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Aileen registered when Taran marched to the back of the church as if the demons chased after him, brows pleated with worry. His severe expression presaged nothing positive.
She forced herself to maintain a pretence of interest in the surrounding conversation, but her mind drifted elsewhere.
The chieftains’ wives claimed her company by the time she witnessed him slipping into the feast and approaching a family of tenants. His stance, though had not improved. Something was nagging at him and she had no way of gauging what it might be.
~.~.~
Feast over, they sat in the carriage in graveyard silence. Taran across from her, brooded at her, a marble expression on his rugged face.
She risked a glance at her husband as it washed with the coldness coming from him. And the scalding onslaught his green attention invariably caused in her. Her stare had to lower to recompose herself. More than that, she had to reconcile these raggedly contradictory sensations.
“The chieftains’ families are very loyal to you.” She ventured, only for him to probe her with an even more unyielding scrutiny.
No answer came from him and the deadly hush stretched, making the crisp air in the vehicle dense and heavy with unspoken thoughts.
His taut body unmoving, his stance frozen. It was as if invisible ropes tied around him keeping him motionless, restrained. Contained. The notion of what might happen if those ropes broke, and set him free chilled her at the same time it excited her imagination. And her insides.
Another flick at him, his fierce stare clasped fast on her, with a smelting quality that reverberated throughout her. She feared she would be reduced to a puddle on the wooden floor. A feverish, wanton puddle.
The tremendous endeavour not to fidget failed as her hands gripped each other on her lap and her eyes examined him disguisedly in the dimming light.
Resolutely, her stare fled to the window where she kept it for the rest of the ride.
~.~.~
Arriving at the manor, she sought refuge in her dressing room, taking her time to undress. Thankfully, her highland’s attire did not require a lady’s maid’s help. After wrapping her robe, she paced the enclosed space not knowing what to do.
She did not contemplate sleeping in the room, naturally. There was not a reason exactly for that though the mood around her felt… misplaced. And
it would be a coward act, not to mention the childishness of it. Air filling her lungs, she motioned to leave.
The candle on the dressing table flickered with moving air. From the door opening.
“You do not mean to stay here all night, I reckon.” His hoarse growl startled her with the immediate effect of washing heat over her skin, lungs sucking in air.
“I—“ Her voice flew when his obdurate gaze clashed with her.
The minuscule room too small to encompass his warrior-sized frame, he loomed over her, heat and earthen man exhaling from his skin, trim hips looped with a tartan. The powerful torso right in front of her ogle contributed to the molten moisture in her centre.
He covered the few feet between them, her head bent back to meet his green concupiscence. Unbridled energy rushed between them, red-hot. Unrefined hands touched the sash on her slim waist. Her mahogany eyes followed them only to widen on the bulge tenting the plaid. The molten heat became scorching.
Those big hands jerked her robe open availing her for his lustful inspection. A thorough inspection. In one lithe move, his mouth came to fill up with one mound while a hand fondled the other.
She knew doom ruled when her head fell back gasping and her fingers clutched his steel shoulders as if she would disintegrate. He did not relent as he suckled deep on the other one too, reducing her to a pulp of greed and surrender. She never cogitated not surrendering, anyway. How could she?
Her robe fell to the carpet when he released her defenceless breasts. To span her narrow waist with his work-roughened hands and turn her cheek to the wall, next to which lay a chair.
One muscled arm locked around her middle. The other hand captured an eager mound while his bristle lips ravened the curve between her neck and her shoulder, predatory on the denouncing pulse under the goose-bumped tissue.
Such an orchestrated assault on her senses left no chance of resistance. All she wanted was for him to take her however he wanted, because if he did not, despair would corrode her. This being the reason she arched against him, begging with her body, the ache unbearable.
Face to the side, arms braced beside her head, lips ajar sucking oxygen, eyes shut, in her world of pleasure. Her awareness solely of him glued to her back, triumphantly naked. She did not see where his tartan went. And did not care.
“Put your right foot on the chair, Aileen.” The ineluctable behest weakened her even more and she hurried to comply.
The position availed her flooding femininity to his looting fingers and the pure agony they sowed. Her moan a manifest of nothing short of a clamour for more.
With zero finesse, his solid erection slid in her sure and complete, filling her with the mirage of repletion together with the torment of the wait.
