Rapture
As he carried his new wife to her bridal chamber, Ewan cursed his lack of finesse. He was a well-endowed Highlander, a true Mackinloch, but mayhap his boast had been a bit of an exaggeration. Then what man didn’t brag about the size of his male parts?
It was a relief she clearly hadn’t understood his innuendo. He was about to bed an innocent noblewoman who deserved patient tutoring in the love arts, but all he could think of was ramming his needy tarse into her virgin sheath.
Heart racing, he kicked open the door to her chamber, then turned, irritated by the sound of hurried footsteps. If bawdy MacCarron kinsmen had followed them with high jinks in mind…
He calmed when Isobel grasped the door frame with one hand, gulping air. “I came to see to my lady’s needs,” she panted.
How to explain to a child he intended to take care of all Shona’s needs this night, including removing the sumptuous gown, hopefully without ripping it apart in his haste.
Shona came to his rescue. “My lord husband will take care of me, Isobel,” she murmured throatily. “Ye can return to the feast.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and scurried off, evidently needing no more encouragement.
Ewan’s already swollen tarse bucked. Perhaps his wife did have an inkling of what lay in store and wasn’t afraid. Indeed, the slow progress of her tongue across her upper lip as she curled a finger in his hair betrayed a capacity for passion he’d suspected from their first meeting.
He carried her over the threshold and kicked the door shut behind them. Needing a moment to cool his ardor, he rested one knee on the bed and laid her down gently, then stepped back.
He stared hard, willing his memory to forever remember the vision before him. Disheveled golden tresses framed angelic rosy cheeks; wide green eyes studied him with as much intensity as he studied her; naughty nipples threatened to break free of the décolletage; the voluminous red and gold skirts cascaded over the edge of the bed like a shimmering waterfall.
He understood why Odin had ravished Rindr, and if a mighty Norse god hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of a beautiful woman, what hope was there for him?
His throbbing cock almost had him convinced there was no point holding back, but then Shona smiled and held out her hands. He suddenly, and astonishingly, wanted more than his own release. He wanted to carry her with him to rapture. “I’m praying yon gown comes off without much fuss,” he confessed in a strained voice he barely recognized, “or it will be in tatters soon.”
She laughed and tried to sit up, but her struggles only resulted in the skirts forcing her legs up in the air. He gasped at the sight of layer upon layer of frilly white material and long stockinged legs. She righted herself before he could get a glimpse of garters and…
Feeling a little lightheaded, he rushed to the bed to help her rise, discovering that swallowing without saliva was nigh on impossible. He pulled her up against him and put his arms around her waist, so he could nuzzle her ear. “Ye are a temptress, Shona Mackinloch,” he whispered, cupping her bottom and pressing his need to her woman’s place.
She took a step back. His disappointment fled when she molded her hand to his arousal and looked into his eyes. “I’ve dreamt of touching ye again,” she admitted.
It would take but a second to untie his trews and shove them down to his knees, along with his braies. Then she could fulfill her fantasy. The mere thought of her warm hand on his flesh…
He swallowed again. Even less saliva. The quandary of the gown threatened to drive him witless. Reluctantly, he removed her hand and kissed delicate fingertips, trying to recall how Kathleen’s garments unfastened. A waste of time. It was an easy matter to lift a shift over a woman’s head. He gritted his teeth and eyed the elegant gown with increased exasperation.
Shona giggled. “Ye look desperate,” she quipped. “Here.”
She turned her back and lifted the fall of glorious hair to reveal laces. Too many! But he set about unlacing them like a sailor hurriedly reefs the jib before the gale drives his boat aground.
Nearing his goal of having the laces unthreaded from top to bottom, he put a hand on her waist to steady himself—and felt rigid bone. The prospect of more laces was too much. “Dinna tell me ye’re wearing a corset too,” he groaned.
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Nay, the bodice has whalebone sewn in. But what do ye ken about ladies’ corsets, Ewan Mackinloch?”
He considered a flippant retort but became distracted when the back of the gown parted to reveal creamy skin. His mind filled with the reality that all he had to do was peel the bodice from her body and she’d be naked, at least from the waist up. He opted for that choice, elated when she helped by extracting her arms from the sleeves. He braced his legs, pulled her bottom against his arousal and reached to fill his hands with her breasts, inhaling the scent of lavender that clung to her hair. He brushed his thumbs over rigid nipples, then squeezed.
“Ewan,” she breathed, arching her back and stretching her neck to rest her head on his shoulder.
Great as his need was—and his actions had admittedly made matters worse—a peaceful contentment stole into his heart. He’d played many roles in his life. Disobedient son to his stern father; resentful brother and tormentor to the pompous Colin; fiercely loyal clan warrior; loving uncle to his nephew Andrew; occasional bed partner to Kathleen. He’d never cared much about a woman’s pleasure, but fulfilling Shona’s bodily needs was of the utmost importance. His destiny was to be the harbinger of her happiness.
However, it would be as well to get on with it before he completely lost control like some green lad.
He turned her to face him and sat down on the edge of the mattress, drinking in the perfect curves and rosy brown nipples pouting like little cobnuts nestled in dusky haloes. He didn’t have words powerful enough to tell her how magnificent she was, so he put his hands on her bare back, swirled his tongue over a nipple and suckled like a hungry bairn.
She gripped his shoulders and thrust back her head, humming low in her throat. Her hips began to gyrate, causing the skirts to slide with a swish to the floor.
He took a breath, intending to turn his attention to the other nipple, but her waist caught his attention. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “I wondered how they got the skirts to bell out the way they did. It was as if ye were floating on a cloud.”
She frowned then smiled when she looked down. “They’re called panniers,” she explained, smoothing her hands over the basket-like contraptions protruding from her body.
“May I?” he asked before untying the ribbon at her waist.
To his surprise, layers of white petticoats slid to the floor with the panniers.
“It’s all one,” she murmured.
He could only gape as he beheld a vision, naked except for gartered stockings—and drawers.
He’d dealt with stockings before and looked forward to removing the garters and peeling off the hose—later. He’d only heard talk of the opulent female pantaloons some high-born ladies wore. He stared at the juncture of her thighs, wondering if the rumors were true.
Shona parted her legs, slightly, to reveal darker curls than he’d expected at her mons. “I ken some say they’re not healthy,” she whispered self-consciously, “but they’re slit—for air.”
“I see,” he managed to reply, though his mind was working on a completely different notion.
A wave of heat threatened to drown him. “I need to get out o’ my clothes,” he growled, glad of her assistance in shrugging the ceremonial plaid off his shoulder and dragging the cambric shirt over his head.
Like most young Highlanders, he’d spent a goodly part of his life in the training fields. Every Mackinloch knew that a fighting force of fit and robust warriors deterred enemies. If confrontations occurred, men with bodies honed for battle stood a better chance of prevailing, and surviving. He was proud of his body, especially now as Shona raked her gaze over the muscles of his chest and belly.
He sucked in a breath when she grazed his nipples with her thumbs and smiled seductively. “Do ye like that?” she whispered.
He probably replied but his attention was on getting to his feet and ridding himself of his trews and braies.
She gasped when his manhood sprang forth. Afraid he’d frightened her, he took hold of her hand and curled it around his arousal. “Dinna worry, beloved,” he rasped. “I’ll make ye ready.”
Eyes wide, she nodded. “I understand now what ye meant by nine inches.”
*
Shona had seen men stripped to the waist before, some with torsos as well muscled as Ewan’s. But she’d never been so close that she could see every soft curl that sprang from the chiseled muscles, never felt the pebbled texture of a man’s nipples, nor run a fingertip along the line of golden hair that wandered down his tight belly to the impressive male appendage she held.
Right enough, she’d seen mothers bathing their sons at the village pump—wee boys splashing each other and running about with little willies nestled between their legs. She’d suspected from touching Ewan when he was clothed that something bigger lurked there, but was completely unprepared for the thick, swollen lance that sprang forth. The fierce beauty of his male parts sent a feverish wave of heat rushing through every part of her body. A twinge of apprehension only added to the excitement.
In the recesses of her mind a voice whispered there was perhaps another reason for pantaloons to be split, but Ewan was suckling her again, causing cravings—though she wasn’t entirely sure what it was she craved.
Then suddenly Ewan dipped his warm fingers in the wetness of her most intimate place, and she knew.
Evidently sensing her trembling legs were about to give way, he pivoted so she was on the bed. He loomed over her, suckling and teasing, slowly then faster. Faster, faster on the very spot she needed him to go faster. She twirled her fingers in his hair and opened her legs wider, whimpering when a finger ventured a little way inside, but quickly withdrew—then in again.
“Come for me,” he urged, his voice husky with wanting.
She’d dreamt of the sensations building in her woman’s place ever since the first time, but now the touch of his fingers made them hotter, more insistent. Something was coming, something cataclysmic; she had to cry out, give vent to the wildness, but all that emerged as she soared was a guttural moan of pure ecstasy.
She clung to his shoulders, afraid to fall from the heights he’d brought her to, but then she opened her eyes. Ewan knelt between her legs, his hand guiding his maleness to her opening. “This is the one and only time I’ll ever hurt ye,” he promised with a reassuring smile.
She sensed his restraint as he slowly and patiently filled her, pausing when she flinched. The discomfort passed quickly and the needy cravings began again as he thrust more deeply. She inhaled his pure masculine scent, relished his grunts, sucked on the salty taste of his skin. She felt safer than ever before and knew he would never let her fall no matter how high they flew.
*
Ewan rode his wife like a man possessed. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the fierce pride that filled his heart when he breached her maidenhead. He couldn’t get enough of the heat, the wetness, the tight, tight sheath. He held off his release until he feared he might go mad, but still wanted the thrusting and grunting to go on and on.
He vaguely hoped he wasn’t hurting her; she chanted his name over and over, sucked on his shoulder, clenched on his rampant tarse and thrust her hips in rhythm with his own, so it appeared she was enjoying their union as much as he was.
If he had the wherewithal he’d chuckle at the notion it was merely enjoyable.
Hah!
“Fyking rapture,” he growled as his seed finally erupted, binding him body and soul to the woman he loved.
*
It was still dark when Shona drifted awake, but she sensed dawn wasn’t far off. She closed her eyes, anxious to return to the realm of dreams.
Had she dreamt the reverence in Ewan’s gaze as he’d peeled off her garters and hose during the night before the tallow guttered out?
Had he truly parted her nether lips with his callused thumbs and suckled her juices, all the while whispering how wonderful she tasted.
Her hand wandered down her belly to her female place. She expected to feel tender, but instead found stickiness and heat and…her eyes flew open. She was naked! Ewan must have removed her scandalous pantaloons.
She licked her lips, reminded of the salty taste of his manhood, the exhilaration caused by his groans of pleasure.
She couldn’t say how many times he’d pleasured her, but recalled begging him to fill her, again and again.
The feelings, the scents, the growls, the sweating, the laughter, the whispers of love, the physical exhaustion: everything had been so very new, yet there was a peacefulness to it, a sense of completion, of coming home.
“What are ye thinking?” a husky voice asked close to her ear.
She turned her head. The first grey streaks of dawn limned a beloved face—and a naked and aroused male lying next to her. The need already sparking in her womb ignited. She moved onto her side and swirled her tongue over his maleness, then looked into his brown eyes. “I was thinking of this,” she admitted, comfortable with her wantonness.
He sucked in a breath and splayed his fingers in her hair to spread it in a drape around him. “My last fantasy fulfilled,” he rasped.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He eased his hands under her breasts and brushed his thumbs over her nipples. “To awaken wrapped in yer glorious tresses.”
She arched her back and thrust out her breasts, anxious for their play to begin again. “I have my own fantasy,” she teased, “that ye teach me new ways to please ye every night.”
“That’s not a fantasy,” he growled. “We can start now, if ye like.”