Cal opens up his sporran and pulls out a condom. “I’m afraid one’s all I had time to grab… this and another survival knife.”
“I imagine we’re going to do it more than once, sailor,” I giggle. “I could ask Fi for birth control advice, but I’m not exactly keen on a sex-ed class from her and Fergus.”
Cal barks out a laugh. “Well then, we’ll have to learn all the old-timey methods ourselves. Through practice.”
And then, with that adorable, devilish grin, he nudges me onto the bed, and I land on my back with him hovering over me.
Slowly, almost reverently, he begins to slip off the stunning gown and petticoat Fiona gifted me. His fingers glide over my skin like silk whispers. Each touch leaves an echo of longing behind, a craving for more closeness, to feel every inch of him against me.
As the last piece of clothing falls away from me, his eyes drink in every curve and angle of my body.
“Christ, yer beautiful,” he breathes out. “How did I get so lucky?”
Fumbling with the buckles on his kilt sends a low moan slipping past my lips as I finally strip him bare.
“Damn,” I gasp out while drinking in the sight of him. “I mean, just look at you! I’m hitched to a Scottish Sex God.”
He captures my hands and pins them above my head.
“Aye, lass,” he whispers into the space between us. “Just ye wait... by the time I’m done, ye’ll be inventing a whole new pantheon just for me.”
His bold declaration rips a laugh from me, but the intoxicating closeness of our tangled bodies quickly silences it. The smoky look in his eyes leaves me gasping for air, my body humming with anticipation.
“Now, I'm going to worship every inch of you.”
His lips brush my forehead, eyelids, and linger on my lips, before blazing a trail of fiery kisses along the curve of my neck. He traces them down my abdomen and the curves of my hips, pausing teasingly at my thighs, locking his eyes onto mine with a smoldering intensity.
“I’ve been craving yer sweetness,” he murmurs huskily.
I let out a low, feral moan as he dips his head and his tongue delves deep inside me. He moves with skill and purpose, coaxing wave after wave of climax until I’m left panting and trembling. When he finally comes up for air, sheaths himself, and fills me with his firm presence; his gaze is all heat and promise.
As he moves against me, we easily find our rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of ecstasy rippling through me, awakening a wild side I never knew existed.
Then, in one smooth move, Cal hoists me fromthe bed, and my back meets the cool, rough surface of the attic wall. His hands cup my ass as he pins me against the stone with his hips. The sudden shift sends jolts of pleasure crashing through me, each one more potent than the last. Our bodies meld together against the wall in a sensual dance of intimacy, every gasp and moan echoing into the electric night, threatening to rouse our sleeping friends below.
“Teine’na broinn,” he growls low in his throat as he lifts me higher, his eyes full of that devilish spark that only fuels our wildness. “I cannae get enough of you.”
His hands grip my backside, pulling me even closer, his hips moving with a deliberate, tantalizing rhythm. Each touch is like lightning, the rough stone wall’s cool texture heightening the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against mine. I arch into him, feeling the solid strength of him thrusting into me, every hard inch of him carved in pure need.
His lips trail fiery kisses along my throat, murmuring sweet nothings in that irresistible Scottish brogue that amplifies every sensation tenfold. Every whispered word, every heated touch resonates deep inside me, building to a crescendo that leaves me breathless and trembling.
“Cal, oh God,” I pant, my fingers threading through his hair and pulling him closer as if I could somehow fuse us into one. The world blurs around us, every sense focused solely on the overwhelming pleasure that’s consuming us both.
His movements quicken, each pelvic thrust sending ripples of ecstasy through my body. A delicious tension coils tighter and tighter within me, a storm of emotion and sensation ready to explode.
As we come together, I throw my head back, a wordless cry escaping my lips. Cal’s deep growl of satisfaction echoes around us—primal and raw—and its unexpected intensity sends a shockwave through me, pushing me over the edge once more. The sound reverberates through the attic, wrapping around us, and I find myself surrendering to another surge of bliss more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Panting and spent, we slide to the floor, still entangled in each other’s arms, the warmth of our bodies and the cool stone wall a comforting contrast. I look up at him, my heart full to bursting, and find his eyes locked on mine with a mixture of tenderness and awe.
“Ye’re incredible, Mrs. MacDowell,” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face with infinite care.
“And you’re legendary, Captain,” I chuckle softly, the sound a mix of joy and contentment.
We stay sprawled and knotted up against the wall, soaking in the afterglow as stars spill through the attic window.
Chapter Forty
A veilof mist pirouettes over Moray Firth the morning after our wedding. The dawn breaks like a Monet masterpiece; gentle washes of light seep through our pint-sized attic window, painting ghostly silhouettes on the time-tested wooden beams above.
