“Well, I’ve done what I can for that eye,” Claire noted as she moved his head into, then out of the fire light, “but something else is troubling you.” She observed, looking at his face with a frown of concern.
“W—why would ye say that, lass?” He tried to disengage himself from her hands and subtly shift his weight away from her body heat,, almost impossible for a large man perched on a stool to do without being obvious about it.
“You just did it again,” she pointed out, “You must be in quite a bit of discomfort if you can’t even sit still.” Jamie made a choking sound of horror as she slid between his slightly splayed knees. He’d only drawn her closer in his effort to create some distance between them.
“Stop trying to be so bloody heroic, tell me where it hurts.” She lay a hand on his shoulder. Jamie breathed out heavily but remained silent, willing this torture to end.
When he’d taken the hit for Laoghaire MacKenzie, he’d only meant to goad the MacKenzie a bit and try and relieve his own sense of guilt. Strong willed ladies who spent their lives under the firm thumbs of their masculine elders often had a rough go of it. He meant to set an example of chivalry for his uncles and the other clansmen having a great admiration himself for independent-minded women. Being back in Scotland again reminded him painfully of his sister and he seized on the first opportunity that presented itself to offer protection to the first damsel that he perceived in distress. He’d, as usual, not bothered thinking through the consequences and regretted his rashness when it became clear the girl had read more into his action than he intended. In fact, he admitted to himself, he’d really just been focused on assuaging his guilt over Janet’s fate and naught a bit over the lass whose punishment had been spared.
To compound his foolishness, he was beginning to suspect he might just have done it as an excuse for Claire to touch him again. The “discomfort” he was feeling was all contained under his kilt and if she continued to stand that close and touch him that way, his problem would become embarrassingly clear. Her hand ran experimentally along his shoulder.
“Is your arm still giving you trouble?” She wondered as her knee accidentally grazed his inner thigh. He caught a whiff of the mint and honey and ...the tantalizingly Claire scent that had settled over him when they’d been forced into riding together from Cock Nammond Rock that first night.
“Nah,” he answered honestly trying to find a way to move his legs to the side, the name of the wee hill reenforcing his current predicament.
“Stop wiggling.” Claire admonished and continued to search forth source of his injury.
As her hand kneaded and patted and pressed along his shoulders, back and chest, he realized his mistake. A simple yes would have ended things immediately and he could have made his rise to leave without any further awkwardness or trouble. Instead he was trying to hunch his legs, his arms, or hips in a vain attempt to preserve his modesty and her sensibilities.
With every caress of her fingertips along the worn linen of his shirt, he grew more lightheaded. Well, no wonder, all the blood in his body had flown southward. He was painfully, urgently hard. Three-- ah Dhia! make that four times-- she had accidentally rubbed against his erection which had only grown since this foolishness began. Her hand was skimming low along his hip, graceful, long fingers, he could feel pressing against the soft, worn wool of his plaid.
“Sassenach,” he rasped as his hand seized her wrist, squirming like a guilty schoolboy.
“Oh? Ticklish are we?” Claire laughed and wriggled free from his hold. He could see where this was going.
“Of course not. Only wee bairns are ticklish.” He told her firmly.
“Liar,” she chided setting out to prove him wrong.
Her hands and fingers flickered and fluttered as she teased vulnerable nerve endings. She found a couple good ones causing him to involuntarily cry out in squeals of outraged giggles. The sound so improbable coming from him that she couldn’t help laughing to hear it. Embarrassed, he chuckled, too. She was being annoying and aggressive and alarmingly adorable all at the same time.
His better judgment slipped as his competitive instincts kicked in and he returned the favor to the sound of shrieks and whoops. Her skirt became entangled between them, rising with her thrashing and twisting but she hadn’t noticed. As she spun away from him, he got a hand under her arm and he contracted his fingers. He’d never seen anyone laugh so hard that no sound escaped, toward the end, her body spasmed and her knees buckled. Claire ended up solidly in his lap, skirts askew, body still shaking from laughter, as she finally found her voice. The sound subsided into giggles and then faded entirely as her imperiled condition became clear. Before she’d even stopped squirming, Jamie got a solid hold on both of her hands and pressed them firmly behind her back.
“Do ye yield, woman?” his voice sounded strained.
No longer wheezing through huffs and puffs of mirth, both of their chests were heaving with effort. He was aware of the lovely firm buttocks under his hands, the way her high, firm bosom was pressed against his chest. Claire moved her thighs experimentally, suddenly aware that her underskirt was the only layer of clothing between his kilt and her body.
Instead of answering his question, Claire asked one of her own, “is this what has been troubling you?”
Her lips were a lovely shade of pink, slightly parted and he wanted to kiss her more than he ever wanted to do anything in his life. Jamie’s eyes skittered away, unable to look at her, and his face flushed with shame.
“I beg yer pardon, mistress. It is unforgivable to disgrace you in this foul manner.” He said sincerely but he didn’t move her off his lap.
“You know, the...uh the Rising... just happens sometimes, regardless, whether you want it to or not.” She told him, trying to find a way through this awkwardness.
He shot her a look and mmphmed. “Well, maybe so and maybe no, Sassenach, but it wouldna be so rebellious if ye’d stop petting it, aye?”
“Pe--petting? Me?” She said incredulously, her hips shifting inconveniently. He groaned. “I am sure you pet it enough for both of us, Mr. McTavish!” Claire’s face grew hot as she realized what she’d said.
Jamie pressed his hands down on her bum, moving her closer to him, shuddering. Christ! He could feel the heat of her betwixt her legs. He grew harder, his worn kilt leaving little to the imagination pinned and stretched between their legs. Claire focused on his face, longing to run her fingers through the soft brush of his whiskers, trace her finger along his full bottom lip. What kind of kisser would he be? Slow and sensual or rough and quick? She was transfixed by his mouth, watching as his tongue skittered out. She rocked against him, unable to stop herself.
“I...I canna do that,” Jamie told her, releasing her arms so his hands could splay on her backside. His palms gripping her firmly.
“Is your arm still hurting that much?” She wondered. He choked on his inhale.
Claire’s legs opened a little wider and she draped her arms over his shoulders clutching for balance. She squiggled, bringing herself even closer to him and a new wave of sensation brought his balls tight against his body.
“I meant tis a sin, self...abuse.” He groaned.
“What? Self-abuse?” She said surprised. Jamie thought she was asking what the term meant.
“Petting it.” He clarified because he absolutely could not say masturbate out loud. “Mortal sin.”
He looked like such an earnest boy scout, despite the fact that they were grinding against one another with abandon, that she bit her lip to stop from laughing. She pressed closer, leaned her mouth against his ear, feeling the damp hair near his temple.
“So you’ve never beat the bishop?” She whispered. “Not even once?” She rocked her hips back and forth, teasing him just to hear him gasp and groan.
“I’m no’ a saint, Sassenach,” Jamie confessed and proved it by thrusting in answer.
“Neither am I,” She revealed, answering his shudder with a shiver of her own.
Jamie pulled his head back and stared at her, astonished. Despite the fact that she’d been eagerly -- if not immodestly-- humping against him, she’d still managed to shock him.
“A woman can...can...like a man?” Jamie’s twenty odd years on the farm hadn’t prepared him for this concept at all.
“Not….exactly.” Claire panted out. “But something like. What do you think about when you uhmm, pet it?” Jamie was now red in the face and she stopped moving all together. He whimpered. “You want more?”
“I shouldn’t,” he told her but the tone carried a marked lack of conviction.
“Well, I do.” She admitted bluntly. “Otherwise, I’ll be restless all night,” she said, “aching and wanting so bad I’ll never get to sleep.” She sighed. “Go, then, if you feel you must. Shame really, seeing as fornication and self-abuse are both sins while this,” Claire stroked her damp center against him once again, “is neither. Just a man and a woman helping each other avoid both. We aren’t even naked.” She observed, though the barriers between them were thin, they were real. “When you lay your head on your pallet, remember to say a prayer for me, for I’ll be finger deep in sin tonight.”
Jamie shuddered, stiffening up at her naughty confession. “Please, Sassenach,” he groaned, uncertain even as he said it what he was begging for.
“I know, Jamie. Its not something I want on my conscience, either. Especially knowing we could have spared ourselves the stain of such wickedness.” Claire heaved a great breath, coming to rest chest to chest and rubbing lightly.
“ Ah Dhia .” He grunted out, his hands clenching her thighs in an unmistakable urgency that made her heart speed double time. She sat up higher.
“Start talking,” she advised with a shake of her hips.
What can I say...it was irresistible and the one shot turns into more...
“You,” the tone of his voice gruff and breathless.
“I asked first.” She said, surprised to see him smiling at her.
“I meant it’s you that I think of when ... when I do that.”
She gave him a tentative grin of her own. “When you jerk your cock?”
“Jesus.” Had he heard her right?
Her body arched tightly against his and he braced his hands on her hips, eyes staring at her chest.
“Yer b..bre..bosoms,” his face flushed scarlet, and Claire fought against a giggle —bosoms! “The first time I saw ye, in that wee white slip? Twas drenched wi’ rain as ye came toward me, cross the hearth, there was a moment the light caught ye just so,” Jamie’s eyes took on a soft dreamy glow and he gave her a lusty sigh. “I could see yer nipples dark and hard underneath. I wanted to hold yer breast in my palm, wondering would it feel heavy or was it light as air?”
His eyes remained fixed on her cleavage and she felt her sex twitch. Her nipples were straining against the stays she hadn’t gotten used to wearing yet.
“And you wanted to put your hands on them?”
“Cup one in your palm and flick a thumb over the hard, tight point?”
Mmphm , Jamie licked his lips, eyes intent. His cock pulsed and throbbed under her. He liked the talking.
“Would you have licked all the rain away, or slurped each drop off like you were drinking hot tea, do you think?” She queried, the strained, frantic noise that rose from his throat hit her down low.
“Y—ye ken that wouldna ha’ helped a bit...For no matter which I chose, ye’d still be wet ,” he pronounced with a particular emphasis, “in any case.”
“True enough ...and hard as icicles.” She agreed. “Still, your mouth would have been so warm and my skin was practically frozen. Why you could have gone forever swirling and twirling your tongue, licking them like an ice cream cone, and I wouldn’t have melted.” Claire’s eyes were far away.
Daft talking, Sassenach, Christ, she was making him want to spill.
“I dinna ken what an ice cream cone is.” He admitted drooling over the thought of further explanation. She laughed.
“Its a very cold dessert made with cream though sometimes with shaved ice and fruit. Fromage I think they call it in France,” Claire said, remembering an old story she’d heard while stationed overseas during the war.
“Och,” Jamie said comprehension dawning, “Sorbet. When I was at Université
in Paris I went to a grand ball hosted by my uncle. Lemon, it was that time. I got goose flesh from the chill.” Jamie shivered.
“That night on the horse, I was one big goosebump all over.” The skin on her upper arms broke out in remembered sympathy.
“Were ye, now?” Jamie asked bringing the nail of one finger along her throat, reminding her of where she had been going with that story.
“I was, everywhere, especially my nipples. They are just as hard right now.” She told him, sweeping her fingers across the fabric of her dress. Jamie made a sound like a growl. To bring such a man to his knees was so darkly thrilling, it sent waves of longing through her body.
“Touch them for me,” he rasped. Forthright and spirited, he’d seen that much when they met. But he never imagined her this bold, nor that she could push him this far, either. He thanked the stars she’d crossed his path that day.
Claire gave him a coquettish upsweep of her eyes as she dipped her hand into the vee between her breasts and teasingly walked her fingers across her breast. Though the bodice kept her covered, he could tell she was pinching her nipple between her middle and index fingers. Claire moaned and her eyes closed in blissful appreciation. He watched the delicate movement of her wrist, the flicker and release of her hand, a longer squeeze of her fingers and he knew she was playing with just the very tip of her nipple.
“Feels delicious.” She told him.
His palm itched. He wanted very badly to touch her but had never played this game and didn’t know the rules. Just then her shoulders hunched and a curl came free tumbling down and coming to rest just above her heart. He reached up, letting the back of his knuckles casually stroke along her neck.
“Yer hair,” he said.
“Uh-hum?” Claire felt a feather light touch of fingertips against the tendrils curling against the hollow of her throat. Her eyes popped open but he was focused on twirling the strand around his finger.
“The way it smells...different.” Jamie finally settled on.
“Different how?” Claire wondered.
“Dinna ken, but bonnie,” he hastened to assure her, “even in the wind and the rain, I noticed it.” Jamie chuckled in amusement, “I spent half that night wi’ my nose pressed against the back of yer head, sure ye’d hear me snuffling like a pig o’er a truffle.” His eyes cast sideways and caught hers.
“You could have eaten it and I wouldn’t have realized anything amiss, I was so cold and tired by then.”
“I was boiling, wi’ yer plump arse pressed tight to my thighs.” Jamie clenched her hair tightly in his fist and it was clear his comments regarding her backside were meant as praise not insult. “Feeling ye bouncing up and down on my...lap.”
“This jog your memory?” Claire wondered and proceeded to grind up and down along his cock. She was speaking daft again, but he understood her meaning.
“I havena forgotten a second of it, Sassenach,” he assured her. “The mere sight of ye turns my cock to stone. Its a wonder I havena done it grave injury, the poor wee thing, knocking into walls and posts whenever ye come into view.” Claire giggled.
“Poor wee thing, is it?” She circled her hips with lewd determination and they both released unbridled cries of excitement. It had been far too long for her and she needed release. He was huge, eager and firm and it was exceedingly gratifying to have such a gorgeous man panting after her like this, obviously as desperate as she for much the same reason.
“Aye, verra wretched indeed, believe you me. To finally have been close enough to touch a lass and she might as well ha’ been the moon for all the good it did him to say nothing of me and all my gentlemanly intentions. For I have tried, Sassenach, to pretend ye dinna make my knees wobble and my skin prickle wi’ the memory of yer touch. I keep my eyes to the ground so ye canna see how they burn when I watch ye.”
Claire’s hands clenched on his shoulders, her breasts brushing against his chest but it wasn’t enough. She jutted her hips forward, her wet sex desperate to feel his cock sliding against its sensitive nerves.
“But it was all for naught, aye?” he admitted, “for ye’ve uncovered my shame and admitted yer own.”
“Does this feel like shame to you?” She demanded.
“God, no!” Jamie’s hands clenched on her upper thighs, spreading her apart, the last of her underskirt pulling up and over her arse. Jamie couldn’t look away and when the smell of her arousal hit his nostrils, he moaned, helplesses.
“If its not shame then ...Jesus H Roo--” Claire broke off as sensation flooded her body. Almost...just a little more and she’d be there. “What-” Claire wailed unable to stop the keening sound from her mouth.
“I dinna ken if it is heaven or hell,” he told her as he pressed his forehead against hers, both dewey with sweat. “but oh God! Please, Claire,” Jamie moaned.
She could see the lashes of his eyes fluttering and jumped in surprise as his palms grabbed hold of her bare arse and he pulled her hard to him, over and over stroking her against his cock.
“Are you ker-handed in all things?” She asked, having heard the term used by Hamish MacKenzie during a recent lesson in sword fighting with his uncle Dougal. Jamie’s expression closed suddenly, unsure of where she was going. She raised her brow and wriggled her hips suggestively and rubbed her breast with her hand once more. Jamie’s face flushed.
“Oh, fer that , aye.”
Claire gave a hum of acknowledgement and put her mouth next to his ear. “Tomorrow night as you lay in your bed, I want you to use your right only.” She whispered suggestively. Jamie’s breath left his body in a pant.
“Yer being presumptuous.” He said striving for urbanity, the last refuge of a man that very much suspected she’d have him drooling on the floor in another minute or two and and he needed to preserve what dignity he could for the moment.
“Yes, I am.” She agreed, ignoring his half-hearted attempt at denial.”But we just agreed there is no shame in it. Heaven or hell is a very apt description. And as we’ll both end up in one of the two, I mean to enjoy the journey at least.” Jamie’s huge grin enjoying her wit made her stomach flip. Oh yes, Claire knew, she was going to lead this one on a merry chase indeed.
“Everything in the right hand will be different,” she told him, “the amount of downward pressure, the angle of your pull, how the meat of your hand and reach of your fingers grip over your skin. None of it familiar, almost as if someone else is doing it for you.” A great silent shudder rolled through Jamie’s body.
“And you don’t have to pretend any longer, for you know exactly what it feels like to be the horse I’m riding.” Claire return his grin, seeing the slack-jawed expression on his face but found him just as capable of stunning her to silence a monment later as he cantored up into her pushing himself against her sex and circling her hips to prolong the sensation, her orgasm inevitable...but not quite yet. “Except now you will know of a certainty how the touch of you on me makes me hot, and the sounds I make as you pleasure me, how my arse fills your fingers as you squeeze and pull me closer. All of these things you’ve imagined a dozen times.”
“At least.” Jamie grunted. His forehead was slick with sweat and she could feel the damp tendrils framing his face against her cheek.
“You still don’t know what my lips taste like, or whether I’ll slip my tongue into your mouth when you finally kiss me. You’ll drive yourself mad wondering how it feels when my nipple puckers under your finger and you can’t wait to find out. They’ll be some hard choices to make, of course-- should you picture me straddling face to face or whether you still prefer the back way.” This got her a startled chuckle.She hunched over him riding him harder as her fingernails gripped the linen of his shirt tightly enough to leave marks. “But you’ll console yourself with the knowledge of things you’d never thought of and won’t be able to stop remembering. The warmth of the air as I pant against your neck and the rush of coolness prickling against your skin when you steal my breath and the smell of my sex when you have roused me so much I soak through my smalls.”
“Mother of Bride, Sassenach ye’ll make me spend!” Jamie stared at her lips, wanting so badly to kiss them, wanting even more to hear what they said next. Her scent was intoxicating, at this point, but he could also detect his own, and if she was soaked, he rather thought a bit of that was due to him as well. He could feel his balls squeeze tighter. Claire’s back rippled with delight, obviously enjoying working them up.
“Uh-hum, and soon, and then again when you are alone. I doubt you’ll be able to hold off until tomorrow evening.” She predicted. “No matter. but from the moment you decide you can’t wait any longer and start to hike your kilt up your long thighs and bend your knees, remember how much I’ll wish I was there watching you spread yourself open, with your hands switched around and the unfamiliar one cupping your balls. How wet I will get listening to you grunting and moaning and how deeply it affects me seeing the changes that come over your face as you lose yourself in your pleasure.”
“Sassenach, I canna stop myself,” he warned, a hard edge in his tone sending her to toward the brink. To his utter shock her hands left his shoulders and she cusped her palms against the backs of his hands, urging him to part her buttocks wider, the better to feel him spend.
“Now, Jamie,” Claire choked out. He felt her shake as she arched back against his arms, her throaty whimper covering his own as she felt his release pulsing against her backside.