Page 75 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
CHAPTER 20
Cold wateralways did the trick.
Whenever he was thinking too hard about something or felt trapped in thoughts that made his head pound, and he needed to relax, even if a little bit, he would always turn to cold water, and it seemed to always work just fine.
Today, unfortunately, was different. He couldn’t help it, no matter how hard he tried. He’d been thinking about what happened in the gallery with Elinor before falling asleep and had woken up many times throughout the night because his arousal wouldn’t let him rest.
He could not stop grinding his hard length against the mattress for most of the night, and it took everything he had not to go all the way and seek relief with his hands. He would not do that. Not until it became utterly unbearable.
He did not see her after the gallery for the whole of yesterday. Jenny, her closest maid, had informed him that she had gone to the market with her sister and the healer to shop for a wedding dress. A part of him had laughed at the thought of seeing her, flushed cheeks and all, looking for the perfect dress that would properly highlight the very essence of the upcoming wedding.
Now, he was in the bathtub, and his thoughts had finally settled. At least most of them. His nerves had eased, and he felt a sense of calm sweep through his body.
But nothing helped the heat that continued to rage between his legs. Even submerged in cold water, his length continued to pulsate. He could not think about Elinor for a mere five minutes without growing hard.
He grabbed a few bathing oils near the tub and smeared some on his palm. He must find a way to properly relax. He couldn’t let this happen all the time. What would he do if he grew hard in public?
He needed to take care of it. That much was evident.
He wrapped his hand around his length, the warmth of his palm like a bolt of lightning.
The heat was unbearable. The cold water lapped at him, ripples floating back and forth as he twisted his hand around the base and slid it back up to the head. He did it a few more times, his rhythm slow, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub.
Her body flashed in his mind’s eye, and he didn’t even have to summon her. There she was, half-naked, like the previous day in the gallery, her face contorted in bliss as he pumped his fingers inside her. He could still feel the heat from when she grabbed his wrist while he continued to work his fingers inside her.
The water sloshed around him now as he found a steady rhythm that made him breathless, his chest heaving above the surface. His body had begun to tighten. He was close.
He squeezed his length once and pumped it quicker. One more minute. One more?—
A knock sounded at the door, and the thoughts in his head halted. So did the action under the water.
He paused to slow his breathing.
“Who is it?” he managed to ask, the hitch in his voice betraying his persistent arousal.
“‘Tis Thomas, M’Laird,” a voice called back.
Ciaran groaned and threw his head back, letting his body sink fully beneath the water for a few seconds. Then, he stepped out.
Water rolled down his legs and followed him out of the bathing chamber and into his bedroom. He slipped into a pair of dark trousers, grateful that his arousal had abated slightly, then walked to the door and pulled it open.
“Thomas,” he greeted, before stepping back and heading to the rack by the fireplace. The young man-at-arms followed, a rather excited grin on his face. “‘Tis a lovely morning, is it nae?” he asked, grabbing a towel.
“Aye,” Thomas replied, his voice soft. “I suppose it is. Yer wedding draws closer with each passing day.”
“What can I say? I’m marrying the lady of the castle.”
“Ye’re also marrying one of the most resilient women I—and possibly ye—have ever met.”
“Oh, I am beginning to realize that with each passing day. Trust me,” Ciaran admitted, his voice clear. He then turned to Thomas, who stood in the middle of the room, with the same grin on his face. “Is there something ye wanted to tell me?”
Almost like he had been under a spell and Ciaran’s words broke it, Thomas gasped and pulled a scroll out of his belt .
“I came to give ye this missive. It was delivered a few minutes ago,” he said, handing him the scroll.
“What does it say?” Ciaran asked, taking it.
“I daenae ken. I didnae read it.”
