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“What if I wanted to sate that hunger?” I asked, daring to reach for his hand. I put my fingers atop his, and he grasped at them.
At my words I saw a hunger in his eyes, a hope raw and wild. All of a sudden, he tugged me out of my chair. He caught me against his hard body, and I was forced to straddle him for balance. My hands on his shoulders, my knees on either side of his waist, I felt the hardness of his erection pressing between my legs. And the expectant pleasure of having excited him so much, of feeling the proof of his desire, was thrilling!
In response to the curious ache in my loins, my hips slowly gyrated against him, forcing from his throat a groan. “What are you doing, lass?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. I only knew that it felt right to grind upon him this way. That I was driven to it by an exquisite ache of emptiness in my womb that needed to be filled. “But it feels good…”
“More than good.” At that, his rough hand went to my hair. First, he yanked me forward for a kiss so hard it bruised my lips, then I yelped when he yanked my head back to expose my throat.
“Dear God,” I murmured to myself as my laird’s teeth sank softly into the flesh by my ear.
Then he dragged those teeth down my throat to the top of each breast where he nibbled while making fists of the fabric of my lovely purple dress. “I want to tear it,” he said, throatily. “I want to tear it off your body, throw you down, and take my belt to you until you cry. I want to use coarse words with you. I want to mark you as mine.” He shook me, anger and desperation in his eyes. “Is that what you want, Heather?”
My heart beat so fast it threatened to race from my chest. And the laird’s pulse beat so loud at his throat I could hear it like a drum in my ears. We were breathless, both of us. “I—I don’t know,” I said, because it was the only honest answer I could give. I wasn’t frightened that he might tear my gown, though he would have a harder time with the corset. I wasn’t even afraid of being lashed with his belt, at least not very afraid. But the rest?
“The man I am—you won’t like the man I become.”
“But I want to please you, my laird. I want that most desperately. Because from the first day I met you, when I saw you in pain, it was something I wanted to heal. And whatever pains you now, I want to be the balm for it.”
Having decided this much, I slid from his lap to the floor, kneeling there befor
e him, lifting my skirts to say, “Take your belt to me, my laird, if it please you.”
~~~
In baring myself to him, I cast a spell. I heard his breath catch at the sight of the soft downy fur, barely-there peach fuzz across my lower back and ass.
I waited for him there, trembling, fearing he’d refuse me. The cool air on my soft skin made me feel vulnerable exposed, but unleashed in him a dark desire. He grabbed me by the back of the neck, holding me painfully in his grasp. And when he spoke, he did, in fact, sound like another man.
A harsher, crueler man. “Don’t move from the strikes, or it’ll be worse for you. Show me that you can be brave.”
He undid his belt and it came crashing down. I cried out with the pain, my hands clenching upon the woven rug where I knelt. But I didn’t move. One strike wasn’t enough for the laird, because he wanted to mark me. Wanted to raise welts. Again and again, he belted me. My body jiggled with each impact. I’d been lashed for misbehavior before, but not in this position or with so little covering. And as the pain built up inside me, I nearly had to bite my lip to the point of blood to keep in my cries.
Finally, mercifully, he said, “You can scream.”
But my screams gave way to sobbing, and finally pleading, which is when he stopped. The belt remained in his hand as he straightened up. “Understand that you’re a tool for my pleasure. That whatever pleasure you feel, I allow you to feel. Because you’ve made a sacrifice, and not one out of a childhood dream. This sacrifice you made is born of pain and shame and ownership.”
My eyes were blurry with tears, but then I felt the laird’s arms around me. At his touch, I shivered violently even as my nipples strained against my dress, hard little nubs against the fabric. I reached back and rubbed the soreness of my backside before I realized it, because I didn’t want him to see me weak. “I understand, my laird. And—and—” I sniffled, the stinging still forcing tears to my eyes. “Have I pleased you?”
“See for yourself,” he said, bringing my chin up, so that I could see the length of his phallus exposed, red and swollen, glistening at the tip. I’d never seen a man’s proud staff before—and the fascination I felt could not be denied.
Of an instinct, pressed my cheek against his bare hip, reached for him with my fingertips, and leaned to give the steel of his erection a tender kiss. And that kiss seemed to undo him.
His hand went to my hair and made a fist in it. A rumble of arousal sounded from his chest. That encouraged me. Though I was on my knees before him I somehow felt as if I had power over this man. For his knees nearly trembled when, I leaned forward and deepened that kiss, taking the head of his cock between my lips. “Sweet Jesu!”
I hadn’t any notion of what I was doing, so I was grateful for the way he guided my head until I realized that he meant for me to suckle at it. The more I took into my mouth, the more he groaned and growled and shook. And this fed my own hunger to taste him, to test my body against his, my fingers delighting in caressing the strong muscles of his thighs, his ass, his back.
Stroking into my mouth, his sounds became deeper, his body tightening, as if he were readying for some battle. As if he were desperate for something. But just as it seemed to reach its peak, he tried to pull me away. “Stop or I’ll—”
I disobeyed, holding his body tighter and sliding my lips down his glistening shaft as it began to pulse in my mouth. A hot rush of salty seed that warmed my throat like fresh cream. I drank it, because it was of my laird, and because everything in me screamed that we were to be joined.
The laird grunted his release, hand still in my hair, before bonelessly sinking down with me to the floor. With his back against his bed, he cradled my head in his lap. The fist in my hair releasing so that he could stroke it gently. “What have you done to me, lass?”
I didn’t know, but I wanted to do it again. My sexual hunger was something voracious now. “I pleased you.”
“Aye, you did,” he said, breathing hard. “Have you done that before, with one of the lads near your father’s cottage?”
“Never,” I said, affronted.
