“I wasnae ready to say good sleep, but if I must…”
“Ye must.” He started to draw her out of the room.
“Good sleep, Leith. And ye, Lagan,” she cried as Parlan shut the door after them, muffling the replies sent her way. “Ye are a verra rude man. Uncivilized,” she grumbled as she was hastened toward his chambers.
“I am nae feeling verra polite just now.” He shut and bolted the door to his chambers.
“Why not?” she asked as she sat on his bed, finding her boots harder to remove than they had ever been before.
Already stripped to his braies, a short undergarment, Parlan moved to help her undress. “Ye are fou, lass. Verra drunk indeed.”
“Nay. Weel, mayhaps a wee bit. I am not verra good with the drink though I have never got ill from it.”
She made a noise much like a deep-throated purr when his mouth covered hers, the swift deep probes of his tongue hinting at his hunger for her. It was a hunger she readily returned, the drink making her bold in her passion.
The way her small hands caressed him drove Parlan beyond control. He was barely able to finish undressing them without tearing their clothes. His possession of her was swift, but she met and returned his ferocity. The culmination of their desire left them both somnolent, unable to move, except for Parlan’s pulling the covers over them. It was awhile before he even had the strength to talk and by then Aimil was half asleep.
“Lass, are ye wanting to wed Rory Fergueson?” He felt himself tense, waiting for her reply.
Aimil was past any subterfuge and opened her eyes to gaze at him sleepily. “Nay. He is too pretty.”
“Too pretty? ’Tis a strange thing to say. A lass often wishes a husband who is fair to look upon.”
“Nay. He is too pretty. He is so perfect in face and form that he nearly frightens me. Then there are his eyes.”
“What about his eyes?”
“They are like a snake’s. When I meet his gaze, I feel as if an adder watches me, waiting for the right moment to strike. The color is a verra pale one and flat, and he doesnae blink verra much which only makes it worse.”
Rolling onto his back, Parlan pulled her against his chest. “Aye, I think ye have the truth of it. Like a snake’s.”
Her eyes closing as sleep overtook her, Aimil said, “It will be hard to be wife to a man I dinnae even like.”
“I promise ye, lass, ye willnae have to,” he swore as he looked down upon her sleeping face.
That small lovely face was still tucked nicely against his broad chest when Parlan woke in the morning. Her arm encircled his trim waist, and one of her legs was flung over his. Parlan decided that she was a very nice little bundle to wake up to. Alternating his gaze between her face and his hand, he stroked her soft curves, enjoying the way her passion slowly grew.
He traced the gentle curve of her backside and the slim line of her leg, feeling her squirm slightly as she and her passion awoke together. He had always at least tried to give the women he had used some pleasure but never had their enjoyment been such a source of pleasure for him. His actions had been prompted by courtesy and a need to be sure his lust met more than tolerance. It intoxicated him to feel and to see Aimil’s body come alive for him.
“Oh, Parlan,” she whispered as he turned them onto their sides and slid his hand between her thighs.
“Such a lovely warm good morn,” he growled against her breast before greedily taking a hard tip into his mouth.
“’Tis morning?” she gasped, shocked despite her intensifying passion. “We cannae do this now.”
“Nay?” He grinned at her as he positioned her leg over his waist and swiftly entered her. “It seems we are.”
It was a moment before she could find the breath to speak. “’Tis light. Ye are supposed to do this in the dark.”
“Ah, lass, there is a lot ye have to learn,” he murmured before he stopped any further talk with a kiss.
The culmination of their passion came swiftly and simultaneously. Still caught in the lingering tremors, Parlan rolled onto his back, holding them snugly joined. He still did not release her when they had regained their senses.
“I think ye have forgotten something,” she murmured suddenly, realizing that they were staying joined for a long time.
“Nay, I havenae,” he replied, holding her firmly when she moved to separate them. “Stay a wee bit, lass.”
Rubbing her cheek against the crisp hair on his chest, she murmured, “What does it feel like?”
