replied.
“Will you leave me a map on how to get out of here if I ....”
“No.”
The one word was a firm denial that brooked no argument. She was silent for a long while then asked him what would happen to her if he failed to return.
“I’ll return, lass,” he answered. “Never doubt it.” He shifted in the rocker and grunted, wincing.
She lifted her head. “Why don’t you go lie down, Jamie? Or is it better sitting?”
“It hurts either way,” he said then finished off his tea, setting the mug on the hearth. “Come here and let me hold you.”
She put her half-empty mug on the hearth and sat down in his lap, worried that her weight would cause him more pain, but he wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder and began to twirl a lock of his chest hair around and around her finger.
“You’re obsessed with my chest hair, aren’t you, lass?” he asked with a snort.
“I love it,” she said and spread her fingers through the thick mass. “I especially like the way it makes my nipples hard.” She grinned when she felt his shaft tense at that comment.
He put a hand to her chin and lifted her head, covered her mouth with his and drank deeply from the sweetness he found there, slipping his tongue deep. His fingers trailed down her neck and beneath the hem of the shirt to tease the silky curls above her sheath. One finger dipped to the moist bud that began to swell the moment he touched it.
She pulled back from him and slid off his lap, positioning herself between his legs. “Now it’s my turn to do the tasting,” she said, her fingers going to his zipper.
Jamie spread his knees farther apart and watched her bent head as she undid his jeans and reached inside to free his cock. She took hold of his inseam and held it tight as she lowered her mouth to slide her soft lips down the length of him.
“God,” he breathed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the back of the rocker. His hands went to her head to hold it gently as she plied her mouth on his willing flesh. The suction as she worked her way up and down his shaft, the pressure she exerted on the fabric of his jeans to pull it taut, was causing such exquisite torment he never wanted it to end.
She heard his breathing increase in depth and timing as his hands flexed in her hair. He was elevating his hips in rhythm to her suckling and that turned her on as she relaxed her throat and took him as deeply as she could. He was a large man with a broad cock--at least ten inches of sweet, hot muscle--but she managed to accommodate him well enough, pulling him nearly free of her mouth only to swirl her tongue around the knob of him again and again before drawing him deeply into that moist cavern once more.
He was on the verge of release and would have pushed her head away but she would not allow it, obviously wanting to take all he had to give her and unwilling to break away at the last moment. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing and when he came, he gave a shout that he felt to the very tips of his toes and had to slap his palms on the rocker’s arms to keep from slamming her head down on his groin.
The climax seemed to go on forever and when she had drained him, milked him dry, he opened his eyes to see her looking at him, sweeping her tongue over her lips in such a way he felt another spasm rock his shaft.
“Lass, you’ll kill me like that,” he said, trying to push the agony in his back aside so he could enjoy the last tremors of pleasure her mouth had given him.
She knew he was hurting so she got lithely to her feet and held her hand out. “Come to bed with me, my husband,” she said.
Her words gave him a jolt of happiness. “Are you sure?” he asked, searching her eyes.
“I have no intention of ever going back,” she answered. “I’m sure.”
He slipped his arm under her legs even though she protested him lifting her. Carrying her to their bed--he would never again think of it only as his
1796-1874 Agnes Strickland, 1794-1875 Elizabeth Strickland, Rosalie Kaufman
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