Page 3 of Draped in Plaid
“Part of me wants to give up,” he said. “Part of me wants to rip that little whelp limb from limb.”
I threaded my fingers in his hair, stroking the back of his neck and shoulders and then dragging them up through his soft locks again. I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips. Trying to comfort him with my touch, to pull him away from his pain, if only for a few relieving moments.
“This is not your fault,” I said. “Ranulf is mentally ill.”
“Mentally ill?” Rory shook his head, his brow furrowing.
“He’s mad, deranged. He must be. And you cannot reason with madness.”
Rory ran a finger along my collarbone. “I dinna want to reason at all. I want to escape.”
“We cannot. We must face him. Face this. Face the people. Bring them back together. Give them hope that you’ll be as great a leader as your father was. They need to know that. They need to know they are safe and that you’ll protect them.”
“From Ranulf, their own clansman.”
“Aye, your own son.”
Rory shuddered against me, and I clung to him all the tighter. Maybe, just maybe I could help him escape for a moment. I kissed him then, deeply, sweeping us both up in a haze of desire. A moment of escape. Euphoria.
Oh, and heaven help me, Rory was ready for me. Eager to go along with my plan. He pinned me rigid to the door, the length of his thick, hard shaft pressed to my belly.
I hiked my skirts up around my hips, hooking my leg around his thigh, urging him to enter me swiftly.
I didn’t have to wait long. Rory, tugged up the front of his kilt, gripped his cock in hand and thrust deep into my slickened channel. A spasm of heady desire made me moan. God, but I loved the feel of him inside me. Thick. Long. Filling me. Stretching me.
“Take me hard,” I urged. “Don’t stop.”
Rory gripped my hips, lifted my other leg up around his, my rear pressed up to the door, and drove deeper inside me still. The door rattled as my bare behind smacked against it with the force of his thrusts.
I sought his mouth, sucking on his tongue, biting his lower lip. Urgent. Hungry.
“Dinna leave me,” he begged as he drove deeper still.
“Never,” I panted. “I’ll never leave you, my love.”
“Mo chridhe,” he mouthed against my neck, suckling at the tender spot by my ear.
My nails raked the back of his shirt, and I dragged the fabric up so I could feel his hot muscled skin beneath my fingertips.
Rory plunged hard and fast inside me, my body clenched tight around his as delicious tremors took hold, teasing me toward that wondrous edge of orgasm.
His mouth sought mine, and we kissed hard, deep, frantic, hungry. Both of us in need of this release. Both of us yearning for a world that included none of the strife we so often found ourselves embroiled in.
“Tell me…” he moaned against my mouth. “Tell me when ye’re close.”
“I’m already there,” I gasped. “I’m coming now!”
Rory let out a deep guttural groan, driving harder, faster, the door shaking on its very hinges and rattling the rafters.
“Oh!” I cried out, trembling as my body exploded in an intense and vibrant orgasm. I could barely see, dots of ecstasy blurring my vision.
“Moira,” he groaned, shuddering up inside me, his hot seed surging deep.
Our breaths heavy, hearts pounding hard against one another, we stood, clinging, wrapped up in each other for many moments, until at last Rory kissed me hard then pulled his shaft from inside me.
I stroked the side of his face, letting my skirts fall back around my legs, the wetness of both our bodies slipping down my thighs.
“Do you feel a little better?” I asked, a teasing wink, a soft smile.
