He started at my head, pressing a soft kiss to my temple and brushing his knuckles against it softly. “First and foremost mo ghraidh, yer mind is art. The way ye think is unlike anyone I have ever met. The way ye look at the world is…,” he paused, “unparalleled.” His thumb grazed my temple. “Yer intelligence astounds me. Yer mind, it deserves to be revered,” he began, conviction lacing every word.
He then moved to my hair, brushing a few strands away from my face and tangling one of his hands through the curls as my eyes followed his every move. “Mo nighean donn.” he smiled softly, and I felt butterflies flutter in my stomach at his use of that endearment. “Yer hair was one of the first things I noticed about ye, ken? The wild curls flowing down yer shoulders like the water through a burn...the way it ruffles down the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots with... wee bits of auburn where the sun hits it. The mos’ beautiful shades, colors artists have tried and failed to create are right here, framing yer beautiful face.”
The atmosphere in the room had tangibly shifted. His words caused my heart to beat out of my chest, slowly tearing down each and every one of my walls and insecurities, warming me from the inside out.
He then moved his hand down to my eyes, brushing over my eyelids with controlled delicacy as they fluttered beneath his touch. “Yer eyes, I dinna even ken what to say. Art is a word beyond inadequate to describe yer eyes, Claire. Rich, deep pools of the finest whiskey. I can see each and every one of yer emotions in them. They enrapture me, hold me prisoner...but mo chridhe, I would gladly spend my life being held captive in your eyes.” He breathed, voice cracking slightly with emotion.
My eyes welled up slightly and one stray tear managed to escape and trail down my cheek. I hope he knew I felt the exact same way when I looked into the deep, clear blue depths of his own. He brushed his thumb softly against my cheek, wiping the moisture away fondly. I was frozen to the spot, unable to speak, completely enamored by the words of pure love coming out of his mouth.
He continued his path down as he brushed his knuckles softly over my cheeks, whispering to me. “The soft skin of yer cheeks, the way they tinge with pink when I touch yer body, when I say the filthiest things to you...when I tell ye how I long to feel ye wrapped around my cock” he kissed my cheek as it involuntarily flushed in response to his words, which caused him to smile against my skin in satisfaction at getting the desired response, “that is art”.
My breathing was heavy, and I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take, but I relished every second. Word by word he was chipping away at the insecurities that constantly swirled in my mind. Every negative thing anyone had ever told me slowly fell away, the only things remaining were Jamie and his affectionate words, his love. He was giving me strength and slowly helping me see myself .
His fingers moved over to run across my swollen lips and my breath tickled his fingers softly. “These lips,” he groaned, closing his eyes and pausing for a moment to gather himself before opening them again. “These lips are art, and they are the only thing keeping me alive. It is as though I am a drowning man, and yer lips are my oxygen,” he confessed hoarsely, tracing over my parted lips with his fingers. “The way they form around words when yer speakin’ to me. At times I canna hear even a word ye say because I’m so mesmerized by them. The way ye bite down on them. The way they feel against my lips, so soft, so right, so perfect. It would be cruel not to kiss them,” he leaned forward to peck my lips lightly.
“The way they feel when they brush over my skin, like velvet. The way they feel when they’re wrapped around my cock. It is all art”. He dragged his thumb across my full lower lip, pulling it to the side before releasing it, letting it pop back into place. My ears were clinging to every word coming out of his mouth.
He moved one hand to the back of my head and brushed the back of my neck before sliding his hand up into my hair, twisting and fisting it in his grip. He tugged it back roughly to expose my neck, causing my head to fall back slightly with a gasp, while his other hand trailed its fingers down the side of my neck.
“If there ever were a perfect stroke of the brush of creation, Claire, it is the curve of yer neck. It enchants me,” he breathed out, before bending down to follow the trail of his fingers with his lips down to my sweet spot before sucking harshly. A weak, drawn out moan escaped my lips as my head fell against his shoulder at the sensation involuntarily. He pulled back slightly and traced the red mark on my skin with his fingers. “The marks left on your body by my lips, that is art,” he said into my neck.
His fingers traced down my collarbones, drinking in every inch of my skin before stopping just above my breasts. He pressed his large palm flat against my heart, feeling it pound against my chest. “Your heart, mo ghraidh. It has completely captured mine. Believe me when I tell you,” he said with a sincere fervor, “ye have the mos’ beautiful heart I have ever had the pleasure to come across. It is kind, courageous, selfless, forgiving, strong, and so much more,” his eyes blazed into mine, “and it deserves to be loved endlessly,” he said with such conviction that I had to look at him. As we locked eyes, we silently communicated to each other all the emotions in our hearts that our words simply could not. “The way ye love is art in its purest form,” he whispered, looking directly into my soul.
“It belongs only, and entirely , to you,” I told him honestly, my voice trembling and eyes welling with tears of heightened emotion. It was true. I loved many people, but he alone held all of my heart in the palms of his hands, and kept it safe.
We stayed that way, looking at each other with his hand over my heart, our souls speaking to each other. I was a mess, my body responding to his in its most carnal way, but my heart exploding with a mess of emotions.
Time became non-existent until he eventually tore his gaze away from mine and moved it down to where his hand rested, and my eyes followed suit.
He changed course slightly as his hands ran down my arms to take hold of my wrists and lifted my arms to wrap them around the back of his neck. My breathing faltered as he whispered, “Keep yer arms there for me, Sassenech,” into my ear.
All I could do was focus on moving air in and out of my lungs because I was so far out of my comfort zone.
Jamie grazed his fingers over my breasts lightly, cupping each in his large hands and squeezing. I watched his thumbs rubbing over my nipples as he spoke to me. “Yer breasts,” he breathed out huskily, “they enthrall me. It is as though they were made for me,” he said, marveling at how they felt in his hands. “So full, so soft,” he murmured, squeezing again before rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. A low moan escaped my throat at the feeling and I squeezed my legs together hoping to relieve some of the ache between my thighs. “These breasts are art ,” he promised into my hair, squeezing again before forcing his hands away with seemingly great difficulty.
He continued down, passing over my stomach and onto my hips. “The curves of yer waist...yer hips...they bewitch me,” he said softly, passing his hands over them. I smiled softly. I knew I didn’t have ‘womanly curves’ as someone had once informed me, but I was slowly learning that not meeting other people’s ideals of what women should look like didn’t make me any less beautiful.
He moved down to my thighs, skipping over where I needed him most, and a pathetic whimper left my throat in disappointment. “These legs, they mesmerize me,” he whispered. “ ‘specially when they’re wrapped around my hips,” he added teasingly, causing me to laugh.
“You can’t even see them then!” I teased back indignantly.
He chuckled. “That mebbe so, but I can feel them verra well, Sassenach.” I laughed in response. I did have a habit of trapping him against me with my legs.
He paused at the sound of my laugh, then looked up at my face tenderly. “Yer smile, yer laugh,” he murmured, moving off course from his perusal of my body. “It has captured me: mind, body and soul,” he paused. “I feel like my heart fuckin’ flutters with happiness whenever you laugh,” he admitted, blushing slightly.
A soft smile remained on my lips when we both looked back down as his hands trailed upwards from the top of my thighs, and my pulse raced in anticipation.. But instead, I gasped as he surprised me by gripping my hips and suddenly turning me sideways so my arse was visible in the mirror. My hands fell from around his neck, coming to rest on his firm chest. I watched as one of his hands moved my hair to the side and the fingertips of the other glided down my spine, softly skimming over the skin all the way to the small of my back, eliciting a shudder from my body. “The curve of your back, it exhilarates me,” he bit his lip.
I kept my head turned towards the mirror as his hands slid down to my arse, fingers tracing the curve of it where it met my thighs before grasping tightly and squeezing, his short nails lightly digging into the soft, thick flesh. “Oh,” I let out a surprised squeal, jumping slightly in his arms. He hissed through his teeth when my body brushed against his hard center and tightened his grasp on me to keep me still. “Your round arse Sassenach, fuck,” he strained his words out, so close to losing control of this waiting game himself. “They entrance me. No piece of art on this entire fucking planet could even compare,” he said huskily. One of his hands lifted up and landed on my ass with a harsh smack and the hot flesh bounced under his hand, causing me to let out a strangled moan of his name. I whimpered as he continued to knead the heated flesh in his hands. “The marks left on it by my hands,” he squeezed harder, fingertips surely leaving bruises on my skin, “it’s art,” he finished.
I couldn't take this. I was wound up so tight, wetness coating the insides of my thighs at this point. I knew what was coming next, and I clenched in anticipation as he turned me back around in his arms, grinding his crotch forcefully into my arse and smoothly pulling my arms back up, linking them around his neck.
I watched his fingers slide down my hips, tickling the insides of my thighs, no doubt seeing and feeling the wetness there. My cheeks flushed pink as he let out a strangled groan behind me, addicted to the way my body always reacted to him. “Yer going to be the death of me Sassenach.”
He continued to dance his fingers along the insides of my thighs, knocking my legs further apart from behind with his knee.
My mind was clouding over with need, eclipsing any anxious thought in my brain.
“Jamie,” I panted out. He was so close to where I needed him. My body felt like it was on fire, burning with the need for him to soothe the ache that was throbbing between my thighs.
As if he was just waiting for me to speak, he slid his hand smoothly between my thighs, slipping two fingers between my soaking wet folds. “Yer fuckin’ dripping for me,” his voice was strained from what he was feeling, and I felt his cock twitch against my arse beneath the fabric of his pants. A whimper tore through my throat as one of his arms wrapped around my entire waist holding me steady against his hard body, and the other slowly rubbed up and down my heat.
“Yer heat, it fuckin’ intoxicates me,” he said, both of our eyes locked on his hand between my thighs. “It brings me to my knees .” His thick voice sounded almost pained. “The way ye throb when I touch you there,” he continued to torture me, circling one finger around my clit. I could literally feel it pulsing against his finger, and I knew he could feel it too. “The way ye always get wet for me so quickly. Just for me ,” he said possessively, sliding one long finger inside me. My mouth fell open in a silent moan and my knees trembled as I gripped onto his forearm tightly, which flexed under my fingers with every movement of his hand. My mind and body both felt positively delirious from the onslaught of sensations.
“The way yer warmth feels when you're clenching around my fingers...my tongue...my cock. Ye take me so perfectly, I ken our bodies were made for each other,” he whispered huskily, adding a second finger, causing me to cry out helplessly and fight the urge to let my eyes flutter shut from the pleasure. “The sweet taste of ye against my tongue,” he moaned, unable to hold his hips back from continuously grinding against my ass in rhythm with his fingers, trying to ease some of his own discomfort. “Each and every bit is art,” he breathed, pumping his fingers in and out as his thumb began to stroke my clit.
I could barely stand in his arms, I was sure I would fall to the ground if not for his arm tightly wrapped around my waist, holding me flush against him. The fact that both of us were transfixed on his hand, watching his fingers slide obscenely in and out of me, watching his thumb rub my clit harshly, my legs spread, the wet and filthy sounds of my arousal filling the room, it was all driving me out of my mind.
“I could spend an eternity between yer thighs, mo ghraidh,” he whispered into my ear, nipping at it and simultaneously curling his fingers deep inside of me, hitting that spot that had me seeing stars and writhing in his arms.
His words and actions both drove me recklessly close to the edge of the cliff. “Jamie, please,” I managed a weak moan, not exactly sure what I was asking for.
He growled in my ear and began to thrust harder. My head fell back and I moaned loudly at the sensation, just about to fall over into mind shattering pleasure, so close I could almost taste it, when his fingers suddenly disappeared from inside me.
“Jamie what the fu-,” I began heatedly, turning around ready to give his annoyingly perfect arse a piece of my mind. You do not bring a woman to the edge of paradise and just leave her hanging. But he interrupted me by sliding one finger back into me, effectively shutting me up, causing a gasp to escape my parted lips in surprise and my walls to clench around him in a vice like grip, a futile attempt to keep him there.
“Look at me, Claire,” he demanded, gently nudging my chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger. I lifted my eyes and met his wild gaze in the mirror.
He looked at me with pupils blown wide, eyes almost black with a ring of blue around them. But he did so with such burning intensity that I kept my mouth shut when he removed his finger from me again and placed his now wet fingers back on my hips.
“Mo chridhe,” he began tenderly, but with an underlying tone of passionate urgency. “Never forget that you were art long before I came to admire ye. And you will continue to be art no matter who admires you or does not. A masterpiece is still a masterpiece even when the lights are off and the room is empty.”
My breath hitched in my throat. I was absolutely done for. All my walls had come crashing down, and I knew I was completely, and happily, bare for this man, mind, body and soul. I didn’t have his way with words, but I tried to tell him anyways how he was making me feel. How seen, how accepted, how beautiful, how loved . And more than anything, how he was helping me feel those very things about myself . “Jamie, I -”
He hushed me as soon as I started speaking. “I ken,” he smiled softly, looking at me warmly. “And I’m no’ done yet.”
“You, Sassenach...yer a masterpiece more beautiful than anything I have ever seen,” he said, sincerity lacing every word. “Ye deserve to be adored in every way. Yer mind, it deserves to be revered...yer heart deserves to be cherished."
His eyes then darkened further, a hungry look overtaking his features before he spoke his next words. “And yer body, mo chridhe,” he groaned out thickly, tightening his grip and smoothing his hands slowly up over my curves. “Yer body deserves to be fucking worshipped .”