caught by the deep love he held for Tyra and the vow he’d made to protect her.
He could not allow her to be put at risk by his selfishness. He groaned, taking his shaft in his hand, and when the spasms began he was no longer inside her. She cried out as he withdrew, making it clear that was not what she desired.
They lay back on the covers, gathering their breath, and he saw the tiny streak of red on her thigh.
“’Tis what our old men wished tae see,” he said, as she rolled over to hold him close and he pulled up their fur coverlet to keep their nakedness warm.
Tyra pshawed. “I had nay use at all fer me maidenhead,” she said with a soft laugh.
It was not until much later they emerged from their chamber, now fortified with several slices of oatbread, cheese, jam and honey washed down with a goblet of mead. Holding hands, they sauntered across the courtyard together. The fog had lifted, revealing the loch gleaming like steel beneath the pale sun.
Around them, servants moved about with purpose – scullery maids carrying baskets of carrots, a man at a whetstone sharpening blades, stable lads mending tack, a woodsman in his small cart hauling firewood to the kitchen door. Two men groaned under the weight of a barrel of ale as they lumberedwith it into the hall. Castle Eilean Donan was quietly buzzing as industrious souls went about their business.
