Chapter 19
“Is the kiss to be your prize?” Victoria asked, still breathless from their sparring bout.
Arran narrowed his eyes, impressed and frustrated in equal measure that she could torment him so effortlessly. Her words brought her lips so close to his, but this was another sparring match entirely, to see who would break first.
“Part of it,” he replied. “The rest of my reward will be more… mutual.”
He had not stopped thinking about the taste of her, to the point where everything else paled in comparison.
It was a wonder he had been able to get anything done at all with the memory of her sighs, gasps, and moans echoing in his mind over and over.
But being so close to her again, touching her again, even in the name of teaching her how to protect herself, had stirred him up to such a degree that he would drive himself mad if he did not give her pleasure again. And in doing so, satisfy himself too.
“Is that so?” Her lips finally grazed his, just enough for her to be the one who caved first. The hint of a kiss.
It was all the encouragement he needed to claim his prize. He kissed her hard and hungrily, his hands cradling her face, while his body pressed close to hers to let her feel the effect that she had on him.
As if they had moved on from sparring to grappling, Victoria’s arms slipped around him to grasp handfuls of his shirt, her fingernails lightly raking his back.
Did she know he liked it when she did that?
There was something about pleasure and pain that intoxicated the mind, but he would not go there with Victoria. For her, he would give only pleasure.
They kissed as if he had been away at war for a year, fast and frantic.
Would she meet me at the gates like this? The thought pleased him, for he had often envied the men in his war party who had wives waiting, and how those wives would run to their husbands and kiss them as if there was no one watching.
Somehow, the idea of her being his and the images playing in his mind intensified the rush of desire that thundered in his veins.
He held her tighter to him, kissed her harder, let his hands wander the perfect contours of her body while she melted into him.
Her body seemed to move with his touch as if they were in a dance, leaning into the caress of his palms, arching her back when he ran his hand up her spine to cradle the nape of her neck.
She had become a temptation that he could not resist, and maybe, if he had been a wiser man, he would have taken that moment to put distance between them once more. But when it came to her, perhaps he was a fool.
“If ye think this is how ye can distract me while we’re sparring…” he purred close to her ear, before he grazed his teeth across the soft lobe.
She trembled in his arms, a quiet gasp leaving her lips. “Is it working? Are you… distracted?”
“Aye.” He kissed down the curve of her neck while his arm slid around her waist.
As he let his lips tease the smooth skin of her bosom, he began to lower her to the ground. Her arms suddenly looped around his neck as if she feared he might drop her, but, as he had already promised, he would never allow any harm to come to this beautiful woman.
“The grass!” she gasped, as he lay her down.
“It’ll grow straight again,” he said with a smile. “It’ll only be flattened for a while.”
She laughed at that, a sweet and musical sound. “I meant, it is cold! And it is wet!”
“Would ye prefer to stop?” he asked wryly.
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “I would not deny you your reward, even if I am not certain you actually won.”
“Och, lass…” He feigned a tut and covered her mouth with a fierce kiss, as he lay down on top of her. That would certainly deal with the cold part of her complaint, but he would have to think of something creative to contend with the wet part.
Her legs locked around his waist as he kissed her, bringing the heat of her entrance closer to the hardened length of his manhood.
Whether she knew what a torture that was or not, he did not know, but it would take all of his willpower to resist sinking inside those silken depths and claiming her entirely.
As he had said at the inn, he was not that sort of man; he would not take her when she would have to return to her life in England.
But pleasure—pleasure, he could do.
Scooping his arms beneath her, he suddenly twisted, rolling them both over until he was the one with his back on the grass and she was sitting atop him, straddling his thighs.
A gasp caught in her throat as she evidently felt the solidity of his manhood, but his kilt was still between them, preventing them from going too far.
Nevertheless, Arran felt he needed a little more surety, or he might just lose control and throw caution to the wind.
He sat up and kissed her, a rumble of pleasure sounding in the back of his throat as she settled there in his lap.
His brow furrowed at the sweet and torturous ecstasy of her small movements; she could not help it that her body swayed with the rhythm of their kiss and, in turn, swayed those hips back and forth across his length.
At least, he thought she could not help it; she did not seem like someone who would torment him deliberately.
As their kiss deepened, he grabbed at the layers of fabric that formed her new dress and pulled up with an urgency that he could not temper. She raised her arms for him, clearly emboldened, and as he tossed her clothes to the ground, she reached for him in kind.
They undressed one another… up to the point where Arran had to gently stay Victoria’s hand. She had gone to unfasten the belt of his kilt, but as that was the only thing, aside from his willpower, that was stopping him from making love to her, it was better for them both if his kilt stayed on.
“Nay, lass,” he said. “It’s me reward, nae yers.”
She pouted a little. “But–”
He slid his hand between her thighs to silence her argument, cupping her with his palm while his fingertips strummed her swollen bud.
She was warm and wet and would have been so ready if they were to take it further.
Her gasps and moans were an enchantment upon his manhood, driving him to a point where he would not be able to hold back.
Nay, I have to do somethin’ before I make a mistake.
In one smooth move, he scooped his arms underneath her thighs and hoisted her up. She yelped loudly, still not quite trusting that he would not drop her, as he lifted her legs onto his shoulders.
“What are you–” a sharp gasp interrupted her words, a cry drifting out into the evening air as he tasted her once more.
She was even sweeter than the last time, as his hands grasped her buttocks and brought her swollen bud even closer to the curl of his tongue, in complete control of her bliss.
But as she began to writhe a little to the music of her impassioned moans, he realized that she might be more comfortable if she had more balance.
Freer to sway and move her body at her leisure, certainly.
And his neck and shoulders would not mind the reprieve, though he could have held her there through at least two climaxes if he had wanted to.
Slowly, with the muscles of his abdomen burning slightly, he leaned back down to the ground. There was a moment when she held onto his head in fear, but it soon passed as she realized what he was doing.
She sat up and attempted to shuffle backward, but his hands on her backside refused to allow it.
“Nay, lass,” he said. “Daenae move. I have ye exactly where I want ye.”
She blinked in something like surprise. “But… how will you breathe?”
“I daenae plan to,” he replied, stealing a sly lick of her. “I mean to drown in ye.”
Her body shivered at the touch of his tongue, and as he settled in for more, he felt her relax. As she did, her body lowered to precisely where he wanted her to be, where he could enjoy her at his absolute pleasure… without any risk of them going too far.
“Oh, Arran…” She moaned, her hips making those small back-and-forth motions, almost guiding his tongue to the intensity she wanted to feel.
He smiled at the sound of his name on her lips, spoken with such intimate feeling in her voice. It was a tone he could have easily gotten used to and would probably never lose its novelty.
Enjoying his prize immensely, he let his tongue glide through the sodden folds of her and teased it around that secret bud, before curling his tongue and sucking gently. He knew it would make her buck, satisfaction coursing through him when it did.
Tenderly, he traced his fingertips over the swell of her buttock and under that perfect crease where it met the top of her thigh. From there, he followed the intoxicating heat of her entrance until his fingertips came to rest there, giving her a moment to reject what he wished to explore next.
“Yes, Arran… oh, yes… yes,” she moaned, the strokes of his tongue visibly making her soar toward her conclusion. He could see it in the furrow of her brow and the way she bit her lip, and it was there in her increasingly ragged breaths.
The moment he eased his finger inside her, his manhood throbbed in protest at being denied that pleasure.
“Oh!” Victoria cried out, her back arching to give him the most exquisite view of her perfect figure: a taut stomach with a slight curve of softer flesh, ripe breasts so perfect that he reached up his other hand to massage them, leading up to the slender curve of her neck, thrown back in ecstasy.
It was enough to distract him from the protest of his manhood, as he concentrated entirely on the sight and sounds of her. Slowly, he eased another finger inside her, curving both and beginning a light, stroking motion to move his fingers in and out while brushing the sensitive nerves within.
She bucked against his mouth, his tongue running over her bundle of nerves with firmer, faster strokes, all the while listening to the breathiness of her gasps. They were a language all their own, and he wanted to understand every word, so he would know what aroused her more than anything else.
It was when he heard the catch in her voice as she called out his name that he knew she had reached that peak of pleasure.
He did not stop or change anything he was doing, silently urging her on as he felt her clench around his fingers.
Her thighs, too, tightened against the sides of his head as that euphoria overwhelmed her.
She began to tremble, harsh gasps leaving her lips and making her perfect breasts rise and fall in frantic heaves as she came.
Aye, lass, that’s right… if ye’re nae shakin’, I’m nae doin’ it properly.
As the tightness of her muscles began to relax, he slowed his movements so as not to put too much pressure on her sensitive bud. He was tender with his attentions, waiting until her breathing had begun to even out before he withdrew his fingers.
And when he was certain that the wave of pleasure had subsided, he turned his head to kiss the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
She shuffled backward as he eased his body up from between her parted legs and kissed his way up her stomach.
Her laughter warmed him as she all but tipped into his lap, the dynamic shifting.
From there, he kissed between her breasts, pausing to draw a pert nipple into his mouth.
He sucked, eliciting a fresh gasp from her mouth that did nothing to temper the ache of his manhood.
He kissed over her chest and up the column of her throat until he found her mouth again with a lazy, satisfied graze. She melted into him as if she barely had the strength left to sit up, and kissed him back in kind.
“Are you certain that was your reward?” she murmured as she pulled back a little, her blue eyes glassy with the residual effects of her bliss.
He smirked. “Aye, lass, I promise ye it was.”
His arms encircled her beautiful figure, savoring the warmth of her bare skin against his, knowing that no matter where she went or how far she was from his side, he would never forget the potency of this moment.
“If I’d kent I was just goin’ to get dirty again, I wouldnae have bothered with a bath,” he teased, brushing a lock of hair out of her pink-cheeked face.
She blushed more furiously. “I did not know that… you were going to get dirty again.”
“Ye could join me for a bath, if ye like?” he offered.
She swallowed. “I do not think that would be proper.”
He laughed at that, and after a second or two, she laughed with him.
It was a ridiculous notion, but one that he strangely understood.
There was a difference between being alone in the privacy of the gardens at night where there were shadows enough to hide them, and being together in the publicness of the keep where maids could gossip.
He would not have minded either, but he respected her hesitation.
“Can we just… lie here for a while?” she asked.
He nodded and kissed her again. “Aye, but ye should put yer dress back on else ye’ll catch a chill.” He reached for the garment, sorry that he would have to clothe her beautiful figure again. “Here, let me help ye.”
There proved to be an unusual intimacy in helping her to dress; one that conjured unbidden visions of a future in which she asked him to assist her with her stays or the fastenings on a gown for a gathering or cèilidh.
He could imagine her standing in front of a looking glass, turning that elegant neck back to implore him.
He shook the thought as he pulled her dress back onto her body, for that was a future that could never be.
Once the Earl was dealt with, she would go back to the life she had left before that bastard ever entered her existence.
She would return to that dull, fragile English society that seemed to have such a stupid opinion about reputation and decorum.
She would return to her father’s house with her sister, and her time in Scotland would be just a memory.
With that in his mind, he held her close to him and laid them both down on the grass, determined to make the most of her presence while he had it.