Highland Obsession (15 page)

She tightened her fingers around his shaft and pumped it lightly, savoring the feel of it expanding in her hand.

He grunted. “Yes. A woman.”

Poor, sweet Cam. At that moment, he reminded her of the frightened fourteen-year-old. “Your mistress?”

“Not anymore.”

She pumped him again, using her free hand to open his breeches wider, giving her access to his balls. She slid her fingers under them, tickling the sensitive spot at the base. “Why, love?”

“She married.”

“Och,” she said sympathetically, bringing her lips lower to brush them over his exposed crown.

“She married Alan MacDonald five days ago.”

“Ah.” Gràinne came down from the mountain infrequently, for women of her status weren’t welcome in Glenfinnan, but she lived in a tight-knit community, and she knew of most of the goings-on in the glen.

Alan MacDonald, the Highlander who’d spent his youth among the English, had returned to claim his ancestral right as laird of the MacDonalds of the Glen. Sorcha Stewart, a dark beauty whose father was the old factor at Camdonn Castle, had immediately caught his eye.

Aye, Gràinne knew the whole story. She hadn’t known, however, that Sorcha was Cam’s mistress. Had Alan MacDonald known?

Gràinne infused her voice with sympathy. “And now you cannot have her.”

Cam’s fingers threaded in her hair, and he pulled her closer to his pelvis and his seeking cock.

“I took her on her wedding night, but she . . . she rejected my . . . advances. Then she escaped.”

That, she couldn’t ignore. Pushing against his hand, she looked up at him, eyes wide. “Truly?”

“Yes,” he said grimly. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t already traveled up here.”

She was too.

“I’ve exposed her secret. I’ve placed her marriage in jeopardy.” He groaned. “Hell, I’ve destroyed her. And yet . . .” He pushed Gràinne’s head down. There was no way she could fight the power of his hand—not that she wanted to. She opened her mouth, taking his cock deep, until the head pushed against the opening of her throat. “And yet I want to do it again. Force her to be with me. Chain her to the walls of Camdonn Castle. Feel her sucking my prick . . . ah . . . like you’re doing now, Gràinne.”

Moving up to the top of his shaft, she rounded her lips over him and pushed back down slowly, feeling every contour of his cock. He was solid now, hard as granite except for the covering of soft skin and delicate bumps marking his veins. She curved her palm over his balls, massaging gently. He tilted his hips, forcing himself deeper down her throat.

With her saliva lubricating the way, she slid her lips up, then down, making a tight seal over his hot flesh. She closed her eyes. His other hand came to tangle in her hair, and he guided her movements, forcing her lower, then tugging her up only to push her to the base of his cock yet again. She opened her throat and took him. She inhaled him until she felt him to the roots of her hair. Using her tongue, she explored every part of him, gasping when he pulsed, his seed boiling against her lips.

“I want her back, Gràinne. I want her to want me. I want her to love me. I want her to be obedient . . . like you are. Responsive . . . like you are.”

Gràinne couldn’t stand it anymore. She slid her fingers between her legs and rubbed furiously. She moaned over his cock as he guided her, deep and rough. She scraped her teeth up and down his sensitive shaft, and he growled low in his throat.

Her cunt was dripping, dampening the insides of her thighs. Her clitoris was hot and swollen and eager. She drew slick circles around it with two fingers. Then, when she couldn’t bear teasing herself a moment longer, she tapped her middle finger against it. Her whole body shuddered in response. Using two fingers, she pinched it.

She cried out over Cam as spasms jerked through her body. At some point, he hauled her mouth off his cock and yanked her against him as her orgasm surged in deep, rolling waves through her body. His cock was wedged between them like a steel rod cradled by her breasts. His taut stomach pressed against her cheek as he held her to him, his hips moving in tempo with her clenching cunt.

When the storm receded, he rose, hefting her along with him. She stumbled, clinging to him as he kicked off his breeches. He took her waist in his hands and spun her around. Then he pushed on her back between her shoulder blades, bending her over the table.

Gràinne reached forward, clasping the opposite edge of the small table with both hands as he moved behind her, pressing his burning shaft into the crack of her arse.

“Why doesn’t she want me like you do?” His voice rumbled down her spine, prickled the back of her neck. “Even when years pass between my visits to you, you’re always willing, always ready for me.”

She whimpered, but the sharp, ever-analytical part of her mind knew the answer. It was because she was a whore and she knew how to excel in her trade, while Sorcha, even after having played the part of his secret mistress, was merely a young woman seduced by his bonnie masculinity.

The blunt tip of Cam’s finger slid down the crack of her backside, followed by the heat of his cock until they settled between her wet folds. Without preamble, he tunneled into her. Gripping the edge of the table, Gràinne arched her back until his mouth touched her neck.

“Take me,” she murmured. “I need you. Take me hard.” Her intuitiveness helped her to be very good at her trade. She gave him exactly what he wanted to hear—even if she wasn’t the woman he wanted to hear it from.

He fucked her. Gràinne could do nothing but hold on and take the battering. She groaned in pleasure. She panted. Her body caught on fire. It was animalistic rutting in its purest, finest form. His solid cock grinding into her as she tightened around him. Her hip bones thrusting almost painfully into the table. The wet sounds their bodies made with the repetitive advance and retreat. Her breasts smashed hard against the wood, and her nipples rubbed gloriously against the rough whorls. Cam’s hands clenched her waist so tightly she was certain he’d leave marks. She gloried in each bite of pain that came with the advance of his cock until it slammed against her womb.

His thrusts deepened, hardened. She began to shake deep in her core. The vibrations branched out until she shuddered from head to toe. He was solid and strong behind her, inside her. Rock hard as he reached the pinnacle.

His fingers tightening over her hips, he slammed into her once, twice. Then with a long, low groan, he froze, shaking. Spilling his seed deep within her. Gràinne made a low keening noise, pushing her arse into his pelvis as tightly as it would go. His pulsing cock sparked off her own spasms, and she let herself loose, shuddering as release opened her from the inside out.

They both stilled slowly, emerging out of the orgasmic haze. Gràinne realized with a pang that they’d spilled the expensive whisky, and it was dripping onto the packed dirt floor. Cam leaned over, bracing his weight on either side of her.

“Thank you, Gràinne,” he whispered, his voice thick. He moved a strand of hair away from her cheek and his lips brushed over the spot, warm and soft.

After a long moment, he pushed himself off her. Gathering her pliant body into his arms, he carried her to the bed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

C
am stripped off the rest of his clothes and lay facing Gràinne, his body an arm’s length from hers. He’d almost forgotten how she pleased him. Physically, he felt sated, but being with Gràinne hadn’t sealed the chasm in his heart. If anything, it had grown.

He’d betrayed Sorcha.

A foolish thought, really, considering the fact she was probably sleeping with Alan at this very moment. They were probably fucking like rabbits in their secluded little cottage.

Gazing at him with her intelligent doelike eyes, Gràinne reached up to stroke his cheek.

He groaned. “I want her back, Gràinne. I should never have allowed her to marry.”

“Could you have stopped the marriage?”

“Yes, I think so.” Why hadn’t he tried? Christ, he wished he’d faced his feelings for Sorcha before he’d lost her.

“Does she love you, Cam?”

He closed his eyes, then dragged the heavy lids open. “She did. I think.”

“But not anymore?”

He sighed. “It has little to do with love. She has married Alan, so now she is bound to him. Even if she hated him and loved me, she would resist me to her dying breath for the sake of her honor.”

Gràinne’s lip curled. “I’ve never been a woman to go on about honor.”

Cam laughed out loud. An honorable Gràinne? The two words didn’t seem a likely pairing. “Why not?” he asked through his chuckles.

She shrugged lightly. “What is the point? Mark my words, honor always comes round to bite you in the arse.”

“Is that so?”

“Always,” she said confidently. She moved a few inches closer, and he felt the heat of her. His cock reacted immediately. Thinking of Sorcha . . . with Gràinne’s willing flesh so close. A combination his restless, hungry body couldn’t refuse.

“But won’t you be thinking of marriage soon?” Gràinne asked. “Isn’t it time for you to be worrying about heirs and sons and such?”

He rested his hand on her bare shoulder. “Implying I’m getting long in the tooth, are you?”

She huffed a laugh. “I’ll never admit to being old, love. And since you’re eleven years my junior, I trust you’ll always be a mere youth to me.”

He cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Aye,” she said soberly. But her brown eyes twinkled. “A green lad, that’s what you are.”

He snorted. “Hardly.”

The twinkle died. “Perhaps you should be abandoning the thought of pretty Highland mistresses and instead be on the lookout for a wife.”

“I don’t want a wife,” he said stubbornly. “I want Sorcha.”

“Would you marry the lass?”

“What?”

“Did you never entertain the idea of marriage to her?”

“I can’t marry her.” At least that’s what he’d thought at the time. He had always comported himself as his station required. When he returned to England to manage his viscountcy, nobody would respect him if he brought along a Gaelic-speaking,
arisaid
-wearing Highland wife.

Like a brick on the head, it finally hit him what an ass he was. She might have fallen in love with him and married him had he pursued it in the proper way. And, of course, he only realized this now. When it was too damned late.

Gràinne pursed her lips. “Because you’re a mighty lord and she’s a nobody.”

He’d never felt such self-loathing as he did at this moment. “Right.” Glancing at her, he blew out an exasperated breath. “Don’t look at me that way, Gràinne.”

Gràinne stroked a fingernail down his chest, lighting a string of heat in its wake. “Perhaps you should leave her to her MacDonald and begin to think of the high-and-mighty lady you’d wish to marry.”

“When the time comes—and please mark it won’t be for a while yet—I shall go to England or the Lowlands to find my bride. A rich heiress would be preferable. With a good, strong bloodline.” He’d find a woman who was the complete opposite of Sorcha MacDonald.

“Ah,” said Gràinne, tapping her finger on his belly. “You prefer to shop for a wife in the same manner you’d shop for an expensive horse.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps it is time to begin your search.”

“No,” he said softly. “Not yet.” That was one step he wasn’t ready for.

“You won’t be this young”—her fingertip stroked his growing cock—“this virile, forever.”

“No, I won’t,” he said gruffly. “So I’d best take advantage of it now, hadn’t I?”

“Aye,” she whispered. Her hand left his cock and her fingers entwined with his, bringing them to her mound. “Do you feel your seed leaking from me?”

“I do.” He slid his fingers into her wet heat and closed his eyes. “I want to win her back, Gràinne. I want her to come to me willingly. I want her to choose me over Alan.”

Damn it, that would never happen. Why couldn’t he face the truth?

Gràinne pushed on his fingers, guiding them deep inside her. “Ahh . . . You wish her to choose to be your mistress over the wife of the laird?”

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what his heart desired. He wanted to win her fairly. If only it wasn’t too late. And if her marriage to Alan could be dissolved, hell, he’d do it now. He’d marry her in a heartbeat.

“Yes, Gràinne.” He scissored his fingers inside her channel, and she took a sharp intake of breath. It was an act designed to please him, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. “I want her to be in my bed, gasping like you just did.”

Gràinne’s eyes fluttered shut. She tilted her hips so he could press his fingers deeper. “I do so love the feel of you inside me.”

He pulled his fingers out and slid them back in. She was sopping wet with the mixture of her sex and his seed. Slick and ready and willing.

“I have an idea,” she gasped.