Laird of Ballanclaire (16 page)

“Who are you calling a child?”

Constant straightened her back, angling forward into the sodden areas of her chemise. She knew it worked as Kameron’s eyes cleared back to golden brown and he focused exactly where she wanted him to.

“You temptress. You vixen. You wanton.”

Constant tilted her mouth into a pout. “You . . . knave. You thief. You spy.” She answered in the exact same tone of voice he’d used.

Kameron’s lips twitched. Then he was grinning. Then he was heaving himself onto his arms and lunging for her. Constant was more than prepared for him, allowing her knees to drop to make it easier for him, when sudden agony laced across his features and he fell.

She was instantly on her hands and knees beside him. “Kameron?” she whispered.

“Come here.”

He accompanied the command with his arms gathering her, rolling onto the side with his good leg in order to hold her against him. Then he was sliding down to her bosom again and nuzzling. Then he was kissing and caressing, and then he was sending his words to her breasts again.

“A man who has just partaken of your bounteous bosom needs more, Constant. An endless supply of more, God help him.”

“Really?” Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips.

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

He was more than demonstrating. He had her squirming against him, pulling at his hair, her body heaving against him while he lavished attention on her. And when he’d finished and was licking each nipple in turn, instead of sucking and pulling, Constant was such a trembling mass, it took her some moments to decipher exactly where she was, and why.

Kameron wasn’t unaffected, either, although he’d done his best to keep his still-covered male part away from her. Constant had tried to maneuver herself near it—she’d even opened her legs and tried to force him between them—but he shoved himself into the space between her knees and just settled there, where his male organ pulsed in place.

He was too big, and he was too heavy, and he was taking all her desire and turning it into such a conglomeration of heat that her breasts felt as though they’d doubled in size—and that would be enormous. Constant put her hands on his shoulders to stop his incessant caressing.

“You must . . . stop,” she whispered.

“Lord, doona’ I know
that
. We’ve bent the bounds of decency too far already, and everything on me is angered and yelling at me over it. I ken we have to stop. I just doona’ want to. The word is na’ in my vocabulary at present, I’m afraid.”

“But I have . . . to cut your bonds . . . while I still can.” The words were panted. Wheezed.

“Verra well. We’ll stop. But doona’ look at me like that again.”

“Like . . . what?”

He slid his gaze sideways to her and Constant felt certain he’d see the flip her heart made as their eyes connected. Then he slid away, settling with an awkward-looking shimmy into the hay.

“You’ve a wild and sensuous look about you, Constant. Feral. Passionate. My body recognized it instantly, although my mind did na’ put it together for me until tonight. ’Tis verra rare. Afore long, you’re going to have males falling about your ankles just for a chance to taste what I’ve tasted and dream of what I dream. Mark my words.”

“I will?” she asked.

“Aye. I’m afeard of it, too. Listen to me . . . afeard? I’m turning into a bairn. You’d best start your cutting. It might save me what’s left of my self-respect. What are you looking at? Get your skean and start carving. I’m sufficiently fortified to withstand it.”

He turned his head away, and his back was clenching and unclenching spasmodically, making the cheesecloth flex and warp where it was stuck to purplish-red lines.

Constant crawled toward him, using one arm to support her breasts. She looked down at them. She hadn’t enlarged. It only felt that way. Actually, she’d never felt so attuned to her own body. She knew if she listened, she’d be able to hear her own blood pumping through each breast.

“Well? What’s keeping you??” Kam asked, with a slight edge to his voice.

“I feel different,” she replied. “Bigger. Lots bigger. I wanted to make sure it was my imagination.”

“If you get much larger, Constant, I’ll need an assist to hold you. I’ve large hands, but—”

His words halted the moment Constant straddled his lower back, facing his feet. Underneath her, she felt him react with such an upward lunge she had to clench both knees to keep from falling, while an unearthly groan came out of his chest.

“Good Lord, Constant! I’m only human. Doona’ do it this way, please? It hurts.”

“But I haven’t even touched you yet,” she replied.

“It’s na’ my legs!”

“It hurts in places other than your legs?”

His answer seemed to be a couple of puffed breaths followed by a string of curses. She slid to his side, and that’s when she saw his distended rod, still encased in her old pantaloons. She covered her mouth with a hand to keep any sound inside. Kameron was glaring at her as he used one arm to flatten himself prior to lying down again. Constant leaned forward to watch, and then sat up once he was settled.

“Is this interesting you?” he asked.

“Does it feel like my breasts do? All aware . . . and full and sore?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nae. Will you just cut the rope?”

She moved down, hovering above his knees and slid the knife under the rope. The flesh where she’d taken the rope off him earlier wasn’t quite as black. It was more purplish, like a bruise. She started sawing. He tensed only once before she was through the rope and had it eased from beneath his knee, although he had to lift his leg for her, and that couldn’t be easy for him.

There was only one more rope holding his legs together. She put the blade under it.

“Constant?” The word stopped her. It sounded choked.

“Yes?”

“Come up here. Now. Please?”

She scooted up toward his head.

“I need a reminder.”

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

He reached a hand out and slid a strap off her shoulder. Then he removed the other. Constant watched him watching her, as the material held for a moment to the peaks of her breasts, before falling to her stomach. He half lidded his eyes, shook for a moment, and then opened his eyes fully. Gooseflesh started and continued all over her as he looked, and kept looking. He didn’t touch. He just looked, licked his lips occasionally, and then looked some more. And then he spoke.

“Now, what were you asking me?”

“If I . . . hurt you.”

“Oh. Nae. Not now. There’s naught bothering me at all, sweet.”

“Then why did you ask me to come up here?”

He half lidded his eyes again, while a tremor shook him. Then he opened his eyes again and moved his glance to hers. “Do you really need to ask?”

She shook her head and moved to lift her straps back up. He stopped her with a hand atop hers. At the touch, Constant stilled.

“Leave them be. For now. It’ll give me something to think on. Finish unbinding me. We’re at the last one?”

She nodded.

“Go then. I’m ready.”

She slid back into place, although her garment didn’t make the move with her. By the time she reached Kameron’s hip, the chemise was dangling from her knees. She wondered if he’d planned that. The straw was scratching her everywhere, the blades prickling and tickling and awakening sensations where they touched. The air might have a hint of frost to it, but it wasn’t cold. It couldn’t break through the haze that enveloped her with a glow every bit as warm and golden as his gaze.

Her breasts felt odd, as nothing but air met every movement. They felt heavier, too, without the meager support of the chemise straps. She slid the knife under the last rope. It was thick with dried honey, and encrusted with filth. There wasn’t a hint of a blister near it, however. Constant closed her eyes in thankfulness for that, reopened them, and started sawing. She felt Kameron tense with each movement of her knife.

Then the rope sprang loose and his legs separated, and he was shaking with what could only be agony. Constant put her hands on his legs and tried to hold them together.

“Constant?” It sounded as if he was strangling on her name.

“Yes?”

“Come here. I need you. Now.”

The chemise was worse than a binding as it looped about her ankles and made moving difficult. She kicked it loose before she reached him.

He swore when he saw her. “Where did your clothing go?”

“I—” she began.

“Never bloody mind! Come here. Now.”

Constant didn’t know what he expected. She was already as close as she could get. Then she knew, as he gripped her, pulling her so he could settle his head between her breasts, while everything about him just kept coiling and tightening. Shudders enveloped him. His upper lip lifted. His eyes were scrunched shut. A solitary tear slid from beneath his eyelashes. There was a low hum accompanying all of it. She didn’t even realize it came from her.

And then, something changed. He lifted his head, speared her with that golden gaze, and licked his lips.

“You had better move . . . from me now, Constant.”

“Now?”

“Pain has a way about it, love. It afflicts with a tormentor’s embrace. Then it ebbs to a burn. Then it becomes a throbbing, and after that . . . it finally becomes bearable.”

She nodded.

“It’s becoming bearable.”

“So?” she asked.

“Then other parts of me that are suffering for totally different reasons take over. I’m a man, Constant. I’ve been teased and inflamed to my wit’s end tonight. I canna’ think of one thing to keep me from finishing this and taking your maidenhood. Trust me. You have na’ got much time.”

“But I want you to,” she whispered.

His answer was intelligible and came through thinned lips. He’d closed his eyes to say it, too. Constant felt the tremor begin within him, and then he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her downward in order to slam his lips to hers. Her breath intermingled with his, their flesh connecting with fervor and heat. Passion and wanton desire took over, combining to a fury of emotion. It stole her thoughts, her emotions. Her morals. There was only Kameron and the erotic and exciting sensations he evoked with his mouth. She squirmed against him, undulated her nakedness to every portion she could touch, and his response was a guttural grunt as he rolled onto his back, pulling her astride him.

“Damn you, Constant. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.”

He murmured the curses against her lips, and Constant caught them with kisses. Her body was aflame with need and desire and craving. Massive craving. Immense yearning. Unbelievable want. Her hands slid down his belly, reaching for the pantaloon-covered part of him, grabbing and then caressing his hardness as it tried to drill into her hand. Kameron tore one of her hands away, but she was right back, shoving the old pantaloons off and out of the way. She needed both hands to lift him. Hold his rod in position . . .

“Dearest God, Constant—stop!”

In reply, she locked her thighs to him, positioned herself over him, and shoved downward, gasping in shock at the ripping burn she experienced as she encased him, and then the sensation of fiery flickers as he grabbed her hips and held her affixed atop him.

“Oh, sweet . . . doona’ move! Doona’ flinch! Doona’ . . . oh
no
!”

The last word was such a garbled and unintelligible sound and said in such a deep tone, she lifted her head. Kameron’s face was a mask of torment and bliss. Those full lips of his were curved into the most beatific smile she’d ever seen as his hips lifted, and then he went to an arc, his throat sending an unearthly sound into the loft, holding it until his breath ran out. He sucked in another breath and groaned through that one, too. Constant experienced the strange pulsing sensation where they were joined, while her palms seemed to thud with the heavy hammering of his heart beneath them.

And then he collapsed back down onto the hay, a sheen of moisture coating his body. Constant had never seen anything like it. She watched him with wide eyes as he took heavy breath after heavy breath, until they finally slowed.

“Oh God. Oh, love. I’m so sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered.

“For . . . give you?”

“Aye. Forgive me for taking you, and na’ even having the fortitude to do it properly. Oh . . .
God
. There are nae words.”

He opened his eyes then, and she watched as they went from almost entirely black, back to the golden-brown color she adored.

“I knew this was how I was going to feel. Damn me, anyway.”

“It wasn’t pleasant, then?”

Constant watched as Kameron’s eyes took on a blank look.

“The fault is entirely mine, Constant. I bear complete blame. You are na’ at fault. You ken?”

The voice he was using sounded as false as the look in his eyes. Constant narrowed hers. “I refuse to let you—”

“Listen to me, Constant! I will na’ have you think any less of yourself because I could na’ control my base nature. You ken? This is my burden to bear and my guilt to live with. And it is na’ going to be pretty, either.”

“But . . . I love you.”

The moment it was out, she wanted it back. She didn’t need his severe frown to convince her of it. Or his words.

“I accept full responsibility for that, as well. Doona’ fash yourself. I accept it. I knew what I was doing. But I canna’ change facts. I am a Scottish soldier, Constant Ridgely. You are a seditionist’s daughter. I doona’ offer a future. I canna’. I need warn you there could be consequences to what we’ve just done. One time is usually safe, but na’ always. A bit of quickness is needed. A prompt washing. You need to move and then you need to handle it. The sooner, the better.”

“You care for me. You do. Admit it, Kameron. That’s all I want. Be honest with me here and now. Admit it.”