Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (17 page)

An odd fancy seized him and he kissed her big toe, then sucked. She sighed—with pleasure, he hoped—and he gave the toe a nip. Giggling, she pinched his toe. Hard.

The game was on. He tickled her arch and she howled, rolling onto her back away from him. He gave chase, pinning her, and grabbed her legs. His mouth was at the level of her lush cunt, so he parted her thighs and rubbed his tongue on her tasty bump.

She gasped, taking his cock into her mouth, and flung her legs into the air before wrapping them around his head, bringing him in tighter.

He chuckled into her sweet quim.

“What?”

“I love your lust for me,
mo dòchas
.”

“Good!” She shoved her slit onto his tongue.

He licked deeply, tasting fresh blood. Something inside him jumped and danced. “Och, wot’s this?”

“Is it my courses? ‘Tis time.”

“Aye.” He returned to his doubly pleasurable task. Mayhap three times more pleasurable, for he had the joy of bringing his wife to climax as well as taking her blood…and on top of that, he’d noticed that her courses ran more smoothly when she was mightily pleasured. Alice had never complained of cramps or a sore back, and he believed ‘twas because she was so well loved.

Or four times better, for he had another reason to be pleased. That his wife wasnae pregnant took a worry off his shoulders.

“Oh.” Her voice was heavy with disappointment.

Should they discuss her feelings? She wanted to increase even knowing the risks, but he did not. He didnae wish to lose his precious Alice.

He raised his head, licked his lips and said, “Never ye mind,
kylyrra.
Ye’re no less of a woman. If ye arenae increasing, ‘tis me fault.”

She sighed around his cock, then took it deeply into her mouth, sucking. He eased his hips down a tad, asking her to take more. She opened her jaw wider and reached around him to grip his buttocks, pulling him in deeper ‘til he hit the soft flesh at the back of her gullet.

She swallowed around the head of his cock and a blast of sheer ecstasy ripped through him, lightning streaking across the darkness behind his closed lids. A shout tore from his throat. He bucked in and out of her mouth, swiving her lips the way he swived her cunt, licking her in time to his thrusts.

She moaned around his tool and the vibrations from her throat shivered around his cock head. Overwhelmed by the rapture her mouth created, he was hard as one of the castle’s stones, his balls ready to burst and flood her mouth. But he didnae want to spend until she was also ready.

Lifting his hips, he pulled out of her until only her lips were clinging to his shaft’s round head. The rim was sensitive, and now she let her lips pulse around it ‘til he was well-nigh driven mad. But he reached for control and found it. A little—enough to focus on rubbing his tongue firmly on her bump.

He used his teeth and tongue to tease it out of its lair between her plump cunt-lips and gave it a hard suck. It lengthened in his mouth and he thought that p’raps it had swollen, even grown since they’d started to make love.

She gave a strangled cry before her head dropped away from his rod and onto the pillow. Spreading her legs wider, she began to hump his tongue. Her hands dug into his buttocks, forcing him down as though she was chasing the pleasure his mouth gave. The sharp little stabs from her fingernails took him higher.

He breathed in the good fragrances of lavender, fresh blood, his wife’s sweet cunt and over all, the exciting aroma he’d sniffed all those months ago in Glasgow. Alice, still so enticing, so tasty…even toothsome, especially during her courses. He pulled her thighs farther open, setting his thumbs on her cunt-lips to draw them apart. Then he shoved his tongue into her channel and used his nose to rub her clit.

He licked her clean, inside and out, while she writhed and moaned beneath him. With his legs apart, his hard cock hovered over her mouth, but she was too absorbed in her pleasure to worry about what he did with his rod. And as she twisted in her ecstasy, her lips would brush his erection. These occasional caresses aroused him more, possibly because they werenae consistent. He never knew when to expect a kiss from her hot mouth, a lick from her scorching tongue.

The flutters and clenching of her sultry channel told him she was ready to come and so was he. But he knew that putting his cock into her mouth while she was climaxing was mighty risky, so instead, he spanked her bottom to push her over the edge while he sucked her clit hard.

She screamed and bucked, driving her parts against him. Her shout diminished into a softer moan as her legs dropped onto the bed, limp. Her hands likewise fell onto the rumpled sheets. He’d have tiny red crescents on his arse from her nails. Didnae matter. He loved her passion.

He rolled her off his body and flat onto the bed, then reversed himself so he was kneeling between her spread legs. Open, her quim was deep pink, the bump reddened. He lifted her knees and hooked them over his shoulders.

“Ready,
kylyrra
?”

A muffled moan. Not really words, but he’d take them as assent. He leaned over her and thrust his cock into her slowly, but as deeply as he could go.

Another cry. So satisfying, taking his woman to orgasm again and again. He never tired of pleasuring her. Now he could take his own pleasure, fucking her slow and deep the way she liked it, then fast and hard, the way
he
liked it.

A slender woman, Alice remained tight even though they’d swived many times. Her hot, wet sheath clutched his cock, clinging and clenching like a live thing with a will separate from its owner. She was flat on her back, eyes tight shut, arms flung wide in abandonment and surrender, her legs draped over his shoulders…entirely his to use, his to love.

Grunting with each stroke and surge, he slammed into her harder than the blacksmith banged his hammer against the anvil. White light filled his vision despite the darkness and his closed eyelids. He gripped her thighs, holding her in place while he fucked her.

He wanted to go even deeper, so he rolled her onto her belly and raised her hips to impale her from behind. Her swollen cunt felt even tighter, and with his hands on her he could move her the way he liked while driving into her.

She cried out and he sensed that she needed more. He slid his hands along her body until he supported her torso, damp with their combined sex-sweat. He lifted her high so he could caress her tits and her bud while still inside her.

“Yesss…” Alice hissed, and squirmed against his hand. “Like that! Like that!”

Like that, aye, raw and carnal. She reached down, slid his finger around her slippery bump, then pressed it into her flesh hard until she came. This time he did also, pushing her down with a hand between her shoulder blades so he could again plunge into her down to his cods, roaring.

A moment before he spurted, he regained control, pulled out and lay his steaming rod into the furrow cleaving her arse. He pressed the halves together, creating a channel. Not as good as his wife’s lovely body. Not as hot or as wet, but grand nevertheless, with the fae lights and shimmering stars filling his vision as every muscle tensed and released.

Groaning and limp, he let his weight bear them both down onto the bed then took her into his arms, marveling at the slight body he held.

She’d seemed so sad, so confined and repressed when they’d met. He hadn’t any idea that this delicate frame held such a passionate spirit.

Yet the signs had been there. Her fragrance. Her mouth, made for kissing and being kissed. Her lively intelligence and, above all, her courage.

“
Mo dòchas
,” he murmured. “My sweet hope.”

He was on the edge of slumber when Alice sat bolt upright, clutched her belly and dove off their bed. She scrabbled beneath it for their chamber pot and heaved out dinner. “I don’t know where that came from or why,” she said, “but suddenly I felt so ill.”

He got up and found water in the pitcher on her dresser. He poured some for her and said, “Drink.”

She obeyed. “Actually I’ve been a bit out of sorts since teatime.” She frowned and murmured to herself, “That’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting,
kylyrra
?”

She shrugged and got back into bed. “Nothing in particular. Just a stray thought.” She smiled at him.

“I enjoy your stray thoughts.”

“Thank you. How about this stray thought?” She tickled his side.

After they’d laughed together they collapsed against the pillows, spent.

Life had not treated Hamish Gwynn well—or rather, he had not treated his life well. Since his ill-fated attempt to destroy Clan Kilburn, Laird Kieran had demanded tribute, as was his right, and Hamish, as an honorable laird, had paid. Vast swaths of Gwynn forest had been felled so Gwynn clansmen could rebuild Kilburn crofts while the homes of Hamish’s people went unrepaired. He’d also forked over a tenth of that autumn’s crop and done the same for the next five years, fattening Kilburn’s larder.

Worse, his French wife, Jacqueline, complained incessantly of the shame he’d brought onto the clan. She’d always been a restless, dissatisfied soul, and in her mind, she seemed to have created a rivalry with Lady Lydia of Clan Kilburn.

So when an unexpected blizzard trapped Hamish and a few of his men hunting near Kilburn lands but far from his home, he resented that his best choice was to seek refuge at Kilburn Castle. He was by no means certain of his welcome.

Highland hospitality required that any person asking for shelter and food be given what he needed, but the Kilburns werenae like most Highlanders. Their traditions werenae Scots but pagan, as Hamish had learned many years before while watching the rival clan’s
Meán Fóghar
harvest celebration. Though they now called themselves Kil
burn
rather than Kil
born
, and had likewise changed their clan motto, Hamish had no doubt that they persisted in their savage ways.

But he had no choice. He and three of his men struggled through heavy, wet snow toward Kilburn Castle, wondering what kind of reception they’d receive.

When they arrived, night had long fallen, but oddly the great gate was open and the drawbridge down. Light and laughter issued from the gatehouse and the bailey within the massive double walls that had protected generations of Kilburns.

‘Twas the Yule, Hamish realized. These pagans didnae celebrate Christ’s birth as would be proper, with quiet prayer and contemplation, but instead noted the shortest day of the year with a
cèilidh,
song and drink.

“Well, at least they’ll be in a good temper,” he said to Fergus MacReiver.

Fergus grunted. “I doonae want to go there. They’re heathens and
baobhan-sith
.”

“They may be heathen, but vampires?” Hamish laughed, a sharp, bitter bark. “You’ll nae find me believing in that foolishness again.” Listening to his priest’s maunderings about unholy blood-drinking creatures had led him to launch that daft raid against Clan Kilburn twelve years before. He wouldnae make the same mistake twice.

“Ye still doonae believe what I told ye I saw. After we beheaded auld Euan Kilborn, his head tried to grow back onto his neck.”

Hamish stared at the man. “
Tha thu ás do chiall
?”

“Nay, I’m not mad. I ken what I saw. And who, if not the Kilborn vampire, murdered my entire clan?”

Hamish snorted. “The MacReivers have done verra well for themselves, since they joined up with Clan Kilburn.”

“That’s the Little Laird’s doing.” Fergus’ tone was bitter.

“Laird Edgar’s nae so little anymore.”

“The Kilburns are an abomination and should be destroyed!”

“De ye wish to die oot here, in the snow and sleet? We have nae choice. Follow me and keep your venom to yoursel’.”

Hamish, with his escort struggling behind, threaded his way between quiet crofts toward the drawbridge, then over. At the gatehouse they were hailed by a clearly drunken guard. After leaving their weapons, the Gwynn party was allowed to pass through.

The courtyard had been cleared of snow. Crackling bonfires flared toward the sky surrounded by rings of dancing Kilburns. Pipers played off-key, and Hamish suspected they’d imbibed. Light spilled into the bailey from the open doors of two big towers, and Hamish averted his glance from the third keep. The Dark Tower ‘twas called, and ‘twas indeed dark—black with blood and brimful of the damned souls that had perished there twelve years before. Hamish’s own men, he remembered with unease.

But now everywhere else was revelry, fire, light and joy. The tempting aroma of roasting meat came from one set of doors, and though Hamish wasnae familiar with the castle’s layout, he guessed that the Kilburn Great Hall was inside. He reckoned that he had the best chance of finding Kieran Kilburn there.

A massive hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Laird Hamish! A cantie Yule to ye!” Kieran Kilburn laughed, drank from a bottle held in one enormous paw, then extended the bottle to Hamish. “And what brings ye here on such a raw winter night?”

Hamish took the bottle, thinking,
What the hell, Jacqueline’s not here,
and drank. He wiped his wrist across his mouth and belched.

Kilburn laughed again, looped an arm around Hamish’s shoulder and fair dragged him toward the open doors in the direction of the enticing smells. “Come see the wife! We’ve a new bairn to show ye.”

His men straggling behind, Hamish didn’t resist, for he was being taken to where he wanted to go—toward warmth and food.

Inside the Great Hall, more bedlam. Hamish, who’d never been within the seat of Clan Kilburn, was astonished. He’d always supposed that the martial clan did naught but train, hunt and fight. But ‘twas clear that the well-managed clan lived well and thought nothing of clearing out the winter larder when other, less fortunate clans—like Clan Gwynn—scrimped and saved over the long chilly months, paring mold off cheese, baking pies from withered apples and measuring every drop and dram of whisky.

Jealousy set a giant hand in Hamish’s bowels and squeezed. He instantly forced back the unworthy feeling and quoted the tenth commandment to himself. Taking a deep breath, he was assailed by a variety of scents—whisky from Laird Kilburn, roast boar, unwashed bodies, tallow candles, evergreen boughs and woodsmoke from the huge Yule log that crackled and blazed in the massive hearth.

The entire clan seemed to be crammed into the castle. Bairns chortled and older children sang while their elders applauded. He even glimpsed Dugald Kilburn, who Hamish had thought a somber and serious warrior, dancing on a table with a slender woman clasped in his arms. He capered with light feet over and between the blades of two crossed swords, an accomplishment to be sure, especially holding the girl, who flung back her head and laughed, a silvery peal of sheer joy.

Hamish took off his plaidie and his boots, set them near the fireplace to dry, relaxed and joined in the revelry.

Fergus MacReiver did not. After warming himself by one of the courtyard’s bonfires and partaking of the Kilburn food and drink, he tucked himself into a shadowy corner of the bailey to listen to the gossip and conversation. What he heard of Clan Kilburn’s plans interested him mightily, but he wasnae certain that his new laird would use the information. More likely that Laird Hamish, a coward unto his soul, would brush off Fergus’ scheme for revenge.

Dugald jumped off the table and whirled. In his arms, Alice shrieked and laughed, her world a happy blur. Hairpins flew and her long mane whipped out behind her as he continued to dance her out of the room, out of the tower and into the next. Snow had started to fall, and as they entered the Laird’s Tower, icy flakes began to melt on her face, cool and tingling.

He kissed her with chilly lips and set her on her feet. Hand in hand, they raced up the stairs into their room. He slammed the door behind them and tumbled her onto the bed in a flurry of quilted petticoats.

More kisses, deep and sweet. Ah, she’d never tire of her husband’s kisses. Cool and hot both, tangy with whisky, with an underlying flavor that was uniquely Dugald, like his scent of fresh breezes and midnight forest.

He set a broad palm on her breast, rotated his hand and squeezed. Even through her heavy woolen bodice, the pleasing pressure excited her more. Her clothes suddenly seemed too tight for her writhing flesh and squirming bone. She scrabbled at the ties at her waist while he dipped his head, laying down a row of tiny kisses and nips until he reached her neckline. Gripping the tie between his teeth, he raised his head.

The ribbon fell open and her bodice parted. A snarl escaped his lips and he again used his teeth to open her stays, then bit her nipple. He suckled deeply, a happy growl vibrating from his throat.

The stab of his teeth drew her sigh. She shoved her fingers into his unbound hair and played with the locks, then pulled his head closer. He responded, sucking harder and insinuating a hand beneath her loosened waistband, reaching for her quim.

She gasped for breath. Dugald’s cool fingers traced an erotic path down her belly before tugging up her chemise and sliding between her curls. He caressed her mound, teasing her with his proximity to her bump. She raised her knees and swaths of fabric tumbled over both of them. He laughed and fought his way out of her enveloping skirts and petticoats, batting them aside and flinging them onto the floor.

Soon she was naked and she told him, “You are far too heavily clothed, sir.”

“Och, aye.” He stood, smiling at her as she sprawled across their bed. He slowly unbuttoned his white linen shirt, exposing his chest inch by inch. He jerked the shirt off his body in a quick, dramatic snap of fabric, exposing his rock-hard chest, as strong and beautiful as polished marble.

She sucked in a breath at the sight and went weak with desire, just like every time they made love. “Come here.”

“Demanding, are ye no’?” He walked away from her. Muscles flexed in his hard arse as he went to the hearth. He stoked the embers into a blaze, tossing on a couple of logs. They caught and crackled, shooting sparks up into the chimney. Warmth spread through the room.

She would never become used to marriage with Dugald Kilburn. That such a handsome, powerful man wanted her, desired her, had handfasted with her, was a revelation every day, and each lovemaking was likewise a revelation. She hoped their delight in each other would never end.

A wonderful thought, yes, but clearly Dugald had less elevated ideas on his mind as he stalked toward her as though she were a coney in a snare, his gaze intent and predatory. His cock had hardened and now pointed toward his chin.

His midnight dark eyes seemed to energize her, flood her with desire as hot as the sun yet drain her of any will or strength to move. She went limp and boneless with need, sinking into the bedclothes.

As he approached, she scooted to the side of the bed and reached for him, hands clumsy and trembling with desire. After a quick tonguing, she grabbed his hips and jerked him between her spread legs and inside her.

Ahhh…joy. Bliss. Completion.

She didn’t let go of his hips but instead pulled and pushed him to and fro, showing him the tempo she wanted this eve.

“So that’s the way of it tonight, lassie?” He laughed but cooperated, curling his body over so he could continue to kiss her breasts.

Sharp, jagged bursts of pleasure raced through her body, echoed by flashing colors that gleamed behind her closed eyelids. She cupped her breasts, forcing her nipples into points that rose higher toward his lips, chasing ecstasy. He drew one firm tip entirely into his mouth in a long, sucking bite and she whimpered with need. He gave the other breast the same treatment as he continued to surge in and out of her, still matching the rhythm she’d set.

He lifted his head. “I love your sweet bubbies. Are they a mite larger?”

She smiled faintly, still lost in bliss. “I don’t think I’m growing anymore.”

He nibbled at her nipple, plucking it with his lips. “Like two berries atop a mound of sweet cream and tastier than the finest custard.” He eased his cock out of her.

She whined at the sudden loss of the connection she lived for. “What are you doing?”

He rolled her over onto her belly. “What I want.”

“What about what I want?”

“Have I ever steered ye wrongly, lassie?” He plunged his rod into her cunt.

She gasped at the rough intrusion, then bucked back against him, showing him she could take anything he wanted to give her. “N-no,” she managed.

He slapped her bottom. “No, what?”

“So that’s the way of it, laddie? No, sir.”

He spanked her again. “Are ye mocking me?”

“N-no.” But a thin giggle escaped.

“Yer dancin’ close to the line, me wife.”

“Am I now?” Turning her head, she shot him a saucy look and jerked her chin at him.

“Och, aye, ye are. Have a care, lassie, or ye’ll find yerself in too deep.”

“You’re in very deep yourself.” And ’twas true. His tool could achieve the deepest penetration when she was on her hands and knees with him behind her.

He grabbed her hips. “But not where I most want to go.” He pulled out again.

She felt his cock head, slippery with her juices, slide down and lodge in her rosette. She tensed instinctively but this time, he didn’t stop, instead pressing inside her inexorably. She whimpered with fear.

He stopped immediately. “Too much?”

She paused, felt, thought. “No.”

“Oh.” He sounded pleased.

Mother of mercy, what did I just say? What have I done?
She sucked in a deep breath and consciously relaxed, telling herself she had no reason to worry. Everything she and her husband had done had felt good, and he’d entered her backside with his fingers often enough, she reasoned, and his fingers were quite thick.