The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

My wife.

Her br**sts were heavy in his hands. Ainsley breathed against his mouth while he played with her, then his hand went lower, cupping between her legs to find the curls there damp and hot. Ainsley’s intake of breath excited him, as did the scent of her, warm and aroused.

Cameron reached up and turned down the gaslight. The room dimmed to near darkness, but Cameron wanted that. He had too many scars, too many old hurts, that he didn’t want her to see.

He stood Ainsley up and pulled her nightdress all the way off. Ainsley leaned one hand on the dressing table, his cool, nude lover, waiting to watch her man undress.

Cameron divested himself of coat, cravat, waistcoat, stiff shirt, too many layers between himself and her. He pulled the undershirt from his flesh, jerked socks and shoes from his feet.

Then he hesitated, standing only in his kilt. He could keep the kilt on, because he’d gotten out of the underbreeches before he’d come in. He didn’t mind so much if she saw the scars on the backs of his legs, but there were terrible ones on his bu**ocks that Cameron wasn’t sure he wanted her to see.

Ainsley hooked her finger around his waistband and tugged. “Now then, laddie, don’t be bashful.”

Cameron dissolved into laughter. Cameron Mackenzie had never been called bashful in his life.

What the hell? He unpinned the kilt and let it drop, at the same time he sat down on the chair. It was a delicate chair, a lady’s dressing room chair, and Cameron felt its slender legs wobble.

Ainsley gave him a sly smile as she ran her fingers up his long and already throbbing shaft. Cameron groaned at the fire that raced up his cock. Dying for you wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

Cameron clasped her waist and pulled her down to him, fitting her to him and the chair. Ainsley half closed her eyes, her smile becoming a moue of passion as Cameron guided himself into her.

Ah, back where I belong. The position shoved him deep inside her, Ainsley closing around him like a fist. And like a fist, she squeezed.

Cameron eased his hands to her hips, kissing her neck, taking the flesh in his teeth. He suckled, and she made a soft noise in her throat. Cameron suckled harder, marking her. Mine. Forsaking all others. Damn, it had felt good to say those words.

Ainsley rocked on him, her body instinctively wanting to join with his as much as it could. Cameron guided her to the movement that would give them both the most satisfaction.

Her br**sts flattened against his chest, ni**les pressing him with pleasing friction. She kissed his mouth, the kisses clumsy with passion.

“That’s the way,” Cameron whispered. He nibbled her earlobe. “That’s the way to love me, my Ainsley.”

Her answer was a soft noise of pleasure.

“You’re so tight and wet,” he said. “Wicked Ainsley, so wet for her lover.”

Her little, “Umm,” made his heart beat wildly.

They rocked together, the chair creaking its protest, Ainsley’s legs wrapped firmly around him. Cameron braced his bare toes in the carpet, stroked hands through Ainsley’s silk swath of hair, and lost himself.

He was going to finish too soon. Cameron groaned with it, not ready, wanting to rock here with her far into the night. But his body was too excited, Ainsley too soft and beautiful. The scent of woman, and loving, undid him.

Ainsley’s breath started to come faster as she reached her peak, her hips rocking in a rhythm that didn’t have to be taught.

Cameron went with her willingly. His bu**ocks left the chair as he drove hard up into her, bracing her hips so the joining would be fast and strong.

The words that poured out of his mouth were blunt and filthy in praise of her body and what it did to him. Ainsley flushed, her eyes starry, her cries of delight growing louder as he spoke.

As her voice broke—Yes, yes, Cameron, please!—Cameron came. He was halfway off the chair, Ainsley screaming in pleasure. Cameron’s shout joined hers.

He crashed down on the chair again, its legs definitely creaking, but they held.

“Did I hurt you?” He kissed her, tumbled her hair. “Love, did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

Ainsley stilled his word with her fingers. “Cam, I’m fine. It was beautiful. So beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, Ainsley.” Cameron cradled her close, breathing hard with the finish. She was soft and warm and tasted and smelled so good.

Not until he knew he was hardening again for the next round, did Cameron realize he’d spilled his seed inside her. It hadn’t occurred to him to pull out, and not because he’d remembered she was his wife. The marriage ceremony and all it meant hadn’t yet made an impression on his senses.

He’d wanted only to be inside Ainsley and stay there, where everything was safe and splendid, and her tenderness wrapped him and eased every hurt in his soul.

Cameron loved her twice more on the chair, then he carried her to the bed. Ainsley half woke when he pulled the covers over her naked body and caught his wrist as he made to turn away.

“Stay here with me,” she whispered.

He looked down at her for a long time, not debating, Ainsley thought, but fighting something inside himself. He wasn’t speaking because he couldn’t.

Cameron clenched his fists, a muscle moving in his throat, a large man delectable in nothing but a kilt wrapped carelessly around his waist. She saw him deliberately calm his anger, second by second, while he fixed his gaze on her. He wasn’t seeing her, but his eyes never left her.

“It’s almost morning,” he said in a careful voice. “Our train leaves early. Go to sleep.”