Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (7 page)

And now the moment had overtaken her, created not only by the nearness of the lover she wanted but the stark terror of their situation. She wanted to believe that Dugald could rescue them somehow, but didn’t. Couldn’t. Their captors were too savage, too experienced in their depravity. Hadn’t they killed Malcolm immediately? Hadn’t they taken her boots so she couldn’t run, seized her warm clothes so she’d be weakened by the cold?

And because they’d imprisoned Dugald with her, she reasoned that they knew there was no way out of the trap they’d created.

But she shunted away all her worries so she could instead focus on the richness of the experience Dugald was giving her, the love she was demanding from him. She supposed she should be ashamed of her body’s writhing, her mouth taking his with lips and teeth and tongue, her hands searching his form, reaching beneath his trews to seize his manhood.

But she wasn’t. And he wasn’t. He was more than willing to give her what she wanted, judging by his groans of delight, his murmured words of love in both Gaelic and English, the sheer bliss of his hands and fingers.

Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples abraded pleasantly by her shift as she lay on him. She had one hand in his hair holding his head steady for her plunging kisses and she squirmed the other between them, shoving it underneath his waistband. A difficult task, that, but easier when she found the ties and tore them apart.

His chuckle rumbled in her ear. “Lassie, keep on like that and I’ll have to walk oot of here naked.”

“I won’t complain. Nor will any other woman.”

“Ah, I thank ye.” He stopped talking to kiss her some more.

She found his maleness. It…
he
was long and thick and hard, and for a moment she quailed before the frightening prospect of putting…
that
inside herself. She inhaled sharply.

“What is it,
mo dòchas
?”

“Will it…you…fit?” She had touched herself often enough to know that her…female gap was not large.

Another chuckle, louder this time. Laughter, really.

“Are you laughing at me?” She was slightly offended but not enough to stop what they were doing.

“Nay, sweetling, but the situation is, um, amusing. Nay, love, I’d never hurt ye. Nor will my cock. Can ye say that?”

“I don’t…know.”

“Try.” His voice had taken on a tender note. “Do ye trust me?”

She thought, breathed, thought some more. “Yes.”

“Aye, then.” He took her hand and placed it back on his rod. “What is this?”

“Your…cock.”

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to one side so she rolled off him and onto her back. The stone was cold and she wriggled.

“Aye, ‘tisn’t the best of places for this. I prefer a bed.” He scooted down her body so his head was near her female parts. “But ‘twill serve. Now close your eyes and just…feel.”

She obeyed. The soft silk of her shift whispered over her calves, her thighs, coming to rest on her belly. She stiffened. Was he looking at her nakedness? Did she want that?

“Och, lassie, you’re so beautiful.”

He was complimenting her without reason. “’Tis dark in here.” She relaxed, knowing that he couldn’t examine her. She’d tried but hadn’t been able to see his face or the wrinkles that had to line a fifty-year-old visage.

He slid cool palms up her legs and separated her thighs. “I can feel your beauty.” He smoothed the sensitive flesh with his fingertips.

More heat and pleasure quivered through her, starting from his clever hands and emanating to her womanhood and beyond. He pushed the extra fabric of her shift beneath her bottom.

“Oh, that’s better,” she said.

“Aye, the stone is rough on your tender skin.” He kissed the inside of one knee then stroked farther. He combed the female hair at the join of her thighs and she couldn’t stifle a gasp.

“And what is this?”

“I…I call it my, um, womanhood.”

“‘Tis such a long word.” He opened her thighs wider, touched lower, his finger slipping on the moisture between her folds. “‘Tis your sweet cunny.”

“My…c-cunny?”

“Aye.” Something long and cool penetrated her. His finger? She cried out.

Dugald stopped and said, “Whisht, lassie, ye’ll bring the vultures down upon us.”

And indeed, she heard rustling on the larger cave, low mutterings that warned that their captors were restless. Dugald remained still, resting one hand on her bare belly until silence again claimed the cavern. She was completely aware of him, of the weight of his cool palm, of his breathing and hers. His finger within her sheath, inside her…cunny.

“Lass,” he whispered. “Ye must be very quiet. Can ye do that while we do this?”

His finger pressed in, slipped out and back. She couldn’t stifle a gasp as he pumped. Her body jerked and she came close to bashing her head on the low, rough ceiling of their grotto.

“I s’pose not,” she murmured. “But I don’t want to stop. But I don’t want to hurt myself either.”

“We need not stop, but…”

He withdrew his finger. Empty, she wanted to cry. His bulk rose above her, blocking what little light there was. She heard tearing. What was that?

“This will make it easier, I think.” He wrapped something around her mouth and tied it.

She whimpered, for she could not speak.

“Are ye all right, lass?”

No one had ever gagged her before. The thought was so outlandish that she came close to panic, and she fought to calm her frantic breaths.

He untied the cloth. “Can ye remain quiet without this?”

She paused. “No, I think not.”

“All right, then.” He again passed the cloth around her head and knotted it. This time he kept his hand in her hair, anchoring her as well as protecting her head from the stone floor. His grip wasn’t harsh but oddly enjoyable.

He held her immobile and quiet while he kissed her breasts. Did she like it?

Yes, she did. She liked everything, the long, nibbling kisses on her nipples, which heated then flamed in response to his biting, sucking and licking. And she found an odd freedom in the loss of part of her liberty to someone she trusted. She was sure she wouldn’t hurt herself while she gave herself to ecstasy, for Dugald would keep her safe.

She slid her hands into his long, dark hair and played with the locks.

“Ah, that’s good.” He sighed.

She caressed his head while he sucked one nipple and then the other until she arched her back, shoving her breasts harder into his mouth. He chuckled gently, not at her, she realized, but in sheer enjoyment and delight.

He liked making her feel good.

That thought was new and very exciting. She had always believed that men took their pleasure of women and gave nothing back but their seed. That a man—her man—would enjoy her delight was a wonderful thought.

He stopped sucking hard and licked. Her body shuddered and she repressed a cry.

“Ah, lass.” He sighed, and blew on her breasts.

The tips cooled, hardened, tingled. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. Instead she responded with a deep, soft groan, undulating beneath him. His free hand slipped down her body and his fingers again found the curls on her mound. He tugged gently and she moaned. How had he known that touching her in that way would turn her body into a burning brand? She hadn’t known herself.

His hand went lower to explore the folds, his fingers sliding with ease over a spot that drew another groan. He lingered there, stroking softly. Warmth spread outward and upward from her…cunny to her stomach and her breasts. Already tingling, they’d grown intolerably hard. She wanted, needed his mouth there. Everywhere.

He kissed her lips again while his hand, his wonderful, experienced hand, did things to her that drew her whimpers, sucked out her breath and forced her to scrunch her eyes tight shut so she could focus on nothing except that one tiny point of blazing heat between her legs.

That blaze grew into a roaring fire that burned all of her. Then a finger again thrust inside her and, oh, she felt so completed by having part of him inside her. She writhed against his fingers, pushing hard, until she shuddered and groaned. Rainbows and falling stars pulsed behind her eyelids. She panted around the gag and despite her inhalations the world darkened around those glimmering lights.

She was floating, her body weightless yet quivering with bliss. Warmth surrounded her before Dugald loosened her clenched hands from his hair and settled his weight upon her, moving very carefully. She opened her thighs wider to accommodate his body and felt something prod at her opening. Not his hand, but…his…his cock. She sighed around the gag.

“All right, lass?” His lips were close to her ear, his hand still beneath her head, cradling it, cradling her, keeping her safe.

She nodded and turned her head so her lips met his. His kiss was pure rapture, more so than ever. His tongue caressed her lips, stopped by the barrier of the gag. But she used her lips to say yes
yet again, yes to whatever he wanted while demanding more.

He wriggled his lower body against her. “Are ye sure?”

“Um-hmm.”

His hand again reaching, spreading her open while his hips lifted, then dropped. Again that prod. She was curious and reached down to touch him.

Soft over hard… “Oh…” she breathed. She was less frightened when she touched him this time. She already knew his cock was large, but she was no longer afraid. She’d experienced the wonders Dugald offered and she was free to do nothing but feel, just as he’d asked.

“When you’re ready,” he told her. “Ye can choose.”

She reached up and pulled the gag aside. “I choose you,” she said. “Please. Now. But I…I’m not sure what to do.”

“All right, then. But ye must put this back on, ye ken?” He replaced the cloth over her mouth. “There will be some pain, mistress, I’ll no deceive ye. But it will be verra quick, and I promise ye, there will be joy. I promise.”

She nodded.

Scooting down her body, he spread her legs again and kissed her
there.
Right on her cunny. She’d never imagined such a thing, but ‘twas wonderful, so she pushed herself against his mouth. She held his head in place and rubbed herself against him the way she’d ground against his hand.

The fantastic colored lights glowed again behind her closed lids, foretelling ecstasy. He stopped and she wanted to scream with frustration, but could only make little needy whimpering sounds against the gag.

Again his big body blocked the light, and he came down on her, kissing her mouth while again cradling her head. His other hand slithered between then, down, down to touch her cunny and then to push his cock into her.

The sensation was like his finger, but multiplied a thousandfold. Her sheath was stretched a little painfully. She gasped and squirmed, grabbing his hips to control him.

He stopped.

That he’d stopped when she needed him to meant everything. That he’d known what she needed meant even more.

He whispered in her ear, “Remember what I said. Aye, there’ll be pain, but over quickly, ye ken?” He reached beneath her to grip her buttock and let his hips drop. He shoved fully into her, his hand holding her firmly for his invasion.

She squealed, most of the cry blocked, but again he stopped, waited. Waited for her to become accustomed to the size of him inside her, dominating her senses, owning her.

Her panting breaths evened and calmed. She loosened her grip on his side and he began to slide slowly in and out of her. She could feel everything, every little bit of his cock as he took her, receded, surged inside her again.

The fullness of each thrust blended with his soft groans and the faraway sound of the waves. Despite the pain—yes, there had been pain, which had receded into soreness—this joining was bliss so complete and profound that she wept.

He stilled again. “Lassie? Alice?” He took the cloth from around her mouth.

She turned her face into his shoulder to muffle her sobs.

“Lady, lady,
mo dòchas,
what is it? Was the pain too much for ye?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Ah,” he said. “I understand.” Caressing her head, he turned her so he could kiss her mouth while he continued to move inside her, tiny little thrusts but enough to push her toward the rapture she knew she could reach…with his help.

And she did, more quickly this time, as though her body had started to learn the path toward completion and to tread it with sure feet. He came with her—she sensed his growing need from the tension in his body and the speed with which he surged inside her, little hammering prods that strengthened until he was gripping her hard and slamming into her solidly.

She clutched his shoulders and spread her knees wide, altogether open to him, and he responded by snarling out his climax before he buried his face in her hair—to quiet his cries, she supposed. He ground his hips hard against her cunny and she screamed into his neck as the colors surrounded her.

A sharp sting bit her throat, a bright counterpoint to the afterglow that already was dragging her down into sleep. Dugald was nibbling on her neck as he spurted, his seed shooting over her belly, a sign that life could continue even in this tiny, wretched grotto surrounded by rot and death. He sucked hard at her throat and she arched her body with a whimper that betokened her utter surrender.