“Ye thought it would be something exciting or poetic?” he asked, and grinned.
“And why not? It is responsible for the whole human race. If we did not use the parts, there would not be any of us.”
Iain laughed and Emily decided he had a nice laugh, infectious. He pulled her over as he rolled onto his back and let her body sprawl on top of his. His penis was nicely nestled between her legs and she could feel it slowly grow harder and bigger. She lay there petting his chest and began to think about what he had done to her and wondered if she could do the same to him.
She began to slowly kiss her way down his body. As she teased his stomach with kisses, licks, and little nips then soothed by her mouth or tongue, he began to make some low, rough noises which let her know he was pleased with it all. Then she slid down a little farther and ran her tongue up the length of him. His whole body jerked and grew tense and she feared she had just found one of those things men could do but women could not. Iain slid his hands in her hair and held her in place, however, and she decided she must be doing something right.
Iain watched her as she loved him with her mouth. Her blond hair was drying and was in a wild tangle around her face. It brushed against his legs and drove him crazy. Then she took him into her mouth and he lost all ability to think straight. For someone with no skill or experience she was doing very well. It was not long before he knew he was teetering on the edge of release so he caught her under the arms and pulled her up his body. As he kissed her, tasting himself on her mouth and adding to his growing frenzy, he joined their bodies and moved her as he wanted her to move until she caught on. To his delight she rode him to the end and they both cried out softly as they found their release.
* * *
Iain slowly woke up and looked for Emily, who had fallen asleep in his arms. She sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair and dressed in her shift and stockings. Glancing out the window he cursed softly, drawing her attention. He sat up and looked for a clock.
“It is two in the morning. I think I heard some of your brothers stagger home.”
“Damn. Falling asleep was not in the plans.”
She smiled as he moved to drag on his drawers. “You make plans for these, um, evenings, do you?”
“With so many people in this house one rather has to. Oh, damn, I was going to help you empty the tub.”
“Not to worry. Plan to use the watering can and pour it out the window into the garden.” She smiled as he walked around to her side of the bed and kissed her.
“And that might be a mistake. Too many of those and I willnae leave.” He buttoned up his shirt and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Try to get some more sleep. Night, love.”
She watched him leave and sighed. He kept calling herlovebut she did not dare take it to mean anything more than an easy word to use for an affectionate pet name. And she had let another night together slide right by without pressing him to tell her anything about how he felt about her. Emily braided her hair, tied it off, and slid into bed. One good thing—at least she was too tired, and satisfied, to stay awake long fretting over things she could not change.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily kept a close watch out as she and Mrs. O’Neal drove the buggy into town. Neither of them actually had a dire need for anything but the MacEnroys had taken all the children fishing and Mrs. O’Neal had been eager to go to the shop, to look over the goods in the store at her leisure. Emily had not had the heart to say no, so even though she did not really like being outside the walls of the MacEnroy home, she had come shopping with the woman.
She stiffened her spine and told herself to cease being a frightened little mouse. Now that she thought on it she did not even go riding anymore unless one of the men went with her. Iain insisted on it but she had not complained either. Emily knew it was because she was glad of the extra protection. It was time she ceased cowering behind the men. This was her trouble and she would face it. Like a man, she thought, and grinned.
Mrs. O’Neal called out a greeting to a Mrs. Potter who was outside her home beating her carpets. She then pulled up by the fence, introduced Emily, and began to talk with the woman about a lot of people Emily did not know. Emily was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she now had a big secret the women who loved their gossip would just love to sink their teeth into.
It was not until they were back on their way to the store that Emily realized something. “Your name is Mary?” she asked Mrs. O’Neal.
Mrs. O’Neal briefly frowned at her. “Yes. Didn’t you know that?”
“No. No one told me. They all call you Mrs. O’Neal and that was how you were introduced to me.”
“Well, of course the boys call me that. Need to. I have to hold on to some kind of proper place in that household. But you can call me Mary if you must. Don’t much like the name myself. Rather boring name, truth be told.”
“Mary is a good name. A lot of people use it.”
“Especially amongst the Irish, but, be truthful, it is a boring name. There is no lilt to it, no hint of liveliness or beauty. It just sits there.”
It was not easy but Emily quelled the urge to laugh. “Well, it goes well with O’Neal.”
“I know that but I am not Irish, am I? It is one thing about me Tommy’s folks liked.” Mrs. O’Neal frowned at the mention of her late husband’s parents. “It is the one real fault I had in their eyes. If I had been Mary Callahan or Mary O’Leary and had a crucifix round my neck I would have been completely welcome. Instead I was just plain, Mary Smith, that Protestant.”
“It was Mary Smith?” Emily thought she deserved a prize for not falling down laughing.
“It was. As plain a name as anyone could think of. Still think they just got weary of trying to find something clever or original. My siblings all had much better names. Instead I was just Mary Smith, the Protestant girl their son would go to hell for. Do you know they have never come to see his sons, never even written to ask after them?”
“That is sad. Your husband was their only son, you said?”
“He was and my Rory is the spitting image of him.”
