“Then you must come and see my house. ’Tis here, in the orchard. I am fortunate to live among the plants, so I can tend them at all hours of the day and night. Since you’re a kindred spirit, I can tell you a secret—the beans like to be picked at night, did you know?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It makes a surprising difference to their taste,” he said. “You must come by one evening, to test my theory. And I’ve been propagating a whole range of hybrids you might be interested in seeing.”
I thought that sounded wonderful: living among the pear trees, walking out the door in the moonlight to eat fresh-picked peas or pears if you so chose to, tending seedlings inside the warmth of your house before you released them to the ground. “I’d like that very much.”
I was startled when he reached out to touch my face.He ran his finger in a line down my cheek to my chin, drawing his touch slowly away. “Your dress complements your eyes.”
My face felt flushed under his attentions, and I knew it was time to take my leave. Before I could excuse myself, a noisy, energetic, hulking form burst, unannounced, through the foliage.
Wilkie.
He stopped in his tracks, his face registering me, my flushed cheeks and the man standing close to me, whose hand was just disengaging from its contact. Wilkie’s gaze traveled from my face to Fyfe’s hand and back to me again. His eyes flashed. In a sudden movement, he punched his fist to a near tree trunk, which must have pained him terribly, although he did it once more before growling in frustration, shaking out his hand.
“Wilkie!” I cried, going to him, taking his bloodied hand in my own. I wiped his blood with my fingers.
But Wilkie’s attention was aimed at Fyfe.
His voice was cold and extremely direct. “You’re a friend of mine, Fyfe, a longstanding member of this clan and of great value to your clansmen. I don’t blame you for wanting to walk with her and speak to her. But if you ever so much as touch this lass again, I’ll see to you with my own bare hands. And I have little restraint when it comes to Roses. Do I make myself clear enough?”
Fyfe was flustered. “Aye, Wilkie. Aye.”
“Good,” said Wilkie. He slung his massive arm around my shoulders and held me against his body as he led me, at a decisive pace, away. Over his shoulder, he dismissed Fergus.
He wasn’t breathing well. We walked for some timebefore he spoke, and by the time he did, we were far from the orchard, in a thicker glade of trees, alone.
He released me and stood to face me.
“If I’m to live with you and your clan,” I began, hoping I was addressing the issue at hand: his jealousy and not anger over my earlier outburst at the ladies’ table. “I will need to speak to some of them upon occasion.”
He shocked me by falling to his knees before me.
I dropped to my knees beside him, taking his bloodied fist in my hands. I kissed his bruised, cut skin.
“’Tis too much,” he said.
“What’s too much?”
“My love for you. I can’t survive it.”
He looked so big, so strong, yet so defeated, kneeling there in front of me. I wanted only to comfort him, to soothe his angst. I touched my mouth to his lips. “If I can survive it, warrior, you can. Feel me here, with you. Feel my mouth on you. Taste my love for you. I’m here. Let me heal you.”
I sucked on his upper lip, touching my tongue to his tongue. He was unfastening his trews as I kissed him. “Roses?” he whispered, so softly I could barely hear him.
“Aye.”
He was laying me back on the ground, his seeking hands pushing my dress up to my waist. “I need you now, here, on this earth. My earth. I am wild for you. I can think of nothing else.”
“I’m yours, warrior. You know I’m yours.”
“Mine.”
“Only yours.”
His strength was aggressive as he pushed my knees up, so my legs were bent, and I was revealed to himfully. He licked his tongue deep into my body. I thought briefly of our location, out-of-doors, where we could be seen if someone happened to walk by. But the thought faded as Wilkie’s mouth did miraculous things to my receiving flesh, causing me to swell and moisten and throb with need for all he had to give. The stubble of his face scratched against my sensitive folds, and his hair brushed against the soft skin of my inner thighs. I could feel the wave begin, deep within me, being drawn from my body by the unrelenting ministrations of his mouth.
Then his touch was gone, but before I could protest, I felt the weight of him on me and the forceful assault of his heavy shaft plunge deeply into me. I ached for him, and he had wet me with his artful marauding, but still my newly tried flesh resisted him, so his repeating thrusts became more powerful, assertive in their demand. His first drives sparked pain, the soreness lingering from the night before. But the pain, as his thickness sunk deeper and farther, gave way to a thrilling adjustment. The friction of his forward, insistent momentum rubbed at the most intimate pleasures he had begun with his mouth. These pleasures grew, blooming in a tidal flush that rose and rose inexorably, forced higher by the aggression of Wilkie’s need. Then, in a long gasping moment, the pleasure peaked, erupting through my body in an explosive, all-encompassing rush. I heard myself cry out from the force of my release. The cascading spasms were simply too much. Too intense in their potency. Excruciating in the sheer height of the ecstasy they enforced. My inner muscles clenched strongly around him, milking at the length of him until I could feel the violent beat of his own releaseand the warmth of his seed pulsing rhythmically into my body. He pressed his savage groan into my neck.
