Chapter Twenty-Three #2
He curled his fingers over the back of the chair, and his knuckles whitened as Mia slid her fingers across his back.
She blushed at the tiny noises of pleasure that escaped his lips as she continued to work on his muscles, increasing the pressure where they were the most knotted.
At length, the tension eased and his murmurs of pleasure faded to a deep sigh.
By the time Mia had wiped her hands of the salve, he had slumped over the chair, eyes closed, lips curved in a smile of satisfaction.
She placed her palm between his shoulder blades.
“Mmm…” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting in a deep sigh. Then he sat up and yawned, stretching his arms out before he turned to face her.
“Did I ease the ache?” she said.
“Not really, lass,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “The ache in my bones has long gone, but I now suffer another ache.”
“Where?” she asked, reaching for the jar of salve.
He shook his head and placed a hand over his heart.
“Here,” he said, “though it may take more than yer salve to ease it. But there’s one thing ye can do for me.”
“Which is?”
Uncertainty darkened his eyes. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to ask.”
Emboldened by his humility, she curled her fingers around his and smiled.
“Did you not say that I was your wife—for the moment, at least? If I recall, I pledged to obey, and while I trust you’d grant me the power of refusal if I deem any request you make to be unreasonable, I would also hope that I can trust you not to make such a request.”
His eyelids fluttered, and Mia’s heart ached at the gentle plea in his eyes.
“Then I ask…” He nodded to the jar of salve. “I only wish to ask…that ye permit me to return the favor.”
“Th-the favor?”
“Aye.” He pulled her close. “I’m sure ye have an ache in need of easing, and I should very much like to place my hands on yer skin to ease that ache.”
He smiled at her low gasp.
“Are ye consenting, lass, and respecting yer man’s wishes to tend to his woman?”
His woman…
How could such words, that spoke of base possessiveness, send such a thread of heat through her body?
“I see ye like my turn of phrase, lass.”
He rose, his body glistening with salve.
The firelight cast sharp shadows across his chest muscles, which were nestled together in pairs, and Mia’s gaze wandered over them, taking in the soft, downy hair that grew thicker lower down.
She suppressed a cry of disappointment as the view was rudely and cruelly curtailed by the belt at his waist, below which he bulged against his plaid.
“Perhaps ye like what ye see,” he said.
Mia blinked, her cheeks warming with shame as she focused her gaze on the broad chest in front of her. Then he caught her chin with his fingertips and gently tilted her head until their eyes met.
“Do ye fear that I’d not be gentle with ye?”
“N-no, Hamish, I…”
“Do ye trust me, lass?” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.
She lowered her gaze to his lips, then nodded.
“I do.”
Her words were an echo from the day she’d uttered her vows to a stranger barely visible behind her shroud. But, unlike that day, when she had surrendered to her demise, he invited her to surrender to…
To what? Pleasure?
A shiver coursed through her at the notion of…pleasure. Not just the innocent enjoyment she took from a walk in the sunshine, a lungful of fresh air, or having completed a worthy task such as making a salve. No, the pleasure he promised was dark, sinful, lacking in chasteness.
But what was the harm in a simple massage?
He guided her to the chair and she sat, leaning against the back.
“Do ye not sit as I did, facing the back of the chair?” Hamish said.
“My ache is in my shoulders, not my lower back, therefore there is no need.”
“Yer shoulders, aye?”
He moved behind her, and an uncomfortable heat bloomed in her body at the anticipation of his touch. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she startled and he let out a soft chuckle, caressing the underside of her chin with his knuckle.
“Och, lass, there’s no need to be as skittish as an untamed filly—or perhaps ye need to be tamed.”
His words sent a deep curl through her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together.
“Close yer eyes, lass, while ye enjoy my touch,” he whispered.
Suppressing a whimper, she obeyed, then relaxed against the back of the chair.
“There’s my good lass.”
She heard him exhale, slowly, then he tugged at the neckline of her gown, lowering it until her shoulders were exposed.
When he next placed his hands on her shoulders, she suppressed a gasp at the prick of pleasure at his touch.
He squeezed, gently, then ran the tips of his thumbs along her skin, the movement slick with salve, yet the little spikes of friction from his callouses ignited a fire in her belly.
Though his touch soothed the tautness in her shoulders, elsewhere in her body, strange, unfathomable tensions began to swell.
An ache sparked inside her center as he continued to rub with circular motions, each time deepening his touch.
No novice was he. Unlike Mia’s first attempt at a massage, when Dr. McIver had scolded her timidity and instructed her to press harder than she dared, Hamish took hold of her boldly, with a possessiveness that bordered on indecency.
A faint mewl escaped her lips.
“Do ye take delight at the touch of my hands?”
“Mmm…” she murmured, tilting her head back.
He continued to caress her, each hand making a gentle, sweeping motion, soothing her shoulders, then moving across her collarbone. Then he slid his palms along her throat until his fingers met the neckline of her gown, where her breasts, warm and heavy, seemed to strain against the fabric.
When his fingertips touched the laces at the front of her gown, she caught her breath as the fire in her belly flared. He leaned over her, and strands of his hair tickled the skin of her forehead before he placed a light kiss between her brows.
His fingers stilled against the knot in the laces, and remained there for several heartbeats. Then, with a swell in her soul, she understood.
He was awaiting her consent.
She nodded—an almost imperceptible gesture, but he must have recognized it for what it was.
With a delicate touch that belied his huge frame, he unlaced the front of her gown and slid his palms over the soft skin of her breasts.
The fire ignited once more as the warmth from the salve penetrated her sensitive skin while the scent of ginger filled the air, mingling with the aroma of rosemary and something else—a deep scent, sharp and sweet, with top notes of pleasure and base notes of wickedness.
He cupped a breast. “Och, lass—with the softest flesh in my hands, and the sweetest scent known to man in my nostrils, mayhap I’ve been transported to heaven.”
Her skin tightened at his voice, which rasped like gravel. Then he ran the tip of his thumb over a nipple, which sent a bolt of fire through her body.
“Oh!” She opened her eyes to see him looking over her, his head framed by a halo of hair that glowed in the firelight like a sunset. His eyes were dark—the pupils dilated so they were almost black.
“Do ye like my hands on ye, lass?”
“Y-yes,” she said, her body responding to his voice as she leaned into his touch. “Oh…” She drew in a lungful of air, the heady perfume thickening and swirling in her mind.
Oh, yes…
He dipped his head and brushed his lips against her cheek. Though she tilted her head up, offering her lips, he merely smiled, and she grimaced in frustration.
“Och, lass, will ye not await yer pleasure with patience?”
Boneless and pliant, she relaxed in the chair, acknowledging his mastery over her body.
“I would have ye give yer consent, lass, for I wouldnae want to—”
“You have it,” she said, the urgency in her body overpowering her mind.
His eyes flared, savage hunger in them.
“Then close yer eyes, lass.”
She obeyed, relishing the heightening of her other senses, the exotic cocktail of aromas in the air, the warmth of the fire on her skin, the heat swelling in her center and…
…and—oh my!—the roughness of the callouses on his hands was exquisite as he swept his palms over her breasts once more, pausing to flick her nipples and chuckling softly at her sharp gasp of pleasure.
Then he shifted his palms lower, caressing her belly until his fingertips reached the curls at the juncture of her thighs, where a wicked dampness had begun to form.
Surely he wasn’t going to touch her…there? What purpose would a man have to—
“Oh!” A burst of heat ignited in her center as he slipped his fingers inside her curls. She clamped her legs together, trapping his hand, ashamed to reveal the moisture that pooled in a place so intimate that it must be the very worst of sins to touch.
“Och, lass—did I not ask ye to trust me?” he whispered.
“B-but I—”
“Shh… Trust yer man.”
My man…
Swallowing her shame, Mia fought to control the tremors coursing through her body as her heart hammered against her chest.
“There’s my good lass.”
What the devil was happening? The moisture in her center surged at his praise, and his mouth curved against her cheek as if he recognized it for what it was, though she remained ignorant of its meaning.
But a thrill deep inside her body spoke of the promise of pleasure… if she were willing to surrender to it.
He brushed his lips against hers, then nuzzled her with the tip of his nose.
“Do ye trust me?”
“Y-yes…”
At the gentle insistence of his hand, she parted her thighs and inhaled as he dipped his fingers into her curls.
“Oh… Sweet lass, ye’re as ready and willing as a man could ever hope for his woman to be.”
“R-ready?” she whimpered. “I-I don’t—Oh!”
He ran a fingertip across her flesh. Thick heat swelled at his touch, and she tilted her hips, chasing the pleasure.
She surrendered to the needs of her body, which urged him on, willing him to delve deeper, to caress her with greater fervor.
And, as if he knew what her body desired, he obliged, whispering words of praise while soft nickers of pleasure escaped her lips.
When she gripped the sides of the chair and thrust her hips upward, a primal growl filled the air—that of the stag laying claim to his mate.
Then, with a sharp exhalation, he slipped his finger inside her and the world shattered. An explosion of pleasure rippled through Mia’s body in wicked waves that battered her with the relentlessness of a stormy sea.
“Hamish!” she cried. “What’s happ…” Her voice died as her body was gripped by another wave. “I-I don’t know—Ahh!”
The wave crested and her body disintegrated.
He continued to caress her while she shifted her legs, devouring the pleasure.
Then, at last, the swell subsided, leaving her languorous and replete.
When she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling at her, delight gleaming in those dark-green orbs.
Then he lifted his hand, which glistened in the firelight, and slipped it into his mouth.
Sweet heaven! How depraved could a man be? Yet she couldn’t deny the secret thrill in her own wicked little soul at the notion that her body had given him pleasure in return.
But a flare of want still glowed in his eyes, speaking of needs unmet. She turned to face him, and her cheeks warmed at the bulge between his thighs. She reached for it, then hesitated.
“Ye may touch him, lass,” he said, his voice hoarse. “He’ll give ye greater pleasure than ye can imagine.”
“Y-you mean, even greater than…?” She gestured to her body, and he smiled.
“Aye, lass. I could have ye screaming my name so loud that the McTavishes will hear ye in the glen beyond the mountain, and ye’ll come undone so hard that ye’ll not be able to walk for a fortnight.”
Wicked temptation urged her to take him.
Then she glanced up and caught sight of the jars on the shelves.
Medicine—that was where her future lay. Not as a wife destined to be cast aside. And ruination would shatter that future, for who’d pay a whore for services as a doctor?
The spell broken, Mia pulled the front of her gown together and fumbled at the laces to secure it.
She glanced up at him. Regret had replaced the desire in his eyes.
Mia forced a smile. “Thank you, Hamish,” she said.
“What for, lass?”
“For not ruining me. I know enough of anatomy to understand that you have left me intact. Which is fortunate, given our plans to annul our marriage.”
“Aye, lass,” he said, his voice strained. “Most fortunate.”
The tendons in his neck seemed to protrude as he gritted his teeth.
“If ye have no further need of me, I’ll leave ye be,” he said. “But if ye get any further trouble, let me know.”
“I will.”
She offered her hand, and he stared at it for a heartbeat, then shook it—as if they had just engaged in a business transaction. Then he withdrew his hand and almost fled out of the parlor, mumbling his apology as he let himself outside, closing the front door behind him.
Mia approached the door, then paused as she heard a long, low groan.
Was he in pain? She shifted to the window and drew back the curtain, peering outside, and saw him silhouetted against the moonlit reflections in the river, his body hunched.
She caught movement, his arm at his groin, moving back and forth in a repetitive motion that increased in pace until he let out a hoarse cry and bent over.
He remained still for a while before righting himself and wiping his hand on his plaid.
Then he lifted his head and glanced toward the cottage.
Ashamed at the prospect of being caught witnessing such an…intimate activity, Mia shrank back, her cheeks on fire.
By the time she’d composed herself and looked out of the window again, he was gone.