Alasdair spoke, “I’m sor—” She whipped around, transferring her hold on his cock from one hand to another, and blocked his apology with a kiss.
After the kiss, he started again, without the apology. Her training was working. Unless, of course, he learned to start saying he was sorry just to get her to kiss him. She would have to be alert to see if he ever became that canny. But for now, the kiss just seemed to remind him that he did not need to say that to her.
“It means I am aroused, I cannae control that.”
“Oh, Alasdair.” She kissed his nose. “When are you going to learn that the things I love most about you are the things you can’t control?”
Her angle was better now and she could hold him both as loosely and as firmly as she liked. And she could look down and see the glistening at the tip of his member and rub the palm of her hand in it and then drag the wetness down the length of his member.
“Like ... what?” Alasdair choked out.
“Your auburn hair, especially the lock that flops down and covers your left eye. Your dimples. Your hardness. And now this little bit of wetness that tells me even more that you want me.”
He groaned and closed his eyes.
“Alasdair, what do you want?”
“I want ... to be inside ye and to spend inside ye and make a baby.”
“How wonderful,” she cooed, “because I want that, too.” And she released him and lay flat on her back.
“Now?”
“As long as you promise that this will be a long night in a lifetime of long nights and you will reconsider my desire to kiss you—everywhere.”
He kissed her mouth and grinned. “I promise.”
He fumbled a bit, getting on his knees between her legs. And she looked at him. At the parts of him that she could not see when he was dressed. His shoulders and his long arms that matched those long fingers. His pale skin, flushed over his shoulders and his chest. His chest with its glinting, soft copper hair. His flat abdomen that led to his other copper-colored hair and his engorged cock. As she breathed in, she shuddered. She was consumed by need for him. She salivated and gulped. She felt her nether regions drip. He had just made her spend in the most wonderful way and so soon, she was ready again. She leaned forward and kissed him over his heart.
“Feel me with your fingers, Alasdair,” Arabella whispered into his chest. “Feel how wet I am.”
He would do anything she asked. He felt her, and she lay back on the bed and exhaled with a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a moan.
“Put a finger in me.”
He did that, looking at her face, her breasts. His Arabella. His wife.
“What does it feel like, Alasdair?”
“It feels smooth and soft and wet and warm.”
“Mmmm. And now,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. “I want something bigger.”
He withdrew his finger and he grasped his own cock and put the head at her entrance.
“I want you, Alasdair,” she said.
Alasdair felt certain he would have staying power. After all, he was a man of experience now. He wanted it to last as long as possible so he went as slowly as he could. And then he was all the way inside her and withdrawing and plunging and withdrawing. And then she said, “My husband,” and lifted her hips to him and he was adrift in a sea of pleasure that had as much to do with his heart as it did his cock.
“Ahhh,” she said.
A bead of sweat ran down his temple.
“Does it feel good, Arabella?”
“Yes.” She flattened her palms on the sides of his ribcage. “Please.”
He thrust.
