Page 73 of Bride of the Mad Laird
His entire being thrilled at her very presence. He was hungry for her, wanting more, helpless against the tide of passion that was sweeping him away.
His hand sought the rounded globes of her backside and she gasped as he drew her even closer. The feel of her against his erect shaft caused him to groan loudly. Now that he had his heart’s desire, he burned even brighter and stronger for her than he had before when he was almost weak with longing.
She moved slightly closer, her hips tipped in response to his pressure, and she wriggled against him.
He groaned again. “Lass, lass,” he whispered. “Mayhap ye dinnae ken what torture it is tae feel ye against me manhood.”
She pulled her head back. “Torture?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “It makes me want ye even more. If we were alone in yer bedchamber now, I’d strip ye of yer gown and petticoat.” His voice was husky as he went on. “I’d lay ye on yer bed and kiss every bit of that soft body of yers.”
There came a muffled giggle from where her head was buried in his chest.
“Now it is ye who is tormenting me, Tòrr. Fer ye paint a picture that is tae me liking.” She looked up, at last. “I’ve seen how ye look when ye’re nae clad, but ye must promise that if ye have yer way and lie me naked on me bed, that ye will lie naked beside me.”
“Ye have me word. I will lie naked beside ye.” His voice was croaky at the very thought of such an enticing prospect that it robbed his breath entirely.
He groaned again, his hands circling her backside. He joined his mouth with hers for yet another torturing kiss, that had them both panting and pressing against each other as if this was to be their last moment on earth.
A rude intrusion into their bliss came in the form of loud knocking on the solar door.
They drew a little apart at the sound, catching their breath.
“Who comes?” Tòrr called.
“’Tis yer supper, me laird,” came a small voice.
Throwing a rueful glance to Lyra he arched an eyebrow. She nodded with a shrug.
“Come,” he responded, suddenly aware that he’d eaten little since he’d broken his fast with a few bannocks early that morning. His belly rumbled at the prospect of supper.
But apart from straightening his belt while Lyra was smoothing her hair, there was nothing he could do to hide the protrusion under his kilt where his still erect shaft jutted mightily.
Three scullery maids hastened in carrying laden trays, ewers of ale and carafes of wine. Keeping their eyes averted, they laid the supper out on the table at the center of the room.
He waited until they’d left and closed the door behind them, smiling a little at the sound of the lasses’ giggles retreating down the passageway.
Holding the chair for Lyra while she seated herself at the table, he felt a rare thrill at the sight of he still slightly disheveled hair and her swollen-from-kissing reddened lips.
She was his, and tomorrow he would speak with Father Pádraig and ensure that the banns were read for their marriage. The letter had been sent to her clan before his scouting trip and he was hopeful to receive an answer very soon.
Once they were married, in two weeks’ time, he would release his two prisoners from the dungeon and send them back to MacDougall with the news that his would-be bride had already wed another.
He took a certain amount of malicious satisfaction from that prospect.
They took their time with the meal. There were so many titbits to feed each other, each mouthful an exquisitely tortuous reminder of their kissing. Lyra opened her mouth as he held up a particularly plump raspberry. He sucked in a breath as she took it between her teeth, a tiny speck of juice appearing in the corner of her mouth as she bit into it.
“Allow me,” he said leaning forward to place the tip of his tongue on her lips.
She gasped, her lips forming a smile. “Are ye hungry fer more kisses, Tòrr?”
He chuckled. “Why ye’ve turned from a wee nun into a charming coquette before me very eyes.” Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. “And, much as I was delighted by the beauty of the nun, I have tae be honest and confess tae ye that I’m more in love wi’ the coquette.”
“Ah,” she said and laughed. “I shall keep that knowledge uppermost in me mind.”
He smacked his palm to his forehead. “By all the saints, have I just handed ye a wicked weapon ye can use against me, Lyra?”
“Mayhap that is so. Only time will tell.”
