yer sisters.” His mouth took hers again, but this time the kiss was fierce and demanding.
Fiona responded, sliding her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her fear melting away in a rush of desire. He lifted her, palms beneath her bottom, sheathing himself within her, and instinctively her legs wrapped about him. She was astounded by what he had done, by what they were doing. He pressed her back, and she felt the sill against her spine as he groaned into her mouth, his lower torso pushing and thrusting against her. She matched his rhythm, amazing herself, but finally she pulled her head from his, gasping. “Ye'll cripple me, Angus Gordon, if ye dinna stop pushing me into the stone of the window!”
He replied by ceasing the action of his loins. His arms tightly about her, he walked across the chamber, then placed her on the edge of the bed. Standing over her, he continued the savage meter once again, driving himself hard and deep within her ripe body.
Fiona raked her nails down his back, her passion burning so brightly, she was surprised it did not fight up the whole room. She felt as if he were devouring her whole, yet at no time was she afraid, even when he grasped her wrists and, pinioning her to the mattress, growled, “Don't claw me, lassie,” just as he ground into her as far as he could. Ecstasy washed over her, catching her up in a rapture so intense that she felt as if she were being transported to the heavens and back. Then the great throbbing within her burst. With a cry he fell across her breasts, half sobbing. Fiona stroked his dark hair, well satisfied with his efforts. There had been no pain this time. Indeed, there had been nothing but utterpleasure. Did all women feel this way after such a bout of passion? Did wives? Or was it only a man's mistress who enjoyed this special delight?
Angus Gordon breathed slowly and deeply, working to recover his equilibrium. He was somewhat surprised at himself. He hadn't realized his lust was so great that he would take her in such a primitive fashion, but Fiona had not seemed to mind, except for reminding him that he was bruising her back against the windowsill. Her legs fell away from him, and she sighed deeply. Raising himself up on his elbows, he stared into her face. “I'm pleased to see yer every bit as brazen as ever, lassie,” he said by way of a compliment.
“Get off me, ye great oaf,” she replied, and when he had raised himself just a bit more, she rolled away from him, getting off the bed and hurrying across the chamber to gather up the basin, which she filled with water. She then cleansed herself and looking to him, she said, “Come and let me wash yer Gordie, my lord. Ye'll not want to sleep with him dirty.”
He complied, coming across
to
her, asking, “Where did ye ever learn such a thing, lassie?”
“My old Flora said I was to do it. She says a manhood can become diseased if it is not kept clean.” Pushing back his foreskin, she washed him most competently, dried him, and then, drawing the flesh down back over the knob, she smiled up at him even as she gave it a pat. “There now, ’Tis done, and ye'll be all the better for it.”
He laughed, charmed by her ingenuousness, but then he teased her, “Yer tender ministrations will but encourage my Gordie, lassie.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye don't mean we could do it again tonight, do ye, my lord?” To his amusement her look was very hopeful.
“When I was yer age, Fiona Hay, I could do
it
a dozen times a night. Now, alas, I can but manage three or four. Get into bed,” he ordered her, his look suddenly menacing.
She caught her lower lip with her teeth, and to his surprise she giggled. “How many times do ye think ye can do it tonight?” she demanded wickedly. “I like it when ye take me, Angus Gordon.”
“So I've noticed,” he said. “Get into bed, lassie.”
Her tongue slid seductively over her lips. “Three times or
four,
my lord?”
He grinned
Fiona responded, sliding her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her fear melting away in a rush of desire. He lifted her, palms beneath her bottom, sheathing himself within her, and instinctively her legs wrapped about him. She was astounded by what he had done, by what they were doing. He pressed her back, and she felt the sill against her spine as he groaned into her mouth, his lower torso pushing and thrusting against her. She matched his rhythm, amazing herself, but finally she pulled her head from his, gasping. “Ye'll cripple me, Angus Gordon, if ye dinna stop pushing me into the stone of the window!”
He replied by ceasing the action of his loins. His arms tightly about her, he walked across the chamber, then placed her on the edge of the bed. Standing over her, he continued the savage meter once again, driving himself hard and deep within her ripe body.
Fiona raked her nails down his back, her passion burning so brightly, she was surprised it did not fight up the whole room. She felt as if he were devouring her whole, yet at no time was she afraid, even when he grasped her wrists and, pinioning her to the mattress, growled, “Don't claw me, lassie,” just as he ground into her as far as he could. Ecstasy washed over her, catching her up in a rapture so intense that she felt as if she were being transported to the heavens and back. Then the great throbbing within her burst. With a cry he fell across her breasts, half sobbing. Fiona stroked his dark hair, well satisfied with his efforts. There had been no pain this time. Indeed, there had been nothing but utterpleasure. Did all women feel this way after such a bout of passion? Did wives? Or was it only a man's mistress who enjoyed this special delight?
Angus Gordon breathed slowly and deeply, working to recover his equilibrium. He was somewhat surprised at himself. He hadn't realized his lust was so great that he would take her in such a primitive fashion, but Fiona had not seemed to mind, except for reminding him that he was bruising her back against the windowsill. Her legs fell away from him, and she sighed deeply. Raising himself up on his elbows, he stared into her face. “I'm pleased to see yer every bit as brazen as ever, lassie,” he said by way of a compliment.
“Get off me, ye great oaf,” she replied, and when he had raised himself just a bit more, she rolled away from him, getting off the bed and hurrying across the chamber to gather up the basin, which she filled with water. She then cleansed herself and looking to him, she said, “Come and let me wash yer Gordie, my lord. Ye'll not want to sleep with him dirty.”
He complied, coming across
to
her, asking, “Where did ye ever learn such a thing, lassie?”
“My old Flora said I was to do it. She says a manhood can become diseased if it is not kept clean.” Pushing back his foreskin, she washed him most competently, dried him, and then, drawing the flesh down back over the knob, she smiled up at him even as she gave it a pat. “There now, ’Tis done, and ye'll be all the better for it.”
He laughed, charmed by her ingenuousness, but then he teased her, “Yer tender ministrations will but encourage my Gordie, lassie.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye don't mean we could do it again tonight, do ye, my lord?” To his amusement her look was very hopeful.
“When I was yer age, Fiona Hay, I could do
it
a dozen times a night. Now, alas, I can but manage three or four. Get into bed,” he ordered her, his look suddenly menacing.
She caught her lower lip with her teeth, and to his surprise she giggled. “How many times do ye think ye can do it tonight?” she demanded wickedly. “I like it when ye take me, Angus Gordon.”
“So I've noticed,” he said. “Get into bed, lassie.”
Her tongue slid seductively over her lips. “Three times or
four,
my lord?”
He grinned
Similar Books
