“Good, lass?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
She stroked his face, her fingers catching on his stubble. He’d not thought to go to his room and wash and shave before coming to her. He should have. He’d work hard today, and he was sweaty and must stink, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She pushed at his chest, and he backed away and in the next moment found himself flat on his back. She ran her hands and mouth over his chest, licking his skin.
“Mm,” she murmured. “Salty.”
He laughed and then choked on a groan as one hand reached for his cock, and grasping, stroked him firmly.
“Ye dinnae mess about, do ye lass?” he said breathlessly. Her small hand on his cock was a blessed torture, and in another moment he groaned. “Fook, Hana, I want ye.”
She raised an eyebrow and moved to straddle him. “Ye have only to say,” she said, guiding him into place. He watched, fascinated, as she sat down on him and the tight wet heat of herengulfed him in bliss. He closed his eyes, arching his neck back into the pillow. “Fook, that’s exquisite,” he muttered.
“Aye, good,” she agreed, panting a bit as she rode him. He reached to touch her, and she bent forward to kiss him, an open-mouthed kiss that became sloppy and urgent as she moved faster on him. She broke the kiss on a groan, and he felt the flutter of her release in her muscles.
It set his own body alight, and he flipped her onto her back, driving into her hard and fast, unable to stop. He crested the wave with a deep groan as heat gathered at the base of his spine and pleasure poleaxed his senses, rushing up his cock, his muscles convulsing with release. “Oh, fook!” he moaned, riding the waves of shuddering delight. They gradually wound down, and his body collapsed on her in boneless bliss.
He shifted his head and kissed her damp neck. She tasted salty too. “So good, lass. So good,” he murmured. Her hands stroked his sweaty back and her lips grazed his temple.
“Aye,” she whispered.
Eventually he moved sideways and contrived to get them both under the covers, now they had cooled down and their skin was beginning to prickle into gooseflesh. Pulling her into his arms, they wriggled around until they were comfortable, and he said softly, “alright Hana?”
“Aye,” she repeated, nestling her head into his chest.
He closed his eyes, and it occurred to him that his musings earlier in the day—that it was unwise to continue this liaison if she was to leave—were absolutely correct. But it was too late. He was in deeper than he ought to be and heading for another dose of heartache. But the pleasure and peace in the here and now was too tempting to resist. His future self would pay the price for this, but right now—his arms tightened round her. He needed this. More than he had realised until this moment. He kissed thetop of her head and let out a breath, his body fully relaxing into the rustling mattress.
He woke in the night when she got up to use the chamber pot. And when she came back to bed, he kissed her, stroked her, until they were joined and moving in silent accord towards a mutually satisfying climax.
He wasn’t about to make comparisons with Cat. He’d loved her with a young man’s fierce passion; this was different. Perhaps because he was older and had been alone so long? Everything with Aihan seemed simple and straightforward. Not that she was simple. He sensed depths to her, as yet unplumbed by him. The language barrier represented a hurdle of sorts. That was gradually being overcome. But the differences in their cultures, in what was accepted as the norm and what was not, were a mystery to him.
Her self-possession and maturity made it easy to be with her, and that was an enormous relief. She did not demand a great deal from him, yet she was physically responsive and passionate. And provided he could trust her not to run off, he thought he could relax his guard a little. He sighed, nuzzling into the bedclothes and the warmth of her embrace. It was too much to think about right now. He’d take what he could while he could get it, mindful it couldn’t last. That at some point she would leave.But not yet . . . .
Chapter Thirteen
After breakfast, Col was showing Aihan where Carlisle was on a map in his study when Fergus stuck his head round the door and addressed him in Gaelic.
“Alex McTavish has brought the grocery order, and he wants to speak to ye.” He grimaced slightly and cast his eyes in Aihan’s direction as he said it. These facial contortions made Col frown.
Rising, he said, “Aye, I’ll come. Where is he?”
“Courtyard,” said Fergus, withdrawing.
“I’ve got to see to this order, lass,” he said, moving to the door.
“Delivery?” she said, following him.
“Aye.” He made his way to the kitchens and out to the courtyard, trailed by Aihan.
Alex McTavish was a tall, lean man, as dark in colouring as his sister had been. He was in the act of depositing the last of the sacks of goods on the ground for Willy to heft when Col emerged from the back door.
“Alex.” He held out his hand to his brother-in-law, who took it and wrung it firmly. “Col.”
“Are ye done, want to come in for a dram?” he said with a friendly smile.
Alex gave him a frowning stare, his eyes wandering past Col to Aihan standing in the doorway. When he spoke, it was in Gaelic. “So it’s true, she’s yer housekeeper?”
