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In which we are introduced to a highly effective method for controlling migraines.

Logan…

“...and then we’ll get divorced.”

Arabella casually telling her friend that there is an expiration date on this union angers me more than it should. It’s not like I’ve shared the “married for life” revelation with her, either.

My temper might not be so short if I’d not just spent hours with Uncle Lachlan and our prisoner. The hostage’s stubbornness would be admirable if not for the fact that every second he’s wasting my fecking time, someone’s getting cut to pieces. This was after meeting with the rest of the recovery team because Kai loves to go over every goddamned move to see how we ‘can improve the next mission.’ Michael is still pouting because I burned all three yachts down to the waterline. Arseholes, every one of them.

By the time I’ve pulled on some grey sweatpants and headed back downstairs, my bride is in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot on the stove.

“I have to tell ye that my culinary accomplishments are not as impressive as yours.” She’s smiling, but when I round the corner of the island, I see that she’s got her toes tucked under the cabinetry. Closer, the strain in her shoulders is obvious.

“Are ye feeling all right?”

“Just a headache.” Bella rubs her forehead. “I get them sometimes and then a touch of vertigo to go with it. The full experience.”

“Ah, so the toes under the cabinet trick helps ye balance? That’s so clever.” Standing behind her, I put my hands on her hips and she leans back - just a bit - as if the extra support is comforting.

“So, I thought I would make us Stovies for dinner. I used to make it for myself when I was teaching.” Her smile slips for a minute, and I know she’s longing for her classroom. “I’d put the lamb and the veggies in a slow cooker pot and it would be ready when I got home. It’s one of my fallback dishes to prove I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.”

“I dinnae marry ye for your cooking, lass.” My hands slide down slowly, over the sweet curve of her hips and then back up around her waist. My hand’s itching, wanting to grab her arse. It’s perfect; tight and round, firm but with a nice bounce when I squeeze it. I’m thinking about spanking her arse pink and groan silently as my traitorous cock instantly gets hard.

Always, with this woman.

“So how was your…” Her words die off as my hands slide down again, cupping her arse.

“What remedy do ye use for getting rid of these headaches?” My voice is more of a growl at this point. Bella has a way of reducing me to my most primitive self within seconds.

“Oh, medication when they’re really bad, but I dinnae like how it makes me feel, all clumsy and the like. Lying down in a dark room, sometimes.”

I make a mental note to order her meds tomorrow. “Anything else?”

“It’s very difficult to concentrate with ye looming over me,” she scolds, stirring the pot harder.

My fingers are spreading over the smooth skin of her stomach, pushing up the hem of her t-shirt and reluctantly, I pull them away.

Just as I step back, she blurts out, “Orgasms!”

I didn’t know it was possible for my fecking cock to get harder.

“I mean, I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while so I use my fingers and- Oh, my god I canna believe I just said that to ye!” She drops the wooden spoon, burying her face in her hands.

There’s just enough blood left in my head to reach around and turn off the burner. “What kind of husband would I be if I dinnae help ye with problems like these, aye? Can I carry ye, or does that make the vertigo worse?”

“I’ve never been carried, so I’m not sure.” She’s looking up at me with a mix of lust and shyness and feck if that isn’t pretty. Her cheeks are bright pink and she’s struggling to keep her eyes on mine.

“Let’s find out.” I’m cupping that perfect arse and lifting her as she squeals with surprise, but she still wraps her legs around my waist. “This arse, I could squeeze and spank it all day.” I kiss her, sliding my tongue inside her mouth. She tastes like cranberries and wintergreen. Her pupils flare as I bite down lightly on her bottom lip and it is the hottest fecking thing. Everything about my bride is delicious. Dangerous to my self-control.

Upstairs, there’s a bed and a couch in the great room but both are too far so I lay her out on the kitchen island, displayed like a feast. Yanking off my t-shirt, I fold it and put it under her head, spreading her hair out.

My bride’s face is flushed and glowing as she watches me push up her shirt, yanking the bra cups down and growling at the sight of her perky nipples. My mouth goes over one, sucking hard and circling the other one with my thumb, then switching breasts and playing with her again. When I take a nipple between my teeth and tug, her stomach muscles contract and she sits up abruptly, her dark curls flying.

I take my mouth off her nipple and push her back down gently. “None of that. Ye lie still and take what I give ye. Lift your hips.” She does, instantly and the sight of her green undies with a little silk bow distracts me for a moment before I yank them down, along with her jeans. I lean closer, inhaling deeply as my nose runs along her thigh. “I always think I remember how sweet ye smell and taste but fuuuuck,” I groan, “it’s even better, this perfect little pussy. Spread those legs wider.” Running my knuckles softly up and down her lips, I watch them swell, glistening with moisture already.

“Hard or soft, Bella? Do ye cram your fingers inside?” I slide one inside her cunt as her back arches. “Or do ye circle your clit? Do ye pinch it? Slap it?” I do all three, watching her expression morph from shock to pleasure to a desperate need to come. Pushing another finger inside her, playing with her silky walls, feeling her muscles tighten against me, I chuckle. “I think you’re wanting to come, aye? So close.” Curling my fingers, I push against all the delicate, sensitive places inside her. “If I just play with your plump wee clit, you’re gonna go off like a rocket, aren’t you, baby?”

Bella’s grabbing my hair with both hands, thighs shaking, little moans coming from her that I dinnae think she’s aware of. Desperate, needy little noises and feck I canna take it. Sucking her clit into my mouth as threatened, I bite it, very gently and stroke it with the tip of my tongue and she wails, so fecking satisfying and yanks on my hair and I dinnae care.

The room’s silent, just gasping for breath and her last, faint moan. Raising up on my elbows, I sign, pointing my index finger at her, then circle my hand over my face and draw my fingers to my thumb.

She gives a weak little chuckle. “Ye are beautiful too, Logan. So beautiful.”

“Can I ask ye something?”

We took our bowls of Stovie into the great room, lighting a fire and curling up under a blanket on the couch.

“Aye, of course.” I hand her a glass of wine.

Her cheeks are still flushed from her orgasm and she hides a grin. “Um… there was a moment, not that I was thinking clearly, but did ye come?”

“Goddamnit lass!” Now I’m the one who’s likely turning red. “That was so fecking hot. You turn me back into my component parts. I’m all dick and no brains. So aye, I pushed my cock against the counter and came in my sweatpants like a fecking teenage boy. Ya happy?”

“Kind of.” The poor lass’s shoulders are shaking; she’s trying so hard to hold back a laugh. “I thought so when ye went upstairs to change. I mean, it’s flattering. Also, it would be selfish for me to be enjoying something that good all by myself. Thank ye, though. My head feels so much better.”

“I did that for science.” I point my finger at her sternly, “Dinnae ye forget it.”