Chapter 32 #2
The fabric loosened, slipping down her shoulders until it pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her thin shift. The firelight turned the material nearly translucent, outlining the dark peaks of her nipples, the dip of her waist, the shadow between her thighs.
His gaze raked over her, hungry and unapologetic, before his fingers hooked into the neckline of the shift and tore it clean down the middle. The sound of fabric rending was loud in the quiet room, and Alba’s breath hitched as the cool air met her bare skin.
“Fuck,” Lachlann cursed, his voice rough, his hands already cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they tightened into aching points. “You’re perfect.”
He didn’t wait for a response before his mouth closed over one taut peak, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing just enough to make her back arch.
Alba moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, his free hand sliding down to grip her thigh, hitching it around his hip.
She could feel the wetness between her thighs, the ache growing with every pull of his mouth, every rough stroke of his calloused fingers against her skin.
“Lachlann,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please.”
He released her breast with a wet pop, his eyes dark as he straightened, his hands going to the belt of his kilt. The fabric fell away with a whisper, and his manhood sprang free, thick and flushed.
Alba’s body clenched in anticipation. She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him from root to tip.
Lachlann hissed, his hips jerking into her touch, but he caught her wrist, stilling her.
He backed her toward the bed, his grip firm on her waist, and when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, he didn’t hesitate. He lifted her, tossing her onto the furs before following her down, his body covering hers, the weight of him pressing her into the softness beneath.
His manhood nestled against her slick folds, the heat of him almost unbearable.
“Tell me what ye want, Alba,” he demanded, his voice a rough whisper against her ear, his hips rolling just enough to make her gasp.
She didn’t hesitate.
“Ye.” Her hands slid down his back, her nails scoring his skin as she pulled him closer. “Now.”
Lachlann didn’t need to be told twice.
He shifted, the broad head of his manhood pressing against her entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he filled her completely.
Alba cried out, her back arching off the bed, her body stretching to take all of him. He was big, thick and long, the stretch burning in the best way, the fullness making her feel deliciously owned.
“Ye’re tight,” Lachlann groaned, his forehead pressing to hers as he held himself deep inside her, letting her adjust.
His hands slid under her, gripping her ass, tilting her hips just so before he pulled back and thrust in again, deeper this time.
Alba moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist, urging him on.
He set a rhythm that was steady and deep, each thrust dragging against that sensitive spot inside her that made her see stars. The fire crackled beside them, the heat of the flames nothing compared to the inferno building between their bodies.
Lachlann’s mouth found hers again, his kiss just as desperate as his fucking, his tongue mimicking the slow, deep strokes of his cock.
Alba met him thrust for thrust, her hips rolling up to meet his, her body moving in perfect sync with his.
“Alba,” he groaned against her lips, his pace quickening, his control fraying.
His hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit, circling it in tight, relentless strokes. The dual sensation, his manhood pounding into her, his fingers working her, sent her spiraling.
Her body tightened, her walls clenching around him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until she was trembling beneath him.
“Taegether,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
She needed him with her, needed to feel him lose control just as she was.
“Always,” he promised, his voice a rough vow.
His thrusts turned erratic, his hips snapping against hers as he chased his own release.
Alba could feel him swelling inside her, his manhood pulsing as her orgasm crashed over her, her cry muffled against his shoulder as her body clenched around him, milking him.
Lachlann buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his manhood jerking as he came, filling her in hot, thick spurts.
Alba wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him close as they rode out the last waves of pleasure, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The fire still crackled, the golden light painting their tangled limbs in warm hues.
Lachlann finally lifted his head, his gaze soft as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “Me wife,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
Alba smiled, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “Me husband,” she replied, her voice just as warm.
Lachlann rolled them onto their sides, keeping her tucked against him, his manhood still half-hard inside her. The fur beneath them was damp with sweat and other fluids, the scent of sex heavy in the air. But neither of them cared.
Alba pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and Lachlann tightened his arms around her, his lips finding her temple.
"We have tae show we consummated," he said. "Fer the record. So there's nay question later."
"I ken," she said.
"There should be blood. On the sheet. If anyone questions." He stopped, recalibrated. "I can make a small cut. On me arm. Enough to mark the linen so there's no ambiguity."
She looked at him.
Of course he had thought of that. Of course he had already moved three steps ahead to the moment when someone would question the validity of it and would demand proof.
"Aye," she said. "That makes sense."
His jaw tightened slightly. "This isnae how I would have wanted tae dae this. Any of this."
"I ken," she said. "But it's what we have."
He rose from the bed and crossed to his desk, retrieving the small knife he kept there for trimming quills. He made a shallow cut on the inside of his upper arm without ceremony, let it bleed for a moment onto the sheet beneath them, and then pressed the wound closed with a strip of linen.
Alba watched him from the bed, her heart still settling, and thought about the practicality of him. The way he moved through even that with the same unhurried competence, attending to the details that would matter later when the emotion of it had faded.
"Daes it hurt?" she asked.
"Nay." He glanced at her. "It's shallow. It'll close by mornin'."
She watched him tie off the bandage with the efficiency of someone who'd done it many times before. "Come here," she said.
He looked at her, surprised.
She patted the bed beside her, and after a moment he went, settling beside her with his back against the headboard. She leaned into him, and his arm came around her. Carefully at first, because of the cut, and then more firmly when he'd positioned it correctly.
They sat like that while the fire crackled and the castle around them slept and somewhere beyond the headland Torquil's ships waited.
Eventually, Alba felt her eyes growing heavy, felt sleep starting to pull at her. Lachlann's breathing had slowed and deepened beside her, and she thought he might have already drifted off.
She smiled against his shoulder and closed her eyes, and the last thing she was aware of before sleep took her was the warmth of the fire and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.