Isla gasped as his fingers pinched the center of her nipples, not enough to hurt but enough to draw a reaction. He was turning her now, directing her body, and she followed his direction without complaint or protest. She saw at once that this gave him a better angle to tease her, and excitement darted through her veins.
The men were still fast asleep; Isla could barely see them against the great oak tree at that distance. She had no fear that they would hear her. Even if they had been awake, they never would have been able to discern her light gasps and gentle moans, so quiet was she. Iain, though, seemed determined to bring about a stronger reaction in her.
He reached around her front, one hand positioned on her breast, tantalizing her with his fingers. The other slid down her waist, snaking around the front of her body. His fingers delved between her thighs, and she had to clasp her hands over her mouth to silence herself. She heard a satisfied growl from behind her, almost animalistic in tone. The Laird was taking pleasure out of teasing her, that much she had gathered.
As his fingers explored deeper, she moaned into her hands, writhing against the man. Her mind had gone silent, completely devoid of thoughts. She was only emotion, only pleasure, her heart slapping against her ribs as it fought to keep up with the Laird who pleasured her so. She opened her legs up to him, sitting up on her knees so that he might be in a better position to do with her as he would. When his hands found her sweetest spot, her legs nearly buckled, and she fell back against him. He rubbed her center there, slowly and gently, until she had to bite down on her fingers to stop herself from crying out.
She wanted to turn around and meld her lips to his again, but his grip on her said otherwise. He was clearly used to being in charge, and she didn't mind allowing him this. His left hand had worked its way from one breast to the other, squeezing, pinching, stroking, while his right hand had increased its pace to an unbearable speed. Isla felt her entire body grow warm; she wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how wonderful he was making her feel, but she could form no words at all. She had never felt such pleasure before and had wholly considered herself far less attractive than her two beautiful sisters, but the Laird was making her feel as though she were the only woman walking the Earth that he desired.
When his fingers slid up and inside of her, she thought she would explode into starlight right there on the damp and chilly ground. This was something she had never experienced before; the pain had lasted for a split second and had been entirely surprising. She almost let the cry of pain slip past her fingers but bit down hard on them instead. It had not lasted, though, and what was more, the sensation that replaced it was unbelievable.
A groan did find its way through the passage of her throat, escaping through her lips this time. He moved slowly and deliberately, and she could feel his breath quicken against her back. He seemed to be deriving as much pleasure as she was receiving; her reactions seemed as though they were directly linked to his own. That thought only fed the fire within Isla; the fact she had such control over his lust filled her with even more unquenchable desire until she was so full that she thought she might burst.
He worked his fingers up, pushing farther than he had before. She rocked back on her heels, allowing him to explore as much of her as he would dare to.
"Iain, dinnae stop," she managed to say quietly, but the Laird did not seem as though he had any intention of stopping.
Further and further, his fingers delved until she felt as though she would reel with pleasure. When he could go no further, they backed away, pulling out, only to jolt back inside of her again. His left hand left her breast to clasp his own hand over her lips; she dropped her arms, surrendering to the feeling of submission to his whims.
It seemed as though her own pleasure was at the forefront of his intent. She did, however, feel the jutting hardness of his manhood against her back, pulsating with desire. The feeling surprised her at first, but after a few moments, all she wanted was to tear his clothes away from his body. She wanted to discover each little divet of muscle and hidden space that she had not had the pleasure of seeing and feeling before, of kissing him in places that had not been touched that way in so long.
But he was increasing the speed of his movements until she was gasping for air against him. The sensation of being held by him in this way while being the subject of his wonderful treatment was too much. There was something building up inside of her; she could see it on her horizon like a brewing storm that had not yet begun its torrent. Her lips parted against his hand, and Isla let out a muffled sound of pure pleasure as she let the sensation take her entire body over.
The feeling blacked out nearly everything else in her world. Stars burst before her eyes, and she closed them tightly, her open lips letting forth a groan of satisfied pleasure against his fingers. She had never felt anything so gripping and so intense; it was like she was falling through the clouds eternally.
"Isla," he said against her ear. "Yer so incredibly beautiful. I cannae say I'm upset ye appeared in my land."
His voice, gravelly and rough against her ear, was the final straw; she could take no more. Her back arched forcefully as he moved his hand back and forth like the tide. A gasp ripped from her, and he clamped his hand tighter around her lips. The effect was dizzying and wonderful, and she had never quite felt anything like it. Her legs buckled, and she sank back to the ground around him as his hand migrated to her hair. He was quietly stroking her black locks, more gentle than she'd ever seen him. She fought for breath, reeling against the man who was her father's enemy, the man so stricken with grief he'd been full of rage for years.
With her, though, he did not seem that way at all, or at least he no longer did. When she felt as though she could process thoughts again, she let her mind replay his conversation with her. He had said that the woman calmed him, made him feel peaceful and serene.
Did that mean that he felt that way with her?
She turned back to look at him; he was gazing at her with the warmest expression she'd ever seen take hold of that amber gaze. It filled her with a strange sort of satisfaction that felt like a blossom opening up inside her chest. She could not deny the connection she had felt tugging upon her heart, linking it to his.
"I... I've never —" she started to say.
"Ye dinnae have tae say a word," he said. "An' we dinnae have tae do anythin' else, hear? I just... I wanted ye tae feel... some sort o' pleasure; I suppose I should say. I dinnae want ye tae feel as though I'm puttin' any sort o' pressure on ye, lass. An' I would hate tae make ye feel any sort o' shame or regret at all."
It was a kind thing to say and an honorable thing to do. He had glanced over at his men, worried perhaps that they might awaken and humiliate her.
"I dinnae feel any shame or regret," she said. "Truly, please dinnae think that I do."
"Regardless," he said, his voice firm. "I think that it would be more wise tae go tae sleep. I... We cannae take this too far right away; ye know that. There are things that..."
"Things I still don't know about you" were the words that hung in the air. He was thinking of the letter and the village and whether or not she truly was a spy, here to trick him or distract him. His face was troubled, and he was trying to hide it, she could tell. The warmth had fled his expression and in its place was something in between anxiety and grief.
I dinnae know what tae do with this man. He is both hot and cold, protective and suspicious. How am I tae act around him?
The Laird rolled out one of the deerskin blankets that had been brought with them, allowing her to settle herself down upon it. The night air grew colder around them, and he handed her a quilt to drape over herself. It was warmer but not quite enough to calm the shaking that had taken hold of her. Shivers racked her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself beneath the blanket.
After a moment, though, she heard Iain shift behind her, and she felt his weight settle against her. He was close enough that the heat from his body radiated off of him and spread to her, both calming and warming her. It was enough that she let herself relax and begin to breathe deeply once more, although she could not fall asleep right away.
Isla lay awake on the forest floor for a long while, listening to the call of the owl and the soft steps of a family of deer. Her mind thought of one thing over and over.
How had the Laird been dreaming of her face every night for two long years? How had he known her immediately, though they had never met face to face?
He had said the words with such conviction that Isla was sure he was telling the truth. And yet, it sounded like something straight out of a young child's fantasy.
