The Lass Initiated the Laird - Erotic Novella (Explosive Highlander 3.5) Page 6

  Forget he did not have a mother. Forget the void it opened in him. Forget his duties as an heir. His origins, his native Gaelic. Forget everything because the only thing that mattered was this, and her, what she engendered in him. And how he wished to weld the both of them in sensual delectation as he had been dreaming of for years on end.

  “Take me to my chamber, Samuel,” a more beautiful line he had not heard ever in his life.

  He opened the dining room, took her in his arms and strode to their destination. On the way, she undid his tie, the top buttons of his waistcoat, tried to sneak her hand in his shirt. Her other hand raked his hair, as eager for him as he was for her.

  Inside her chamber, he put her on her feet, where she proceeded to undress him. He followed suit. As she got rid of his shirt, a gasp filled the air. Her cool palms strolled over his frame bathed in the fire from the fireplace. His proportional shoulders, the lean chest, the dusky nipples, elegant abs. He bore too little body hair for his taste, but she seemed not to mind.

  Blonde head lifted to him, mouth ajar, hair falling loose. “You’re so handsome!” her breathed words made him confident.

  His lips drew a side-smile. “Are you sure your eyesight is good?” he jested. “Want to borrow my spectacles?”

  Speaking of which, she pulled them from his face and placed them on the chest of drawers. He wore them mostly for reading and long-distance, but he had this urgency to see her, all of her.

  “You have no idea, do you?” she replied. Their gazes meshed for long seconds until he seemed to understand she spoke truly. It fuelled him to undress her with more eagerness.

  Finally, they stood as they came into this world, his gaze absorbing her in the firelight, her alabaster skin, the high, plump breasts, the narrow waist, and shapely legs entranced him.

  “You are the one who has no idea of what you do to me,” he drawled, straining not to shame himself.

  He made her lie down on the fresh sheets and lay upon her, entangling their arms and legs. He kissed her, then again. Once more in long, long moments, skin to skin, holding her to him, gluing her to him, never intending to let go.

  But it would not be enough. So he dragged his mouth down her throat, her collarbone, to worship her goddess’s breasts, one and its twin, thoroughly. All the time she held him, moaned her pleasure, stayed with him every step of the way.

  And then he continued down her body in complete awe at her perfection, at how well they fit together, at how right this felt.

  His lips reached the triangle of light hair where he nuzzled, inhaled, explored. Next, he made her bend her knees to kiss her inner thighs and revel in so much smoothness and warmth. He craved more though. Red-head neared her core, thumbs leafed through her flower. And gave an experimental lick.

  With a moan, she lifted her head to him. “Where did you learn this?” it seemed a new move for her.

  He tilted his head enigmatically. “I have my sources,” clearly, he would not disclose what Trent and his crowd scornfully commented with such lack of regard for the women who pleasured them, serviced them.

  But he did not endeavour to think about that now. He dived back to her to tongue her tart sweetness from the wet ‘fit’ spot to hard nub and back. Her head fell on the pillow with an audible sigh. The sounds she uttered made him more and more aroused, to bursting point. His tongue savoured her as if she were ambrosia, teased her bud, played with it, tested what made it tick. And when she cried her completion, he almost mimed her.

  His lifted his eyes to her. “Harriet, I need to ‘fit’ in your flower,” he said and she widened her legs as answer.

  Over her, he braced himself on one arm and wrapped his erection with the other hand to guide it inside her hot, wet channel. And pushed deep. Only for dissolution to threaten him. She moaned. The moist heat of her gripped him, the sensation so earth-shattering he might perish from it. He moaned in between serrated breaths as though he had reached death’s door. Or eternity’s. Perhaps hell’s. Because the pleasure was so unbearably acute, its pungency robbed him of words. The torture robbed him of sanity.

  “Harriet.” He grunted. “This is…this is so…” He panted uncontrollably. “So terribly delicious.”

  Inside her, every possible and extreme delight befell him. His glans felt like it would melt like seal wax on a candle. And his stem went into explosion point as the ring of her entrance tied the base as though it wrung a silken thread tight around it. The purest, most undiluted agony took him by storm. Her sheath was so tight, so hot, so wet it was impossible not to fall apart.

  “Move, Samuel.” She guided.

  He imagined he would pass out if he did. But he tried, he swore he did. He thrust once and every fibre in him multiplied the delight by a million. A trillion. When she moaned again, he nearly went out of his mind. He halted, bent his head in search of a lint of control. Found none. But he must keep going. One more push, and quick as lightning, his seed shot with such force he screamed, grunted and cursed on the verge of disintegration.

  He uttered every blasphemy that came to his deranged head in English, in Gaelic, even in Latin. “I’m sorry, Harriet,” he made to go from her, only she held him.

  “Don’t be,” her fingers whispered down his spine. “First-times are bound to be a tad clumsy.”

  “I wish it had lasted for hours, you’re so delectable!”

  “So are you,” she said.

  Abruptly he raised his head. “I am?”

  She nodded, her hair all over the place, her cheeks reddened, eyes luminous, pure beauty. “Come here,” and cradled him in her soft warmth, covering them with the coverlet.

  Wrapped in her, he felt desired, nurtured, accepted. She represented everything he had not imagined he would find in a woman. It was as if her presence created a dome where only the two of them existed in a space palpitating with sensation, emotion and that endless need that seeped between them.

  With their bodies still joined, Harriet’s universe crumbled around her. Even sated, she still registered her insides clamouring for more, her flesh continued shivering with the aftermath. She forced herself to lie motionless for fear that her desire grew. Had she had the faintest idea it could be this good, she would have given in to her yearnings earlier. Given in to Samuel, that is. He had pleasured her, then filled her every hidden inch, simply to present her with that stormy expression on his fine-boned face. It had taken her breath away.

  What if she needed him again? She would not confess it, for sure, but neither would she feel guilty. All of him had proved to so…desirable, irresistible. Even his lack of experience was an aphrodisiac. Her hands roamed his spine covered in a sheen of sweat, a witness of his extreme repletion.

  “Am I hurting you?” He mumbled, jaw resting on her neck, one of his hands also wandering under the sheets.

  “No, it’s good,” she replied as he cuddled further in her softness.

  His palm covered one breast, his lips drew back and forth on that sensitive skin. “Not so much as you are,” he rasped.

  Her caress moulded to the base of his back and climbed to one taut buttock then back. He responded with a thumb teasing her nipple.

  In seconds, he braced his hands on her sides and rose to look at her. It caused his hips to weigh on her. Suddenly, she recognized a tightening inside her.

  His tempestuous gaze sought hers. “Hell, Harriet. I must be a freak because I need you again.”

  She opened more for him, circled his thighs with hers. “That makes two of us.”

  With a victorious glint in his eyes, he drove in her ready channel. “If I knew it would be so mind-blowing, I’d have asked this of you years ago.” Out, and back in, he grunted.

  But he stretched her to bursting point, his pubic bone smashing on her nub, her head fell back with a moan. “Darn it all, Samuel!” she blurted. “This thing you have there is so delicious.” Her hips lifted in search of more of him. “It fills me completely.”

&nbs
p; “Good, because you’re fisting me to insanity.” He moved deep.

  “Please, don’t stop. Just don’t stop.” They sped up in pure urgency.

  “Never.” And kept his promise.

  When her explosion came, it was so blasting, it splintered her into thousands of pieces, her every muscle trembled and contracted and spasmed out of control.

  It must have done something to Samuel because he followed, panting, tensing and groaning as if the world had just ended.

  Harriet remained awake long after Samuel fell asleep sprawled on his belly, half over her, a leg tangled in hers, head on the curve of her neck, one arm possessively around her waist. The bed sheets and coverlet crumpled and twisted in a cocoon around them.

  She found more joy in this one night than in five years of marriage she marvelled. During that period, she did not conceive. The fact caused mixed impressions. With a marriage like hers, a child would not have been happy. As a widow, she would not have had the conditions to bring it up properly. So, in that light, she guessed it had been better not to bring an infant with an uncertain future into her household.

  No children also led her to conclude that she must be barren. It did not matter as she harboured no plans to marry a second time. And it kept her worries away as for tonight and its possible consequences. Undoubtedly, this thing would come to an end eventually. Rather sooner, as the professor was due to return in a fortnight or so. Not even an open-minded academic as Mr Hayley would accommodate a governess who carried on trysts. In the off-chance the latter got her with child, immediate dismissal would most certainly ensue. In her circumstances, not conceiving should be regarded as an advantage despite everything.

  With a sigh, she turned onto her side to find sleep. Unconscious as he was, Samuel did not let go, but moved to spoon her, merging his jaw in her dishevelled hair. A faint, fond smile came to her lips seconds before slumber claimed her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You never told me why you don’t get along with Trent,” came Samuel’s question a week later. They were in the study filing the large number of notations from his lectures and the professor’s. It had been a busy year for both botanists.

  A week when she had experienced unspeakable carnality under cover of the night. If she did not know better, she would have been scared about her own hunger.

  Harriet stood by the desk sorting the sheets onto the right piles placed before her as her gaze snapped to him.

  “I’m not sure I should tell you, since you both are friends,” she expressed, unwilling to interfere with their relationship.

  “We’ve never been exactly friends, we got to Oxford in the same term,” behind the spectacles, his gaze studied her. “Besides, he’s too different from me for us to be close.”

  She knew it to be the case, deciding Samuel had a right to hear what she had to say. Staring directly at him, her hands laced in front of her. “He propositioned me during his undergraduate period.” The memory was not pleasant at all and it showed in her stiff, unsmiling stance.

  Samuel’s expression closed, transforming into a mask of distaste. His spine straightened to his full impressive height, hands fisting by his side. “The damnable villain!”

  “When I refused, he started harassing me,” she added.

  Now his posture had gone positively aggressive. “Did he—?”

  “No. He had to watch his behaviour for I am under Professor Hayley’s protection.”

  His response to what she told him surprised her. Most people, men or women, would have blamed her for the ruffian’s actions. In their eyes, women would always be held accountable for any harm come to them, even if they were the victims of such actions.

  “And yesterday?” he asked, his jaw ticking, brows crumpled.

  “Repeated the proposition,” she said, and paused at the loathing the memory evoked. “After implying I might get unemployed.”

  At that, he rounded the desk in hard strides and posted himself right before her. “He threatened you.”

  The anger darkening his glare gave a glimpse of his Scottish temper. “It’s nothing, really.” She tried to calm him.

  “How can you say it’s nothing?” He paced back and forth, a hand spiking his slick hair, the other on his tapered hips. “The villain does not know the meaning of the word ‘no’!”

  “Listen, Samuel,” she strived to use a level tone as he turned and met her gaze, “he cannot do anything. He’s not even a student anymore, or in an academic career for that matter.” He would never come close to the brilliant man before her. “You should not cease contact with him because of this.”

  “You mean I must be civil with a potential rapist?” his tone implied it was utterly ludicrous.

  “I mean there was no real harm done.” Of course she could not see the guts of him without becoming upset, but nothing had happened to her.

  “Promise me you will come to me if he dares so much as to be near or less than ten feet from you.”

  He looked too determined for her to hesitate. “Alright, I promise.” Her acquiescence seemed to appease him. “Can we resume our sorting here?” She took a deep breath, trying to put this out of her mind.

  A long moment elapsed with him scrutinising her with detained attention. “Yes, let’s do it,” he answered at last.

  They went back to work as hours passed without her realising it and she exclaimed in surprise when the housekeeper announced luncheon.

  By mid-afternoon, the files had grown with their respective papers, and they came close to finishing.

  Sam had taken a long time to put his rage under control after what Harriet had told him. Not in a thousand centuries would he have guessed the reason she disliked his former classmate. The knowledge had infuriated him. He did not have a single violent bone in his body, but he swore the force of it hit him hard with outrage.

  Outrageous must be one way of putting it because the other sour feeling had undeniably been jealousy. Trent had made a pass on the woman he had wanted every day of these last seven years. The other man had not showed a particular preference for her, or any feelings by the looks of it. Certainly, he had propositioned out of a need for self-affirmation and to exert power. The notion not only sickened him, but also made severe possessiveness erupt in his guts. Another first for him.

  He rose his eyes to her clad in a blue practical dress, the afternoon sun falling on hair rolled in a simple bun, transforming the wisps dangling from it in pure gold. Standing, half-bent on the desk, her demure neckline gave him a tantalising—and scarce—view of her full breasts. Arousal hit him like a furnace.

  The above-mentioned possessiveness rocketed sky high with the idea that she was his, only his. And then he went hard as a rock.

  Unbidden, he skirted the desk to reach her. His tall frame bent at her back, his splayed hands gliding on the blue fabric for his arms to band her firmly.

  A feminine gasp saw the light of the afternoon. “Samuel! What are you doing?” she breathed.

  His palms lined her breasts. “Let’s go to my chambers,” he invited hoarse before his mouth lowered to the curve of her neck.

  The pressure of his body made her hands brace on the wooden surface now. “Are you crazy?” she asked, but her spine arched to him.

  “Yes,” he nibbled her nape, “for you,” he rasped, cradling his erection in the crease between her buttocks.

  Her breasts pressed into his hands. “The hour is—” Her head moved to give him more access.

  “I know the hour,” he cut, and moved his pelvis further. “Please.” One hand slid down to her skirts. “Only once, I promise.” And bunched the fabric. “Not four or five times like these past nights.”

  “Samuel,” his silky name on her tantalising lips did not help things even if it came as a reprimand.

  Which drove him to boiling point. “I’ll go first.” He made himself go upright. “Give it five minutes.”

  Swift, she righted herself and swung to
him. “Samuel Bryce McDougal!” With an intake of breath, she crossed her arms over those delectable mounds, to dish him with a schoolmistress look.

  His mouth twitched on the verge of grinning. “Yes, miss.”

  “Your behaviour is deplorable.” When her eyes lifted to his he saw that she was not so serious as she led him to believe.

  “I agree, miss.” Spectacled gaze lowered to her.

  “You deserve a lesson,” her stern voice held a hint of amusement.

  “What—ah—” She had knelt before him.

  Delicate fingers undid the flap on his breeches. The simple fantasy of her mouth on him turned all of his skin crimson.

  “A lesson you will not forget in haste,” she said to his underwear.

  Feminine hands pulled it down, and his rampant erection popped out proud.

  From his viewpoint, he watched her wheat head right in front of his leaky member pointing at her elegant nose. When she opened her mouth wide, he thought he would die with the expectation of it.

  And when those wet, hot lips wrapped around him he saw stars.

  Fuck! His hand braced on the desktop to be able to bear that first torturous suckling.

  She sucked him to her throat, wrapping her fingers on his stem. The move made him harder. His own throat produced a moan, his hair falling on his brows as he did not wish to lose a single view of her. One of his hands snuck inside her bodice and captured one nipple. A sound came from her that vibrated on his stretched-to-bursting-point flesh.

  She had not done this to him before as they had been busy with other…lessons. Now her head bobbed back; his cock exited her mouth. She looked up from under her lashes before her tongue darted out to lick where the prepuce connected with the base of the bulbous tip, under it. That rosy tongue of hers produced unprecedented agony on the most sensitive inch of his entire body. When she engulfed him in her cavity again, he was on the verge of explosion. Combined with her mouth, her hands also glided up and down his stem.