Epilogue #2
“This,” he said, his voice a low growl against her skin as his hands went to the sash at her waist. He tugged, and the fabric loosened with a whisper.
“Is me proving that this room, this desk, will never again be just a place for ledgers and treaties.” He pushed the gown from her shoulders, the heavy fabric sliding down her body to pool at her feet like a puddle of twilight. “It will be the place I remember ye coming apart in me arms.”
Standing before him in only her thin chemise, she felt utterly exposed and impossibly powerful. The sunlight streaming through the window gilded his hair, his face all hard planes and soft shadows as he looked at her.
“Yer turn,” she managed, her voice husky. Her fingers went to the leather of his belt, but he stilled her with a hand over hers.
“Nay,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Let me.”
He made a show of it, unbuckling the belt with a slow, deliberate pull, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss.
He tossed it aside, the metal buckle clattering against the wooden floor.
His tunic followed, pulled over his head and cast onto a chair, leaving his torso bare.
The firelight played over the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, and Scarlett’s mouth went dry.
The evidence of his desire for her was a prominent, formidable ridge straining against his trousers.
He stepped back into her space, his skin radiating a heat that seared her through the thin linen of her chemise. His hands slid up her thighs, gathering the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sensitive skin and making her shiver.
“Lift yer arms, lass,” he commanded.
She complied, and he drew the chemise up and over her head, leaving her completely bare against the cold stone. A flush spread across her chest and neck, but she held his gaze, refusing to be ashamed of the want that thrummed through her veins.
“God, ye’re a vision,” he breathed, his eyes drinking her in. He didn’t touch her, just let his gaze roam over her from her flushed face to her peaked breasts, down the gentle curve of her stomach and lower still. The intensity of that look was a caress in itself.
Finally, he closed the distance. One hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb sweeping over the taut peak, while the other arm slipped behind her back, supporting her as his mouth descended on hers.
This kiss was not gentle. It was a conquest, a claiming.
It was all tongue and teeth and shared, ragged breath.
When he broke the kiss, they were both panting. “The desk,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.
He lifted her again, as if she weighed nothing, and carried her the few steps back to the large oak desk.
With a sweep of his arm, he sent a cascade of papers and ledgers scattering to the floor.
The sound of crumpling parchment was loud in the room, a symbol of all the rules and duties being cast aside.
He laid her back upon the polished wood, its surface cool and smooth against her heated skin. He stood between her legs, his hands stroking her inner thighs, pushing them wider. The cool air and the heat of his gaze on her most intimate place made her tremble.
“Please, Robert,” she begged, the last of her composure shattering.
He freed himself from his trousers, his hard, thick length springing free. He leaned over her, bracing himself on the desk, his face inches from hers.
“Look at me, Scarlett,” he commanded. “I want to see ye when I take ye.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his hardness nudging against her slick, ready flesh. She gasped at the contact, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Look. At. Me.”
She forced her eyes open, drowning in the stormy, possessive depths of his. With a slow, inexorable push, he filled her. A deep, stretching fullness stole her breath, and a low, guttural moan tore from his throat.
“Me love,” he groaned, his body trembling with the effort to go slow. “Ye feel… heaven.”
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that made her claw at his arms. Each thrust was a deliberate, soul-shattering possession. The desk creaked in a steady, rhythmic protest, the sound mingling with their ragged breaths and her soft, pleading cries.
“Faster,” she pleaded, arching her back to take him deeper. “Please.”
A feral sound ripped from him, and he obeyed, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, driving the air from her lungs in sharp, breathy moans. The world narrowed to this: the feel of him moving inside her, the scent of their joining, the sight of his face, fierce with passion, above her.
“I’m yers,” she chanted, the words a broken prayer. “Yers, Robert.”
Her confession shattered his control. With a final, powerful thrust and a raw, guttural shout of her name, he spilled himself inside her, his own climax triggering hers.
A wave of pleasure, so intense it was almost painful, crashed over her.
She cried out, her body convulsing around his, seeing stars behind her clenched eyelids.
He collapsed against her, his full weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in the curve of her neck as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the crackle of the fire.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight, pulling her up, so she sat on the edge of the desk, her legs wrapped around his waist, her forehead resting against his shoulder. His hands stroked her back in slow, soothing circles.
“The papers,” she murmured dazedly, looking at the scattered mess on the floor.
He gave a low, breathless chuckle, his chest rumbling against her. “To hell with the papers.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “They were just numbers. This… this was real.”
“Ye’ll write Edith back?” he murmured, voice thick with contentment. “Aye,” she said sleepily. “I’ll tell her she’s braver than I am.”
“How so?”
“She agreed to marry a McLaren before knowing what that meant.” Robert chuckled softly. “Then she’ll learn soon enough.”
Scarlett smiled, her eyes half-closed. “She’ll manage. She’s clever.” “And stubborn?”
“Almost as much as me.”
He kissed the top of her head. “God help Aaron, then.” Scarlett laughed quietly. “He’ll need it.”
Silence settled between them again, comfortable and full. She traced a finger along his chest, over the faint scars that marked his skin. “Do ye ever think about what comes next?”
He hummed. “Aye. Often.” “And?”
“I think,” he said, “that for the first time, I daenae need to plan it all.”
Scarlett lifted her head, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. “Because ye trust me?”
“Because I trust us.”
Her throat tightened at the simple honesty of it. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone then whispered, “Then that’s enough.”
Outside, the last of the rain gave way to clear skies. The castle slept in peace for the first time in weeks. In the solar, the fire burned low, and the world seemed to exhale.
Scarlett drifted between waking and sleep, her body warm against his. His hand moved through her hair once, slow and tender, and his voice followed her into dreams.
“Rest easy, love,” he murmured. “Ye’re home.”
The End?