Highland Heat Page 9

  He chuckled. “Now that you’re not there to coddle me, Lady Campbell is taking up the task.”

  “Good,” she proclaimed. “You’ll be in good hands with Claire. I trust her skills. You must do everything she says.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his eyes dancing with humor.

  He led her back to the sofa where she’d been sitting with Claire. He sat and arranged her on his lap, their arms wrapped around each other, though she was careful not to upset his healing arm, which was still held tightly against his body in its sling. She laid her cheek against his chest.

  “Will you tell me?”

  “Tell you?” he asked.

  “Yes. I want to hear everything that has happened since we parted.”

  And to her great pleasure, he obliged her. He told her of how amazed he was that he’d been sleeping not in the stables or the servants’ quarters but in a true bedroom of the elegant Westminster townhouse. He told her of Claire’s easiness with the men, how they’d already grown to admire her pluck, how she put a feminine perspective on things, and how she had a propensity to fuss maternally over them, even though she was younger than them all.

  He told her how the men had been taken not to the War Office, but to the Home Office, where they’d spoken to a shadowy man who gave them the details of what their new positions would be, should they choose to accept the offer.

  He told her about their debate last evening, about Captain Stirling’s hesitance to rush into it and about the major’s desire to proceed, even though they wouldn’t be given the intricate details of their orders until they accepted.

  He told her of the ill effects the men were suffering. The jarring nature of being back on English soil after so many months of bloody violence. Captain Stirling seemed particularly affected—he’d not been himself since the battle of Waterloo. He was distant and quiet, and Duncan worried about him.

  “But we’re no longer captain and sergeant,” he told Grace. “We’ll just be Stirling and Mackenzie. That’ll take some getting used to.”

  “I can only imagine,” Grace said. “After so long calling him Captain and deferring to him—it must be strange for all of you.”

  Duncan shook his head. “Aye, ’tis strange. But also freeing, in a way.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “Though I wager it’ll be nigh impossible for anyone to call Major Campbell by name. I expect he’ll always be the major to us, even as he insists we call him Campbell.”

  “My brother-in-law is an imposing man. I doubt I could call him anything but Major, either.”

  “Do ye never call him Sir Robert?”

  She shook her head. “No. Those in our social circle call him Sir Robert, but Claire and I knew him before he was a Sir, and the honorific sounds so strange on my tongue.”

  Duncan squeezed her tighter against him, and her breath quickened. “Now tell me what you’ve been doing since we parted.”

  So she did, in almost as much detail as he’d given her. But though she’d been busy, her activities hadn’t been nearly as new or exciting as Duncan’s, so her rendition of the past two days’ events went much faster than his had.

  After she told him everything, she shook her head in bemusement. “How can you seem so interested? The vast majority of men would think my life utterly dull.”

  “ ’Tis your life, Grace,” he told her. “And everythin’ about you fascinates me.”

  “Really?” she asked, that little rush of disbelief streaking through her.

  “Really.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his neck and drew his lips down to hers.

  Desperate, hot kisses. Duncan could kiss this woman for the rest of his life. He could die kissing her.

  But his body demanded more, his need growing with every press of her skin against his.

  He pushed those thoughts aside, determined to focus on the here and now, on her eager sensuality, erotic in and of itself. She was inexperienced but open. She moaned softly when his good hand closed around her ankle, then wiggled as he trailed his palm up her silk stocking, bunching up her skirt as he went.

  She arched, pressing her body more firmly against him, kissing him frantically, her lips moving to press kisses over his jaw as he gently explored her thigh with his fingertips, knowing how rough the calluses must feel against her delicate skin.

  “Oh…Duncan.” She pulled back, raising wide blue eyes to him.

  He froze. “Do ye want me to stop?”

  She swallowed hard, then shook her head. “No. I feel…I feel…”

  “What do you feel, lass?” he asked softly, trying not to move, not to rub his steel-hard cock against the press of her backside.

  “I feel like I want you to cover every inch of me. Like my whole body is reaching for you. I want you to touch me, soothe me, everywhere. I’ve never…” She breathed out, as if in awe, then blinked at him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “It’s arousal,” Duncan murmured, nuzzling his lips into her hair. “Have ye never felt it before?”

  “Not like this.”

  He chuckled. “Me either,” he said truthfully. It was good he’d been trained as a soldier, to deny his desires over and over again—if he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure he could resist taking her to the floor, sinking deep into her, and having her sweetness wrapped tight around his aching cock.

  “Touch me,” she begged.

  “Only if you kiss me.”

  She stared at him through half-lidded eyes then tilted her head up and offered her lips. He bent his head down and took them greedily. God, he loved the taste of her.

  He moved his palm higher up her thigh until his fingertips touched the edge of her drawers, then higher, up the outside of her thigh, then, ever so slowly, sliding toward her center.

  Her arms squeezed him tight. She knew where he was headed. They both did, and he imagined their hearts beating the same frantic rhythm. Anticipation, heat, and need.

  He cupped the mound between her legs, and she went stiff.

  “Shh,” he murmured. “Let me soothe you.”

  He found the slit in her drawers and slid his fingers between the lips of her sex. She was burning hot, and slick with arousal. He stroked her, gentle but firm, and she jerked back when his fingers moved over the bud just above her opening.

  “Oh God,” she choked out.

  He chuckled. “Ye like that?”

  “I…”

  He stroked her again, and she whimpered. She did like it. He moved his fingers over it again and again, studying her, learning what made her gasp and moan, what seemed to bring the most pleasure, what made her body wind up and go tense with oncoming orgasm.

  He pressed a single finger into her body. She cried out and arched against him. God almighty, he’d never been this intimate with a virgin before. She was so tight, and he couldn’t help but fantasize what she’d feel like wrapped around him like a vise. It would be so good. He grew impossibly harder, his cock pulsing under her bottom.

  He hadn’t stopped kissing her. She was still on his lap, his arm wrapped tightly around her and between her legs, her skirt hitched up. He drew out then thrust that finger back inside her, simulating the motions of true intercourse. But when he pressed his thumb over her nub and started rubbing small circles over it while moving his finger inside her, he felt her coiling in the circle of his arm.

  “Come for me,” he murmured against the skin of her cheek. “That’s right, lass. Come for me.”

  A few moments later, she did, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open in a silent scream as she shuddered on his lap before her whole body undulated with the force of her orgasm. She grew impossibly tight, squeezing his finger in heavy pulses that resonated through her entire body.

  Finally, she relaxed, warm fluid rushing over his finger, and he gently pulled his hand from her body and straightened her skirt, looking down at her.

  Gratitude surged through him. She’d completely let herself go. Opened h
erself up to his touch and let him manipulate her body into orgasm. It was an enormous privilege, one he could hardly contemplate.

  She’d held nothing back, and now she was pink and flushed, and her blue eyes stared at him with a sort of drowsy adoration.

  “What,” she asked, “was that?”

  He raised his brows. “Surely ye’ve done that to yourself before?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. Though I certainly would have if I’d known what it was like.”

  He laughed. “I’ll take that to mean ye approved of it, then.”

  “I did,” she whispered. She’d been sagging limply in his lap, and now she collected herself, shifting into a more comfortable position, with her arms draped over his shoulders.

  “I never knew anything like that was possible,” she said, looking into his eyes, her own gaze full of curiosity.

  “No one ever told you?”

  “Claire has told me a lot. Like how wonderful certain things could be, even though we as women are told to endure the unpleasantness of it. Claire told me it is only unpleasant the first time. But that wasn’t unpleasant…” Her voice trailed off.

  “It was only a finger, lass,” he said gravely. “If it were…a certain other part o’ me, it’d hurt, I assure you.”

  She nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “She said afterward, it could be wonderful. But I didn’t take it to mean that.”

  “What did you take it to mean?”

  She smiled ruefully. “I thought it would be the pleasure in seeing your husband so physically gratified. I didn’t know there would be such gratification on the woman’s part as well.”

  “There isn’t always,” he said. “Not all women are as responsive as you. And not all men enjoy bringing pleasure to their woman.”

  “But you do?”

  He smiled. “I dinna think I’ve ever experienced anything so bonny as seein’ you fall apart in my arms.”

  She smiled shyly. “You liked it too?”

  “I loved it.”

  She wiggled on his lap, her bottom causing the fabric of his kilt to rub over the painful length of his erection. “But what about you?”

  Chapter 10

  “What about me?”

  “I…” Grace’s tongue darted out to swipe over her bottom lip. “I want to make you feel good too,” she whispered.

  “Do ye ken how to go about doing that?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve really no idea,” she said honestly. “But Claire has given hints that it is possible. She said that the major—”

  He raised his hand to stop her. God knew, he had no interest in hearing anything about the major and Lady Campbell’s carnal relationship. And he’d bet his dirk that if the major found out he knew anything about the way Lady Campbell touched him, he’d skin Duncan alive.

  “Do ye feel me?” he asked in a husky voice, flexing his arse so his cock pressed up against her bottom.

  She gazed at him, her big blue eyes full of innocence and wonder…and heat. That flash of erotic desire that made him even harder.

  Gently, he moved her off his lap so she sat beside him on the sofa. He took her hand and pressed her palm over his cockstand, nearly groaning aloud when her fingers instinctively curled around him.

  She gazed inquisitively at him. “Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”

  “Verra good. So good…” He closed his eyes as she began to stroke him over the wool of his kilt, exploring him, her fingers inquisitive. When she pressed harder, he did groan, the sound emerging low and ragged from his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. And this woman was like no other he’d ever touched.

  She took the cue and squeezed him again, this time tighter, and he saw stars. “It doesn’t hurt?” she asked.

  “Nay.”

  “Would it hurt if I squeezed as tight as I could?”

  His lips twisted. “I doubt it. Though there are things that can hurt.”

  “Like a blow to the ballocks?” she asked, her voice so full of innocence and curiosity as she asked that he almost choked with laughter. Another blast of stars across his vision as she squeezed him again, this time tighter.

  “Aye,” he said, chuckling while at the same time thrusting up into her hand, “a blow to the ballocks is about as painful a thing as I’ve ever experienced.” He reached up and wrapped his hand around her neck, drawing her close. “Where’d you hear about that?”

  She laughed softly. “As much as a girl is sheltered, it is impossible to keep her from knowing everything. I saw one of the groomsmen getting kicked by a foal in that area when I was a girl.”

  “Och.” Duncan’s brows drew together in sympathy.

  “He recovered,” she said. “But honestly, for several moments I thought he actually might die.”

  “He probably felt like it.” Duncan pulled her an inch closer, and their mouths touched. “Kiss me now,” he said against the soft pucker of her lips.

  She kissed him, running her hand up and down his cock, squeezing him from top to bottom. The pleasure her lips and hand wrought on him was so intense, Duncan’s eyes slammed shut.

  And then her hand left him to trail down the length of his kilt, bunching it in her hand and pulling it up as she moved downward. Then, still kissing him but now making little gasping noises into his mouth, she reached beneath the wool and stroked his bare cock.

  His fingers tightened on her neck, pressing her closer to him. Her palm felt like silk on his hot, swollen skin.

  Using the pads of her fingers, she stroked up and down, exploring him from base to tip, paying special attention to the sensitive head—so much so he fought not to squirm. God, she was a tease. It was still a struggle to keep still, to keep hold of his control, to not take what his body so desperately wanted from her.

  “Does this feel good?” she asked, pulling away far enough so she could see his expression. Both of them were breathing hard.

  “Aye,” he said gruffly. “It keeps getting better.”

  “What about this?” She curled her fist around his girth and gave his cock a firm pump.

  He emitted an undecipherable sound, and she laughed, evidently pleased with this power she had over him.

  And then she did it again, and again.

  Duncan laid his head back on the sofa and gave in to the urge to thrust into her hand, to tell her what he was feeling, what he needed. “Aye, lass, that’s it,” and “God, that feels good,” and “Right there, squeeze me hard,” and “Stroke the head with your thumb.”

  She was responsive, doing everything he asked with enthusiasm, her own arousal evident by her flushed cheeks, quick breaths, and lust-filled eyes. When her fingers danced over his cockhead, he couldn’t speak anymore, the sensation was so strong.

  His ballocks tightened against his body, and heat began to coil at the base of his spine. Holy hell, he was going to come. He blinked hard, attempting to reel himself in. “Grace, I—”

  “You’re growing bigger,” she breathed.

  “Aye, because…” Her fingers tightened on him, and he gulped in air. Did he want this? Here and now? His mind was too boggled to answer that question. But it didn’t matter. His body was too far gone.

  He lost his tenuous grip on his control. His buttocks tightened and he thrust hard into her hand, imagining her sweet tightness wrapped around him, squeezing him from top to bottom, the look of ecstasy on her face as he slid his hot, hard flesh against her softness.

  With a low groan, he came. Pleasure coursed through his body, jerking his limbs and releasing in great pulses of seed from his cock. It seemed to go on forever—his body shaking as it released his pent-up desire.

  Duncan had never been a man made for celibacy, but the last half a year on the march had masked his carnal desires. Yet his needs weren’t gone at all—they had just been lurking behind his duty. Waiting for someone like Lady Grace to come along and tear down his shields and make him feel like a man again.

  He turned his hea
vy head to look at Grace through slitted eyes. She was staring at him, her eyes big and blue with shock, her mouth rounded in a little O. Her hand, though, was still wrapped tight around him. Slowly, she moved it over him, her palm lubricated by his seed.

  And just like that, Duncan knew she could do it all over again. He shuddered under her hand.

  “Is this your seed?” she asked breathlessly, moving her fingers through the fluid that had erupted from his cock. “That could give me a child if we…”

  “Aye,” he whispered, and then shuddered again. He was so damn sensitive now, and before his erection had gone completely down, it started to rise again.

  Tempting as it was to allow her to bring him to fulfillment once again, he slid his gaze to the clock over the mantel and then pressed his hand over hers, stilling her movement. “I just came. It’s more sensitive afterward.”

  “You came.” She seemed to play with the word on her tongue, saying it aloud as if it was the first time she’d ever used the word in this context—and it probably was. “Did it feel good?”

  He snorted. “Good would be an understatement, lass. It felt like heaven had come down and wrapped itself around my body.”

  “Really?” she breathed.

  He nodded solemnly.

  She considered that for a moment, then smiled. “I liked it too. It brings me pleasure to bring you pleasure. Can I do it again?”

  Good God. Had he actually died and gone to heaven? He wished fervently that they were alone. That they were married and she was all his. He’d suspected all along she would be an eager student. And she was innately sensual and beautiful. If they spent the rest of their days in bed, he’d never tire of her body.

  He shook his head. “Nay, not today.” He winced then, because saying “not today” implied there might be a tomorrow. And while he hoped to hell there was a tomorrow, there was a large probability there wouldn’t be.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered, looking confused again.

  “Aye. In any case, your sister will be back soon.”

  She glanced at the clock and sighed, withdrawing her hand. She looked at the sheen of fluid on her fingers, then rubbed them together, studying them. He took her hand and wiped it clean with the edge of his kilt. Then he wiped himself off and spread his kilt back down over his thighs.