‘Fergus,’ she said, pushing the heavy folds of the cloak back over her shoulders and putting her arms around his waist, hooking her fingers into the belt which held his plaid in place to balance herself. ‘Fergus, make love to me.’
‘Susanna…’
‘Make love to me, Fergus. Not because I’ve changed my mind about us, or because I want you to change yours or because anything’s changed, but just because I want you to. That is, if you want to.’
‘You know I do. In fact, if you come much closer, you’ll see for yourself just how much I do.’
She did just that, deliberately brushing herself against the front of his kilt. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken, hearing the sudden intake of his breath. She was having trouble controlling her own breathing, which was first fast and then slow. ‘Fergus, I mean it.’ She smiled up at him, a slow, deliberately provocative smile. ‘Call it a farewell present. Farewell to the old year, farewell to the old us. I don’t care what you call it actually, I just want you to make love to me, because if you don’t I suspect I might regret it, and I hope you might too, and that is another thing we are both done with, is it not?’
Fergus cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in the thick chignon of curls which she knew would come undone with very little encouragement. ‘A goodbye present. Are you sure?’
‘Are you?’
‘I am absolutely certain,’ Fergus answered.
‘Do you think we will shock the faeries?’
She felt the deep rumble of his laughter in his chest, which was pressed up against hers. ‘Provided they’re the only witnesses, I don’t much care.’
He pulled her tight to him and kissed her. Not a gentle kiss, but a ruthless one, which was also exactly what she wanted. His lips were warm over hers, his mouth demanding and giving at the same time. She moaned softly and surrendered to the turmoil of wanting that churned, had been churning inside her since she had arrived here, or so it seemed. She kissed him back frantically, running her hands up his back, clutching at his plaid, his coat, his belt, anything which would allow her the purchase to drag him closer. His tongue touched hers, then plunged into her mouth. She licked into him. Their kisses had an edge now that was not enough.
Fergus unclasped Susanna’s cloak and spread it on the soft ground. They sank onto the fur lining together, kneeling, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, kissing, touching, stroking, snatching at buttons and fastenings, tugging at cloth in a frantic desire to find flesh. Finesse was beyond them, they wanted simply to be joined.
Her breasts ached for his touch, and his cupping them through her gown intensified it, but the gown fastened at the back, and there were too many layers of petticoats and stays and chemise to deal with, and the ache was worse lower down. He tugged at her nipples through it all, and set up a searing path of fiery lust straight down to the heat between her legs.
Their kisses deepened as their hands tore at each other. She was lying on her back on the cloak now; her gown rucked up under her. He was over her, between her legs, his hands parting the two halves of her pantalettes, stroking the tops of her thighs, then stroking the folds of her sex, and then stroking inside her. The sound she made was guttural.
His plaid made it easy for her to touch him. His buttocks. Firm. Clenched. The rough hairs of his legs. The softer flesh at the top. The potent weight of his seed. And the thick length of him, velvet smooth and engorged, curving up under his plaid. She wrapped her fingers around it and felt him pulse, felt her own muscles throbbing inside as his fingers slid slickly in and out and over her. She was swollen and ready. And he was swollen and ready. His tongue plunged into her mouth. She released her hold on his shaft and arched under him, desperate, desperate for him to be inside her before it was too late.
He paused,
‘Susanna…’
‘Make love to me, Fergus. Not because I’ve changed my mind about us, or because I want you to change yours or because anything’s changed, but just because I want you to. That is, if you want to.’
‘You know I do. In fact, if you come much closer, you’ll see for yourself just how much I do.’
She did just that, deliberately brushing herself against the front of his kilt. She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken, hearing the sudden intake of his breath. She was having trouble controlling her own breathing, which was first fast and then slow. ‘Fergus, I mean it.’ She smiled up at him, a slow, deliberately provocative smile. ‘Call it a farewell present. Farewell to the old year, farewell to the old us. I don’t care what you call it actually, I just want you to make love to me, because if you don’t I suspect I might regret it, and I hope you might too, and that is another thing we are both done with, is it not?’
Fergus cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in the thick chignon of curls which she knew would come undone with very little encouragement. ‘A goodbye present. Are you sure?’
‘Are you?’
‘I am absolutely certain,’ Fergus answered.
‘Do you think we will shock the faeries?’
She felt the deep rumble of his laughter in his chest, which was pressed up against hers. ‘Provided they’re the only witnesses, I don’t much care.’
He pulled her tight to him and kissed her. Not a gentle kiss, but a ruthless one, which was also exactly what she wanted. His lips were warm over hers, his mouth demanding and giving at the same time. She moaned softly and surrendered to the turmoil of wanting that churned, had been churning inside her since she had arrived here, or so it seemed. She kissed him back frantically, running her hands up his back, clutching at his plaid, his coat, his belt, anything which would allow her the purchase to drag him closer. His tongue touched hers, then plunged into her mouth. She licked into him. Their kisses had an edge now that was not enough.
Fergus unclasped Susanna’s cloak and spread it on the soft ground. They sank onto the fur lining together, kneeling, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, kissing, touching, stroking, snatching at buttons and fastenings, tugging at cloth in a frantic desire to find flesh. Finesse was beyond them, they wanted simply to be joined.
Her breasts ached for his touch, and his cupping them through her gown intensified it, but the gown fastened at the back, and there were too many layers of petticoats and stays and chemise to deal with, and the ache was worse lower down. He tugged at her nipples through it all, and set up a searing path of fiery lust straight down to the heat between her legs.
Their kisses deepened as their hands tore at each other. She was lying on her back on the cloak now; her gown rucked up under her. He was over her, between her legs, his hands parting the two halves of her pantalettes, stroking the tops of her thighs, then stroking the folds of her sex, and then stroking inside her. The sound she made was guttural.
His plaid made it easy for her to touch him. His buttocks. Firm. Clenched. The rough hairs of his legs. The softer flesh at the top. The potent weight of his seed. And the thick length of him, velvet smooth and engorged, curving up under his plaid. She wrapped her fingers around it and felt him pulse, felt her own muscles throbbing inside as his fingers slid slickly in and out and over her. She was swollen and ready. And he was swollen and ready. His tongue plunged into her mouth. She released her hold on his shaft and arched under him, desperate, desperate for him to be inside her before it was too late.
He paused,
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