Hushed whispers and giggling echoed around the great hall. Blaise stared at the fiery woman seated in the center of the long table. His reaction to her had been instant and very painful. His breeches had become too tight for him and he longed to remove them, preferably in the vicinity of the beautiful vixen, where she could see what she'd done to him.
His gaze traveled over the dark red ringlets framing her lightly tanned face and relaxing into softer curls near her waist. Her skin caught the glow of the torches and accentuated the deep crevice between her large breasts. He could image holding them in his hands, could feel their weight. Even now, he could see her nipples straining against the tight fabric of her bodice. His cock jerked in response.
His eyes traveled up her neck to her face. Her light green eyes dared him to speak, never had a woman looked at him in such a manner. Her jaw line was, perhaps, a bit too square for his liking, but her full pouty lips made up for it. Perfect lips for kissing.
Blaise turned his attention to the Campbell, seated at the head of the table with his stocky wife on his left. He bowed low and rose with a sneer. How often he'd dreamed of taking these lands, this castle, and the old fool had invited him inside. Had the man no sense?
"I am anxious to be done with this wedding, McKenzie," the Campbell said.
He nodded. "As am I. I would collect my bride and be gone by first light."
"Nay. You shall rest here and be wed in one month."
Blaise clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. He wanted to strangle the old goat. He'd left only a handful of men behind at Stonewood Manor. Not nearly enough to ward off an attack. He must make haste.
"I'm afraid I cannot wait one month. My lands are highly coveted and I have many enemies. I must return to make sure they remain in my possession."
The Campbell snorted as he tossed a half-eaten piece of pig to the floor. The hounds leapt at the discarded meat, growling and biting to get their fair share. Blaise fixed the Campbell, his enemy, with a fearsome scowl and inclined his head.
"Then I must decline your offer of marriage."
The hall erupted into chaos. The Campbell stood so quickly from his chair, it toppled over. His wife had both hands clamped over her mouth. The brothers, every one of them, shouted their denial and the clansmen behind him raised their voices to the fray. The only one unaffected was his intended.
She still stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes half closed, he could see her heavy bosom rising and falling as she struggled to breathe. He'd seen the look before, countless times. It was the look of passion. Perhaps he'd have to rethink his stance.
"Now see here, boy," the Campbell started.
Blaise held up his hand to stop his ranting. "I have changed my mind. I shall stay for one month. At that time, I will wed your daughter and be gone."
The Campbell nodded once and settled back into his chair. Still grumbling about the lads lack of manners, he paid no attention to Blaise as he walked to stand in front of his bride. He leaned one elbow on the table directly in front of her and crossed his ankles.
"And what has you so flustered, my beauty?" he whispered.
Her eyes widened for only a moment, then narrowed into thin slits. She flattened her hands against the top of the table and leaned closer. The action also caused her breasts to press against the table, lifting them higher. If the lass would only move a bit more, he could see what color her nipples were.
"The only thing that has me flustered, you preening peacock, is your lack of manners. Who do you think you are? How dare you stare at me so openly?"
His eyes wandered back to her breasts as he slid the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. He took his time in meeting her eyes again. "I think I will be your husband. And I stare only because what you offer looks so delicious. I'm fair starving for a taste, my pet."
She glanced down and saw her breasts spilling out of the gown. Rather than lean back and admit defeat, she crossed her arms under her breasts and pushed them higher. He growled low in his throat, so very tempted to dip a finger between the huge mounds.
"Careful, pet, you play with fire," he warned.
"Perhaps I intend to be burned," she replied.
His entire body responded to her open invitation. His cock nearly exploded inside his breeches and his heart thudded wildly against his chest. Tonight she would be his. Marriage or no.
Blaise turned away from her and faced the Campbell. "Where is my chamber? I am exhausted from my ride and would seek my bed."
The Campbell regarded him for a moment before nodding curtly. "Take the left stairs to the third floor. Your chamber is the last door on the left."
Blaise nodded, cast a seductive glance at his bride and headed for the stairs. As he started the climb, a wicked grin spread across his face. Perhaps this marriage would not be so awful. A beautiful, seductive wife with rich lands and an even richer father. Hannah would not like it.
Blaise dismissed the thought. Hannah did as he ordered. Besides, she'd only been his mistress for a fortnight. He could send her away without a care in the world. And be a faithful and doting husband, I think not. No, he would keep Hannah for a while longer. Perhaps he could convince the two women to join him. That would be a sight.
Striding into the chamber, he kicked the door shut and bolted it. He did not need an interruption now. Jerking his breeches to his knees, he wrapped a hand around his pulsing shaft and stroked himself. Images of his bride, naked and panting beneath him, flitted through his mind. He could feel the weight of those glorious breasts in his hands. He heard her moans of pleasure in the back of his mind. He could see her spreading her thighs for him, inviting him to come to her. The image of his bride on her back, legs spread wide sent him over the edge and he finished with a grunt. He quickly washed himself in the basin, pulled his breeches back up and strode to unbolt the door before going to the bed.
Reclining with his back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, he stared at the closed door and waited. He held no doubt that his bride would walk into the fire on this night. He would be more than happy to burn her.
Bethany squirmed in her chair like an impatient child. She wished everyone would go to bed so she could sneak up the left stairs and find out if the man was as wicked as everyone claimed. She was no young virgin, she knew desire when she saw it. She definitely saw it in him. He wanted her.
One by one, people started to file out of the hall, in search of a soft bed. Soon, the only ones remaining were her and her father. He stared at her down the length of the table. His bearded chin resting in the palm of one hand, he looked ready to fall asleep.
"Why do you not seek your bed, papa?" she asked. "I am not tired. I thought to stay here for a while longer."
He shook his head, struggling to keep his eyes open. "I'll not have that bastard taking advantage of you. If he touches you before the wedding, he might claim you were not a maid." His head jerked up. "You are a maid?"
Her mouth fell open. "What kind of question is that? My virginity is none of your business."
He dropped his fist to the table, making her jump. "It is my business when my land is at stake," he thundered. "Don't try my patience, girl."
Bethany rolled her eyes and shoved away from the table. She stood and stretched her arms high above her head. She decided to try another tactic.
"I've changed my mind. I am more tired than I thought."
Her father nodded and stood to escort her to her chamber. At her door, he stopped her. His face was hard, his eyes cold.
"I meant what I said, girl. Don't do anything irrational."
She smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. "I won't."
She closed the door and pressed her ear against the wood until she heard a distant slam. She knew he'd gone into his own chamber for the night and, she hoped, had consumed enough ale to keep him asleep until morning. As quietly as she could manage, she pulled the door open and crept into the hallway. She took a step and cringed as the heel of her shoe rapped against the stone floor.
Bracing herself against the wall, she removed her shoes and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the great hall. Glowing embers were all that remained of the dying fire. The hounds slept under the table, bones and small pieces of meat lay scatter about them. She glanced at the stairs on the other side and made a dash for them.
Safely on the left stairs, she went to the third floor and paused at the landing. Last door on the left. It seemed so easy. Then why was her heart thudding in her throat? Why were her palms cold and clammy? Why did her stomach turn every five seconds? She rolled her eyes again. Get a grip. He's not the first guy you've been with.
Taking a deep breath, Bethany pushed away from the wall and made her way down the silent hallway. At the last door, she stopped. She raised her hand to knock, but lowered it again. Were there rules to medieval sex? Should she knock first? She lifted her hand again, took another breath and exhaled as her arm fell limp to her side.
"What the hell is my problem?" she whispered.
She grabbed the latch and pushed the door open. Inside, she closed the door and leaned her head against it for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She saw him on the bed, arms folded across his massive chest. He'd removed his shirt and she gaped at the size of him. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead as she took a step closer. Jet black hair covered his bronze chest and tapered to a thin line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his breeches.
Bethany licked her lips as she stared at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. He was asleep! She moved closer. His dark lashes swept across his hard face. Even relaxed, the hard angles of his face seemed to be made from stone. Another step. Lips too full for a man were slightly parted, cheekbones that others would call pretty sat high on his face. In the twenty-first century, she could picture him on the cover of romance novels.
"Are you going to stare at me all night or would you offer your bounty to a starving man?"
She jumped back, her hand covering the fierce pounding of her heart. Her eyes flew to his face and she gasped. He watched her. His eyes half closed, his lips still parted, he looked like he wanted to pounce on her.
"With all the rumors I hear about you, I hardly doubt you're starving," she replied.
He chuckled. "Aye. That much is true, my pet. Would you care to see how true the rumors really are?"
He swung his legs off of the bed and stood. Her breath caught in her throat. Dear God, the man was beautiful. Powerful. Dangerous. But, Lord, she wanted him. If the throbbing between her thighs wasn't enough proof, then the hardening of her nipples surely was. He hadn't even touched her yet, but she was close to orgasm.
The McKenzie advanced on her, an evil smile on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes. She backed away, suddenly feeling very awkward. He backed her against the wall and pressed close to her. The heat from his body warmed her, his hot breath falling against the exposed skin of her shoulder as he leaned down to scrape his velvety tongue over her flesh.
Bethany's hands came up to caress his bare chest as a soft moan fell from her lips. His hands held her hips as his tongue danced along the hollow of her throat and up to her ear. His teeth nibbled the lobe for only a moment before his big hands came up to clasp her face. He tilted her head up and slightly to the side. The perfect angle for kissing.
His mouth came down on hers in a hard, demanding kiss. One she welcomed. Her lips opened and she slid her tongue along his. His deep growl mingled with her strangled moan. His hands slid down her neck and over her shoulders to grip the bodice of her gown. In one quick movement, he pulled and the fabric ripped. Bethany moaned. Yep, I'm going to cum before he even starts.
Blaise hands pushed the material to her waist. He broke the kiss and took a step away from her. Bethany lifted a hand to her mouth, still swollen from his kiss. She watched him eyeing her big breasts with a satisfied grin. You might not be the sharpest tack in the box, Beth, but you have the best body.
He moved back against her and lifted his hands to cup her breasts. His thumb and forefinger closed around her nipple to squeeze gently. Bethany moaned and arched against his hand. His other hand quickly followed suit. He rolled her nipples, plucked at them with his fingers, and tugged them gently.
When his lips closed over one nipple, she threaded her fingers into his hair to hold his head against her breast. Shivers ran up her spine. She was hot and so very wet. He moved to the other nipple and nipped at it with his teeth. She tugged his hair, wanting more. Much more.
"Impatient, my pet?" he purred. His hot breath spilled over her naked skin.
"Yes," she moaned.
He straightened and slid his hands to her hips, pushing the material of her gown to the floor. Kneeling before her, he slid his hands up her legs and over the curve of her behind. He glanced up at her as he dipped a finger between her thighs from behind and she moaned as he rubbed it there. She arched her hips toward him and lifted her own hands to massage her breasts.
"Saints, woman, I can see how you want me. Your fair body is dripping with need. Tell me what you want."
Bethany licked her lips and met his eyes. She spread her thighs, displaying herself to his gaze. "Taste me," she said. "You did say you were starving."
His eyes smoldered and a deep growl rumbled in his chest. He gripped her thighs and licked his way up one and then the other. She moaned again and increased the pressure on her nipples.
A sharp knock sounded on the door beside her head.
"Damnation," he swore. "Who is it?"
"It is Bessie, Laird. I've brought you fresh linens."
Bethany pulled her gown up and clutched it to her breasts. Her breath came out in short gasps. Her body still throbbed from what he'd done to her. What he would have done to her. He took a step toward her and stopped.
"Best you find your bed, my pet, before we do something you'll regret."
Bethany stared. Something she'd regret? Couldn't he see how much she wanted him? Or did he see and not care? Her face flamed and she took a step toward him.
"I regret nothing, beast. We'll meet again soon."
Opening the door, she nearly ran Bessie over in her haste to escape him. She could hear him calling for her, but she kept running. Down the stairs, across the great hall, up the right stairs and into her chamber. She threw the bolt in place and collapsed on the bed, her chest heaving.
Frustrated and hurting, she removed the gown and tossed it to the floor. She closed her eyes and thought of his hands on her. His mouth tasting her. She slid her hands between her thighs, felt the wetness there and knew he'd done that to her. Wishing it was him, she brought herself to orgasm not once, but many times throughout the night.
His name falling from her lips each time.
On the other side of the castle, Blaise McKenzie was in much the same state. After chasing Bessie off with a dark scowl, he slammed the door and collapsed on the bed. He jerked his breeches off and freed his hard member.
The image of Bethany Campbell leaning naked against the wall begging him to taste her was imprinted in his mind. He tried to conjure images of Hannah, but to no avail. He could still hear Bethany's sweet cries as he touched her. Could taste her lips. Feel her hands in his hair.
He moved a hand to his shaft and rubbed slowly. Again and again, he saw her splayed open before him. He could still smell the scent of her desire on his finger. His hips arched up as his hand moved faster along his shaft.
He could only imagine what she would feel like when he sank into her tight sheath. Warm and soft. He wanted her under him, calling his name, begging him for more. His fingers tightened and he gave a few quick jerks, releasing his seed onto his abdomen with a loud groan.
Twice in one night, the same woman had caused him to lose control.
What the hell is wrong with me? Never before has a woman tempted me in such a way.
It would not happen again.