Page 18 of Kilty Plea
But Flora was too wrung out to ponder it.
“Go to sleep, lass,” the man growled.
And, feeling warm and safe for the first time in almost a year, Flora obeyed.
Chapter 4
Well,fook.
Fook fook shite fook.
Payton wasnotin a good mood this morning.
He could blame it on the mutton—which always gave him gas—or the hard ground, not quite covered by the bedroll. Hecouldblame it on the fact he had to sleep in the thrice-damned helmet, whichayehad padding but not nearly enough to fookingsleep in.
However, he knew none of those were the true reason.
The true reason he was in such a bad mood this morning had naught to do with the sparse dinner or the hard ground or the helmet, and everything to do with the lithe and elfin beauty currently rubbing her backside against his aching cock as she slowly woke.
And the worst of it was, he couldn’t tell if she was doing it on purpose.
Ye ought to have just taken her up on her offer last night. Ye could have flipped up yer kilt, shoved yer cock in her mouth, and been happy.
Nay, he wouldn’t have been happy.
For one thing, as he’d told her, he wasn’t going touseher that way. He didn’t fook women who didn’t want to be fooked, and Flora was clearly only offering her body in trade.
And secondly, Paytoncouldn’ttake her to MacIntyre Keep, as she asked.
He had enough to worry about at home—his reception would be a happy one, but full of nagging. His family would go bat shite if he returned home with a woman like Flora, and likely make assumptions he couldn’t refute.
After all, in Flora’s eyes at least, theyweremarried.
By St. Bart’s uvula, it had been hard to resist what she’d offered last night.
Aye,hardbeing the operative word there.
Knowing what torture awaited him if she slept in his arms, Payton had gone out into the darkness last night, ostensibly to piss. But he’d done more than that; he’d planted his arse against a large boulder, flipped up his kilt, and taken himself in hand.
He hadn’t even needed to spit on his palm before he stroked himself—that’s how painfully aroused he’d been. Nay, all it had taken was a few strokes, remembering the way she’d looked on her knees, her tits spilling from her bodice, and he was ready to come.
Payton had wrapped his fingers around the head of his cock and squeezed, imagining the feel of her lips around him, or her tight cunny.
With a muffled groan, he’d spurted hot seed across the Highland snow.
And after, he’d been ashamed.
Now he was paying for it; the hand-frigging had done naught, apparently, because he was rock hard again, almost painfully so, and Flora was grinning as she sat up.
Fook.
“Good morning, Payton,” she announced, sending him a smile as she stretched. “Is there time to break our fast before we leave, or are we in a hurry?”
Hell yes, he was in a hurry. He needed to get to the village and drop her off there, so he could start forgetting about her.
Flora would be safe there. Surely? The Abbot’s reach wasn’t that far, was it?
He rolled to his feet, wearing a frown beneath his helmet and doing his best to walk hunched over so he wouldn’t embarrass himself with his tented kilt. The last thing he needed was for her to offer her body again—he wasn’t certain he’d be strong enough to resist her a second time.
