“Aihan,” The aching longing in his tone set her heart racing and made her wet.When has he uttered my name like that before?He usually called her lass, or occasionally Hana, a sweet diminutive; he seldom used her full name at all. She stroked him with more purpose, and he trapped her mouth with his. Kisses that devoured, and gave and took, as his hips surged urgently into her grip. She spread her legs for him, and he rolled into position between them.
His hand stroked her wet flesh, and she flexed her hips upwards, as eager as he to move things forward. Notching thehead of his cock to her entrance, he pushed inside with a smooth thrust that made them both utter noises of satisfaction.
He drove into her with steady purpose, his hands pressing against hers, palm to palm beside her head, his eyes on her face. She couldn’t look away; his gaze held her captive as the long hard length of him ravaged her within. She writhed beneath him, reaching eagerly for that pleasure that teased her with possibility. He felt so good inside her; she panted, pushing herself to climax, her inner muscles flexing and squeezing him as he thrust deep and hard.Good, so good!
The pleasure built and built within her. She groaned from an excess of pleasure and frustration.So close!
“Ahh!” The cry tore from her throat as the wave peaked and held, and the hot release of him within her triggered her own climax. It crashed through her in a flood of pulsating delight, tingling to her extremities.
“Aihan!” His groan reverberated through her as their bodies melded in the boneless aftermath, and he lay prone and breathing heavily against her ear.
It was very simple sex, yet it had touched every part of her being. She squeezed him, arms, legs, inner muscles, in sudden gratitude. He made her feel so good.
He grunted and rolled off her, onto his back. Then he groped for her hand and kissed it. “Always good,” he murmured: so much an echo of her own thoughts, her skin prickled.
He reached for her, settling her into his embrace, and she got comfortable even as the thought of no longer having his arms around her taunted her. She pushed the thought away. She would leave soon; she must. But not yet.
Col lay listening to her breathing and let his body fully relax. The sex had been good, but he would have been content to just holdher tonight. Not that he regretted it. He felt buoyant and relaxed, and optimistic about tomorrow. Rory was out of danger, and he and Callum seemed to be getting on better. He just needed to improve his own relations with both of them.
Chapter Nineteen
Rory’s leg was well on the mend a few days later when Aihan suggested to Mac that the boys needed some new clothes.
“They have outgrown most of what they have, or are about to,” she said. “And what just barely still fits is worn and shabby.”
Mac looked up from the paper in front of him with a guilty start. “Aye, ye’re probably right lass, I hadnae noticed.”
“I take them to buy new clothes,” she said.
He nodded. “I’ll give ye a note for the tailor, he can send the bills to me. Ye’d best get them some new boots as well.” He reached for a piece of paper and a quill.
“What about Wee and Fergus?” she asked. “I notice Fergus mending his stockings.”
Mac waved a hand. “Get whatever ye think is fit, and something fer yerself.”
“Thank ye, but can you afford?—?”
“Aye, d’ye think I’m poor, lass?”
She pursed her lips. “You dinnae live like a wealthy man.”
He grinned. “Aye, that’s the secret to maintaining yer wealth, lass. Ye nae spend it unless ye have to. I’ve a mind to take ye into Edinburgh for a spot of real shopping one day.”
Thus, that afternoon, Aihan walked to the village with Rory and Cam to visit the tailor and the boot maker, armed with Fergus and Wee’s requirements. The tailor sold off-the-rack items as well as made-to-measure garments. While the boys were having their measurements taken, Aihan selected some items for Wee and Fergus. Stockings and shirts, principally. And a new pair of breeches for Wee, as he, like Rory and Cam, was growing faster than he could wear out his clothes. And, mindful of Mac’s instructions she chose a plain brown plaid for herself. It would be warm in the cooler nights coming on and useful when she left to go south. Her heart squeezed at the notion.
She didn’t want to leave, but knew she must soon.
She added stockings and shirts for the boys to the pile and some neckcloths too, for Mac, for she had noticed his—when he bothered to wear one, which wasn’t often—were grey and showing signs of wear.
The tailor’s wife bundled up her purchases into two parcels, and they left the shop, each boy carrying a parcel, heading to the boot maker.
“Rory!” called a voice from the other side of the street. Rory turned his head, and a group of boys stood in a cluster round a slighter bigger boy with tousled brown hair. He was the one who spoke.
“Hey, Toby,” said Rory in greeting.
“We’re heading to the beach to fish, come with us.”
“Can’t,” said Rory with a glance at Aihan. “Got to get boots.”
