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“A gift?” he asked. “But it’s past Christmastide.”
And what a lean, grim, Christmas time it had been, too, with everything rationed in the castle and no goods coming in or out. His fault; all of it. Well, at least all of it that wasn’t the fault of the Donald and MacDonald clans who wanted to take the castle from him.
Heather didn’t seem to be worried about that. With a bit of mischief in her voice she said, “I couldn’t have given you this gift at Christmastide…or during the day. In truth, I’m a little frightened to give it to you now.”
He brushed a tendril of her dark hair away from her face, hoping to see her expression in the firelight, “Well, then, now I must know what it is.”
She rolled away from him before he could see her face clearly. Then she rummaged about over the side of the bed, returning to press a bundle wrapped in twine into his hands. “Should I light the candles for this?”
“I’d much prefer you didn’t,” she said, shyly lowering her violet gaze. “It’s a thing meant for the dark.”
Curiouser and curiouser…
The laird tore the twine with his teeth and cast aside the linen wrap, his fingers tracing along what seemed to be wood. In the dim light of the fire, he held up the mysterious object, which felt very much to him like… “A spoon?”
“It’s a stirrer,” she said, bashfully. “Or at least, t’was a stirring paddle.”
His whole body gave a start. A paddle. She’d given him a paddle. What a reckless lass to give a man like him such a gift. Surely she must know what he would want to do with such a thing! The laird’s prick hardened immediately. He was instantly aroused at the very thought of it, even though his emotions were a jumble.
In the dark, she rambled, “It’s—it’s badly scorched on one side and the cook said that it was ruined, so I swiped it before she could use it as firewood.” Heather took a deep breath. “But I didn’t ask her permission, so I s’pose I must be disciplined for it…”
The coquettish lilt to her voice was coming more naturally now than it did when he’d first seduced and debauched her. Truly, given all the ways in which he’d taken this girl’s body—even allowing his men to witness it—she ought to be as jaded as a brothel girl by now. But even this flirtatious suggestion, lewd as it was, carried a note of sweetness.
“Are you suggesting that I paddle you tonight?” he asked, his mouth going dry both with the temptation, and with the way both his heart and cock swelled with adoration. She knew how it excited him to dominate and discipline a woman. And she made herself obliging to those desires in every way. It filled him with even more tenderness toward her than it did desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, lass.”
“Yes, you do, my laird,” she said, daring to contradict him.
He kissed her very softly on the lips. “No. I want to give you pleasure. Only pleasure,” he said, trailing kisses down her beautiful neck. It was a lie, of course. That is not all he wanted to do to her. But at war within him were the tenderest feelings of protective love and the carnal desire to paddle her rump until it glowed red before taking her in every orifice and position possible.
