That day had always remained blank. A canvas yet to be painted. And now that she knew what colors to add, she did not want to miss a single one.
“As we’re not yet husband and wife, I thought ye would be more comfortable in a room of yer own,” Lachlan explained as they entered through the pub and were greeted by the innkeeper. Money was exchanged, the luggage was handed off, and then they were free to find a table.
Her appetite barely that of a rabbit’s, Brynne managed a bowl of broth and a slice of the most delicious bread she’d ever eaten. Still warm from the oven, crispy on the outside, and soft as a pillow within, it tempted her into a second piece, and then–feeling slightly self-conscious–a third.
“What is this called?” she asked, swallowing a moan as she sank her teeth into a fresh slice.
“Fife bannock. A Scottish staple,” he replied, his gaze pinned to her mouth with such blazing intensity that she stopped eating.
“Do I have a crumb on my face?”
“Aye.” But instead of handing her a napkin, he reached for her hand.
She gasped when he took her thumb between his lips and slowly swirled his tongue around it, his eyes–molten shards of garnet–never leaving hers.
“Lachlan!” Her voice was a whimper. A pleading. Although whether she was asking him to stop or to continue, even she wasn’t certain. Shrinking low in her seat, she darted a glance to the left, then the right. The dining room, such as it was, was dimly lit with a combination of wax candles and lanterns, but it wasn’t completely dark. And their table, while positioned in a corner, was hardly hidden from view. “There are people all around.”
Releasing her thumb with apopof suction, he guided her hand and pressed her thumb, still damp from being inside of his mouth, against her chin.
“There,” he said huskily. “I got it. And I wouldna worry about anyone disapproving of us. In case ye havena noticed, this is a place for lovers. No one is looking further than the lad or lass sitting right across from them.”
Another surreptitious glance around the room confirmed that he was speaking the truth. Of all the inn’s occupants, only one–the barkeep–was without a partner. But an entire lifetime of propriety was a difficult thing to disregard.
As was the humming in her blood or the slippery wetness between her thighs.
She pushed her chair back. “We should go upstairs.”
“Poor wee lamb,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rueful smile as he joined her in standing. “Ye must be exhausted, and we’ve another day of travel in front of us after the ceremony. Let’s get ye tae bed.”
By no means would Brynne describe herself as brazen. She was well aware of her sexual inexperience. Her innocence. Her naivety with all things having to do with the bedroom. That wasn’t to say that she was not aware of how the act was done in its most rudimentary form. She’d read books, and Hawkridge Manor had plenty of foals every spring which did not exactly appear out of thin air. Yet watching something as a bystander, and being an active participant, were two entirely different things.
If she were being completely honest, she’d have to admit that she was somewhat intimidated by the idea of sharing her body–herentirebody–with Lachlan.
But she was also intrigued.
And having thoroughly enjoyed everything he’d done to her thus far, she could only assume that committing the deed itself would produce just as much (if not more) pleasure than all their kisses combined.
“Yes, I am ready to go to bed,” she said demurely. Then she swallowed, and before she lost her nerve, blurted out, “Except I’ve no intention of sleeping.”
He went very, very still. But for the sudden throb of his pulse at the base of his neck, he might have been frozen.
“Lachlan?” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Do you…do you understand what I mean, or–”
“Aye, I understand,” he said hoarsely. “If this room was empty, I’d already have ye stretched across this table and ye would soon know just how much I understand.”
“Oh,” she squeaked as her entire face erupted with heat. “I–I see.”
“Are ye sure?” He searched her gaze. “We can wait until tomorrow, after we’re married. Or even until we’re at the castle and ye have had a few days tae unwind yerself. There’s no hurry, Bry. Not when we’ve the rest of our lives tae enjoy each other.”
A flicker of nervousness–followed closely by anticipation–coursed down her spine. “Doyouwant to wait?”
His answer to that was a short, incredulous snort. “What I dinna want tae do is push ye before ye’re ready.”
“It’s not pushing if I’m pulling.” Darting another glance around the room to ensure no one was paying them any mind–they weren’t–she lowered her voice and murmured, “Could you…could you do that thing with your mouth on my thumb again? I quite liked that.”
“Oh, love.” Lachlan’s grin, wide and wicked, could have rivaled Lucifer’s own. “If ye liked that, ye’re going taelovewhat else I can do with my tongue.”
A single candlelit the bedroom in a hazy orange glow, casting shadows far and wide. Brynne was grateful for them, as they helped to disguise the pink blush rapidly overtaking every inch of her skin as Lachlan closed the door and quietly locked it behind him.
