“What I like best.” Snuggling closer, he fitted his body to the curve of hers, nestling his quickly reviving cock into the plumpcushion of her behind. “And what you like too.”
Seizing the moment, he brushed his fingers downward. If she parted her legs, letting him cup her between, he’d know she was disposed to a little pre-breakfast delight.
However, she promptly twisted about to face him. “My eyes are barely open and you’re trying to make free with me. Can you think of naught else?”
He chuckled darkly. “With you lying next to me, what else should I be thinking of?”
Grabbing her bottom, he pulled her to him, that she might feel the size of his cock rubbing against her belly. The graze of her nipples to his chest sent another rush of blood, and he hooked his knee between hers.
“Really, Finlay!” Screwing up her face, Margaret made a sound of exasperation. “You might let me have a drink of something first, and I could do with making use of the chamber pot.”
“There’s one behind the screen.” He nodded to the corner, then followed the sway of her rump appreciatively, as she took herself off.
Beneath the covers, he gave his erection a few comforting strokes. ’Twas a shame to waste it, but his cock might have to be patient. He couldn’t be having Mags think he was only interested in mounting her.
He heard the tinkle of her stream against the pot and smiled to himself.
By God! I’ve got it bad. Even listening to her piss is making my bawbags ache.
Splashing commenced. His housekeeper had clearly thought of everything. A pitcher of water must be on hand.
Margaret emerged looking somewhat calmer, though there was something awkward in her expression too. ’Twas to be expected, he supposed. They’d gone from not having spoken for all these months to him riding her senseless. ’Twould take some getting used to.
He continued to watch her, for the front view was even better than the back, admiring the sway of her breasts as she leanedover to select a piece of clootie dumpling. She carried it back to bed and wriggled under the covers again. “What’s in the pot?”
“Cocoa.” Pushing down his desire to breakfast on every inch of her luscious body, Finlay went about pouring some into the single cup. There was only so much room on the tray, and they could easily share.
She took it from him almost shyly, then, quite unexpectedly, pressed her mouth to his.
Though the kiss was no more than a brief brush of lips, joy speared him. ’Twas all it took, to make him doe-eyed for her—the small promise that, just perhaps, she wanted him as much as he did her.
He helped himself to a slice of the dumpling, and they ate in companionable silence, accompanied by the crackling of the fire—now safely guarded—and the heavy breathing of a recumbent Brucie.
“I remember sitting in the kitchen as a lad while the clootie was being mixed, all for the chance of making a wish when it came to mygo with the spoon.” He licked his thumb thoughtfully. “Everyone had their turn, of course, but I was given the honor of dropping in the lucky farthing.”
“’Twas the same at Balmore. Except Alastair and I used to fight over who added the coin. Father solved the problem by saying we could add two.”
“Wise man.” Finlay nodded. “He was a good sort yourdadaidh. A sad day it was when he passed.”
“Yours too,” Margaret said quietly.
“At least I had him a wee bit longer than yourself. I only wish he could have lived to see…you know, the wedding.” His father had proclaimed more times than Finlay could remember that his blessing was upon the pair of them and, he couldn’t help thinking, if his father were still alive, things would have turned out differently.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt the need to spend so much time away from Dunrannoch if the place hadn’t been shrouded in grief. He’d let down not just Margaret but his mother, in that respect—and his father too.
A right sow’s ear I made of it all.
Finlay didn’t know why he’d brought up the wedding. Referring to the day on which they’d declared their vows was dangerous ground.
However, Margaret answered calmly. “He was always one for a gathering.”
“Aye.” Finlay smiled. “When I think on him, ’tis always with him laughing. He liked to see others enjoying themselves.”
“And your mother most of all. The way he looked at her…” Margaret gave a small sigh.
“They were happy, right enough.” The memory made Finlay ache inside, though in a way that felt fitting. His parents had been a love-match through and through—something he’d been adamant about for himself.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
