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“Aileen.” He called as her hand reached the door-knob. Her head came to him and their glares snatched. “Are you not jealous?” A quizzical glint about him.
“Jealous?” Should she own to it? “I have this deadly desire to thrash the both of you for putting me in this position.” And returned to the door-knob.
“Come here, wee hurricane.” He insisted, in a growl.
That liquid flush multiplied. She froze in the act of opening the door. The command and the voice were too big an army to fight against as her feet treaded to him on their own accord.
One strong arm grabbed her by the waist while the other hand rounded her nape to bring her mouth up to his sensuous one. Shameless, his tongue invaded her and in seconds they kissed in a starved entangling of tongues and arms. Her fingers unerring in his sable hair, pressed him to her. Clean sweat, earthen man, stubble jaw assailed her senses
And she blew up in flames, her whole body hungering for this man. Not possible to let herself go on craving him her entire life. It felt exactly like it. Endless, abyssal.
His arm around her waist lifted her to him, and levelled, they kissed deeper. Her mouth opened wider for him as they devoured each other.
“Aileen.” He rumbled on her mouth. “I want you.” His teeth nibbled her lower lip. “Here.” More feverish nibbles. “Now.” He dived in her lips again.
Her hand reached down under his tented tartan and closed around his tumescent member, caressing its long shape. It reacted lengthening. To touch the whole of his body could only be called paradise, she adored it. Touching him, even more.
In these past nights, he had taught her how to pleasure him and she learned it fast for it scalded her in return. He groaned with her wicked hand.
A servant passed coughing in the hallway causing her to remember where they were and that anyone could walk in on them at any minute.
Her arms disentangled from him and her feet came down to the floor. “I am afraid you will have to wait until tonight, husband.” To tease him fast became one of her favourite pass-times. When he came to her in the night he was fire, thirst and explosion.
More than usual, that is.
He eyed down at her burning with arousal and she cast him a naughty glance under her lashes.
“Vixen.” He threw as she exited.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Days passed by when, an evening, Aileen came from the dressing room in the lady’s chambers to find Taran standing by the window, a longing look on him. He wore only his tartan, which he would take off before tucking with her in bed. She had only her robe on because he used to complain that nightgowns were too tangling to take off her.
She had caught him in this far away mood of late and wished she could do something about it.
“You miss Sam.” She said, coming closer.
His green stare turned to her, the simple gesture unsettling. It was always like two candent flashes aimed directly at her insides.
Raking his coal hair, he expelled air through his nostrils and nodded reluctant.
She did not deem herself guilty for causing the boy to leave. He came to an age he needed to spread his wings. His father in this state, though, bled her heart.
He sat on their bed. “He never spent more than a few days away from the manor.” Knees apart, his elbows rested on them. “I am not used to his absence.”
Aileen neared to him. “Come here.” Her arms cradled his broad shoulders and his head lay on her bosom. His strong biceps circled her waist as her fingers roamed his sable strands. They remined thus for countless minutes in comforting si
lence.
In common accord, they spread on the bed while she continued to snuggle him on her bosom, trying to give him a relief of his pensiveness.
“He has been writing often, has he not?” She started.
“He has.” His deep voice came muffled. “The last letter arrived yesterday.” His hand caressed her arm.
“Any news?” Fingers feathered his taut neck.
“Met that professor he mentioned.” He burrowed farther in her receptive chest.
