That night, the night of our wedding, I surprised myself.
At my tentative command, Jamie had obediently dropped his shirt to stand before me in glorious fire-tinged nakedness. Letting my eyes float hesitantly across the broad planes of his chest, illuminated in flickering amber by the hearth’s light, I had walked slowly around him, trailing my shaky hand in a butterfly touch across the smoothness of his buttocks, wanting to avoid his scarred back for fear of the unwelcome memories it might summon. I knew he wore the darkest parts of his past on his skin.
I was relieved that my hands scarcely trembled any more, although my knees still felt weak. It felt good to have gotten the looming barrier of that first consummation out of the way, clumsy as it was, and I felt somewhat liberated. I steeled myself and set my jaw. In the spirit of the bold openness I seemed to have chosen, I let my eyes wander at last down between his legs as I came before him once again. It seemed only fair, since it was a part of his anatomy that I would, as a wife, be expected, even perhaps (God forbid) forced, to have a close acquaintance with.
In our first awkward and uncontrolled coupling, I had not had the chance to see Jamie’s manhood before I felt it hot and heavy against my quaking thighs, and then driving into me too fast, filling me uncomfortably, deeper and wider than I thought I had ever felt before. Now, Jamie was holding his huge frame reverently still as I walked. His head was bowed, curls flaming a myriad of shades in the flickering light of the fire. And I was acutely aware of his quiet gentle breaths, as he gave himself to my judgement respectfully and completely.
Arriving in front of him and summoning all my boldness, I looked down in the firelight, my fingers trailing finally down his strong arm and over the fresh, raised wound of our blood bond. And my heart began to pound; out of guilt or terror I did not know. Framed with a reddish-auburn nest of thick curly hair tinted gold in the firelight, Jamie’s cock hung thick and long between his muscular thighs. It was half-hard, pointing slightly towards me, and I could see on it the glistening whitish smears of his first climax inside me. It was flushed a dusky pink with blood, blood I could see throbbing through the myriad of veins that crossed it. Semi-erect as it was, the foreskin was drawn back from the head with its tiny opening glistening already with renewed arousal. It was undoubtedly a beautiful specimen, I thought abstractedly. Smooth and unblemished – I assumed it would be, he having never been in a position to contract venereal disease – and with a slight curve that I imagined was what had made me gasp and arch as he twisted his hips that first time.
As my eyes lingered, moving nervously over the gorgeous lines of his intimate skin, and the secret large curves of his scrotum hanging heavy and hidden in the darker hair shadowed by his thighs, I felt a traitorous pooling between my own legs, and a shocking twinge of desire radiated up to my stomach.
I want to put my lips on it.
The thought came unbidden, and I quickly looked away and up into the kind blue eyes, so unusually vulnerable that night, which had twinkled in nervous humour at my scrutiny. But the thought persisted, twisting and growing inside my mind. I want to take it in my mouth. I want to feel that intimacy with a man again. I want to hear the helpless sound Jamie will make when I...
Later, when Jamie was cradling me, fear-stricken eyes darting over me to check that the cries I had emitted had not been of pain, the thought emerged again from behind whatever haze my blissful mind had pushed it. Almost without realising what I was doing, I was talking to him about not all pain being bad, and moving, before I knew it, to show him.
Exquisitely aware of his wide-eyed gaze fixed on me with a mixture of shock, tenderness and desire, I shimmied slowly down from where I had bitten him on the chest, using my mouth and teeth to taste the musky salt of his skin. My mind was dancing with that reckless heady abandon usually experienced when drunk, when one feels not entirely in control of one’s actions. Deliberately pushing all thoughts out of my head lest I start shaking again, I concentrated solely on the calming minutia of Jamie’s scent, the movement of his hard ribs beneath my hands as he gasped… and good God the heat of him! Radiating off his skin as if his copper-lit sides were concealing a raging furnace beneath my fingers.
When I reached Jamie’s crotch his head shot up, wide blue eyes staring down at me scandalised and stuttering lips attempting to make a sound of protest. This was obviously not, then, something that eighteenth century Scottish women did often, or at least not in polite society. I acknowledged in myself a small twinge of triumph at Jamie’s shock. Somehow, being able to catch him out in these small ways made me feel more in control of my situation, and less of the reality that I was, in fact, locked in a room with a very large, very powerful Scot who could do what he wanted with me. The fact that Jamie was an innocent in all this, made him seem – at least for these brief moments inside this room – less of the wild and cunning barbarian warrior, and more …just a man. A man who was at this very moment attempting, Catholic sensibilities rattled, to shuck himself up on the bed on his elbows away from my mouth.
Scarcely pausing to take a breath, I placed both palms on his hips, letting my nails dig in slightly in a warning to stop moving, and deliberately bit down where his soft skin met the first glowing hairs between his legs. The muffled shout that Jamie let out could have been something terribly rude in Gaelic, or perhaps something reverent, such was it uttered. Confidence growing, I replaced my teeth with my tongue and laved a path to the sensitive pale skin below his jutting blunt hipbone. His warm cock rested against my shoulder as I suckled on his burning flesh, and I turned my face to nuzzle it, my eyes closed, caution thrown to the winds. His gasps and moans blurred together in my mind into a flickering haze of firelight and desire. This was peace. Here there were no fears or worries, no captures or beatings, no uncertain future and no mourned past. Just the desperate tang of his sweat on my tongue, and the feel of his powerful muscles stretched taught in restraint under my cheek.
Then it struck me, the realisation elbowing its way to the forefront of my mind past the reckless giddy haze, causing a cold sweat to break out on my brow.
I want him. I truly want him. This desperation I feel to touch him, this unfamiliar slippery throbbing between my legs. It’s all for him.
The guilt threatened to re-emerge as I stared up at the body that had provoked such a scandalous reaction in me. It truly scared me that the rush of coarse desire for this body I was experiencing was certainly stronger than I had ever felt with Frank. I felt simultaneously like a breathless teen and a lascivious strumpet. It was not a feeling I was used to, and it was because of him. This man who lay bathed golden in the warmth of the fire, whose great large hand trembled perceptibly where it rested uncertainly on my shoulder. He was beautiful, no doubt about it, and young, and strong, and passionate. But more than that. In my dedication over the past few days to remain dispassionately rational in my situation, I had forgotten it seemed, that Jamie had been a true friend to me since my arrival. He was the only person I felt I could talk to in this frightening, strange land in which I found myself. I liked him. He was funny, and gentle, and honourable, and loyal, and I knew I trusted him. Now perhaps it was time to trust myself.
Quickly, without giving myself time to hesitate, I lowered my trembling hand from Jamie’s hip and placed it around his straining flesh. I could feel the pulse beat in the silky-velvet skin, and kept my gaze fixed on Jamie’s face as he gasped out another Gaelic word and arched his back, neck muscles standing out and the dusky shadows making his jawbone look as sharp as knives. His eyes were now closed, I noticed momentarily, and then I closed my own as I lowered my face down to his quivering thighs, taking him in my mouth and bracing myself for what I knew was coming.
Jamie’s whole massive frame below me convulsed, and he uttered a loud hoarse shout. I imagined he was struggling to raise himself once again on his elbows to look at me, but I kept my eyes firmly shut and focused instead on sucking as steadily as I could, deciding that showing was better than explaining in this instance. After a couple of seconds, I felt a jolt as his head plopped back onto the pillow with a soft floof, and I released him from my mouth only to lick a clean stripe up the velvety flesh from root to tip, all the time holding him anchored with my fist. I tasted the salty musk of myself on him from minutes before when he had been inside me, but I quickly pushed the realisation from my mind lest my conscience or my fear surfaced again. I was very aware that he was thicker in my hand than Frank had ever been.
This was what I had craved. This ecstasy of being near a man again, of having the reckless giddiness of sensation overpower everything else. And I had wanted this beautiful long cock in my mouth, had indeed wanted to touch this body for weeks, and now the reality was everything I had hoped, and more. Remembering that this was, in fact, meant to be a lesson on the virtues of occasional roughness, I uncovered my teach as I pulled up, holding on and sucking hard as this new sensation caused another involuntary jerk.
Time lost its meaning; the minutes swirled around us like the fluttering wings of butterflies flying too close to a golden fire. I nipped and licked, suckled and bit until the rigid organ beneath my hands was a dusky red colour, and its owner was panting above me, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to restrain himself. I knew he was nearing the end, and my decision was not so much conscious as instinctive. I gently kissed the leaking slit, tasting the salty tang on my lips, then I grasped him firmly, continuing the languid motion with my hand, while I lowered my mouth and very gently and wickedly, bit one of his balls.
The effect was instantaneous. He came with a gasp, his sensitive flesh beneath my hand pulsing hotly, awakening in me an affectionate feeling of intimacy. I kept my hand on him until the last spurts of milky seed had landed on the contracted muscles of his lower belly, and then I shimmied up to lie beside him, keeping my eyes on the fine sweaty lines of his brow and his clear blue eyes as they at last opened and fell on me.
I felt a welcome tenderness blossoming in me as we grinned at each other, as if finally, now, I was beginning to know him.