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“You don’t say.” Her head burrowed in his tartan.
“So I won’t have peace until I’m very old,” he jested with a side smile moving on her smooth skin.
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“If next time it’s a boy, I’ll have my revenge.”
“We’d better hurry up and get down to it, then.”
“How focused, Mr McKendrick,” she taunted, knowing he always ‘chastised’ her when she called him that.
“Hm,” he growled. “Wait until tonight, and you’ll see who is this Mr McKendrick.”
“I can hardly wait,” she confessed.
His knuckle lifted her chin to him. “I love you, Catriona.”
“I love you, Fingal.” And his sculpted lips touched hers before Ava demanded her share of attention.
The End
Continue reading on to a preview of The Lass Initiated the Laird - Erotic Novella
PREVIEW OF THE LASS INITIATED THE LAIRD - EROTIC NOVELLA
Oxford, England, 1816
He had been hard for her for the better part of the morning. If you did not count the last seven years, that is.
For seven agonising years he relied on his own imagination and self-relief to keep his sanity in place. Or his insanity in check, more like.
Samuel Bryce McDougal, or Sam as the McDougal and his wife Aileen called him, sat at the desk in his professor’s study with Mrs Stratham. Her role in this household comprised of being the professor’s children’s governess, doubling as assistant when her duties allowed. For now they did, since Professor Walter Hayley travelled to Cambridge on an academic assignment together with Mrs Dora Hayley and their two children.
Which meant Sam and Harriet were alone in the house.
Which meant they had to make progress with the paper he would present shortly.
And it also meant that he was at the bursting point for the woman he had wanted since he first set eyes on her as a freshman at eighteen.
The green eyes so like his father’s went no higher than her creamy ample bosom covered by her demure dress for fear of giving himself away. Those prominent mounds haunted his dreams and carnal fantasies for such a long time he knew exactly what he wanted to do with them, had he the chance of one day coming within touching distance.
The image almost undid him. His rampant erection engorged to the point he was sure he would shame himself on the spot. The breeches he wore when in Oxford squeezed the poor flesh cruelly. His nostrils sucked in air, twitching his spectacles, his skin flooding with that kind of colour that afflicted only a red-haired person. In short, him.
For years, his fellow students tried to convince him to accompany them to those rackety bawdy houses they used to frequent, rich noble heirs that they were. In between lectures, they boasted their prowess with the so-called Cyprians on offer.
Invariably, he declined.
He wanted none of them. He had no wish for a meaningless tumble when there was only one woman who never left his mind.
The result being he remained a virgin.
Perhaps, he should follow their advice and try to assuage the urges of his body with one of those dolls. He careened too close to obsession, and it was getting out of hand.
“Is anything the matter, Samuel?” Even her lyrical voice contained the power to unbalance him.
With no other option, his stare met hers. Those enormous blue eyes seemed to engulf him in a maelstrom of madness. On an oval face, framed by wheat ringlets, they fairly frayed him.
At twenty-five, his hormones clamoured for the satisfaction that one of his own hands was not capable to offer anymore. Solely, a woman. This woman.
