Chapter 17 #2
“How does that feel, little mouse?” Fergus asked, and he plunged his fingers deeper, making her cry out.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, and Fergus grunted, rolling his hips up.
She felt his manhood hard against her hip again, and she choked out a low moan, trying not to make too much noise, muffled against her hand.
She fell over the edge all of a sudden, reaching her peak, breathing out his name, and rolling her hips against his fingers.
Fergus was panting by the time she came back to earth, and she braced her hands on his shoulders, still slowly rolling her hips. She scooted back on his thighs, looking down at the tent in his kilt.
She glanced up at Fergus, and he just stared at her with eyes so dark they were almost black with lust.
“Curious, lass?”
“Can I touch ye?” She paused, flushing even deeper. “There?”
Fergus groaned. He looked at her for a moment, as if deciding. “Aye,” he said finally, his voice low and strained.
She slowly put her hand under his kilt, squeezing along his muscular thigh first, and Fergus buried his head against her neck, breathing out a hot breath.
Her fingers crept higher, and she found the hardness, wrapping her fingers around it. Her fingers did not quite touch, and her eyes widened at his size.
She knew that manhoods existed, of course, that they grew when it was time to consummate a marriage, but she never imagined this. How would that fit inside her? His fingers were thick and already a stretch.
Was that even where it went? Was she wrong about the whole thing? She felt vastly inexperienced, but when she squeezed slightly, Fergus choked out a strangled moan, almost like he was in pain.
She froze but did not move her hand. “Is this… all right?”
“Seven hells, little mouse,” he gasped, his face still buried in her neck. “Ye’re tryin’ to kill me.”
She giggled wildly, nearly hysterical, and started to move her hand up and down, liking the way his manhood felt velvety in her hand.
Fergus growled out something incoherent against her ear, something in Gaelic which she did not always understand.
“Does it feel good? I want ye to feel as good as ye make me feel,” she said, feeling embarrassed.
“Stop,” he said in a strangled voice as she kept going. “Stop, or I will—”
But he did not seem to want her to stop; in fact, he was rolling his hips up, thrusting into her hand. But then he grabbed her arm at the wrist, pulling her off him, breathing hard.
He placed her on her feet, an arm’s length away from him, and he held up a hand when she frowned.
“Just… give me a minute.”
“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” she asked in a small voice, terrified that she had, and Fergus breathed out a small laugh.
“Nay, little mouse. Ye did it so right.”
He drew in breaths through his nostrils, and almost like magic, after a few moments, the tent in his kilt went down. Jeane was awed, looking down at his crotch.
“Daenae look at me like that, or he will grow all over again,” Fergus teased, and Jeane could not help but smile.
“I thought ye were angry with me.”
He frowned, taking her hand and pulling her closer. She stepped forward between his legs, and he trailed his hands up her hips, her sides. She drew in a sharp breath.
“Angry? I was never angry, mouse. Nae at ye, anyway. Maybe at the suitors I kept imaginin’ comin’ to woo ye.”
She laughed. “Imaginary suitors?”
“Aye. When ye rejected me, I thought for sure ye would make me find ye a husband, or ye would run away just like ye promised.”
“And ye didnae want to find me a husband?” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but Fergus frowned at her.
“I told ye once that I’d kill any other man who dared to touch ye,” he said darkly. “I meant it, Jeane.”
The way he said her name made her shiver all over.
She smiled down at him, knowing she wanted to marry him.
She would have said so, but Aiden stepped into the forge.
“Me Laird?” he called, and Fergus stood, adjusting his kilt slightly.
Jeane adjusted her skirts belatedly, and Aiden gave her a look and a bit of a smirk.
“What do ye want?” Fergus barked, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but Aiden just grinned.
“Supper’s ready in the great hall. Aileen bid me to come and get ye, said she didnae want ye eatin’ cold stew for the third night in a row.”
“Aye, I’m on me way,” Fergus said.
He knew the cook could not tell him what to do, but she had practically raised him, so he respected her.
“And Liliana, too?” Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fergus glared at Aiden. “And Liliana too, aye.”
Aiden smirked and left, and Jeane let out a long breath.
“He kens what we were doin’,” she babbled, feeling embarrassed.
“Nay, he doesnae,” Fergus assured her, but between her adjusting her skirts and Aiden’s smirk, she was pretty sure she was right.
However, she was keeping a secret of Aiden’s, too. If Fergus knew that he was in Lottie’s room, kissing her with the door closed, he would be furious.
So Jeane would keep his secret, and hopefully, Aiden would keep hers. She would not want the whole castle thinking her a harlot.
Fergus took her hand, bringing her knuckles up to brush his lips across them.
“Ye will meet me in the great hall?”
“If I can find it,” Jeane chirped, and Fergus smiled.
Jeane thought to herself that she could get used to that smile.