Page 19 of Snowbound Surrender

A zealous jerk brought the sheet over Finlay’s unabashed nakedness, then she arranged the quilt, pulling everything up as far as possible. For good measure, she punched the pillow.

“Are you chilled, lass?” He turned to face her. “Another tumble would be the best thing. Warm you up again, ready for sleeping.”

Dear God! Did the man never let up?

“That shan’t be happening!” She folded her arms firmly over her breasts.

“’Tis a good job I’m a reasonable husband.” Finlay stroked his soft-haired chin. “I could be ordering you to fulfil your marital duties.”

“Ha!” She sat up again. “Get this through your head. Ring or no ring, the marriage is over. ’Twas a mistake. I was too young to know my own mind, but I’m older and wiser now, and I’ve a life in Edinburgh. I don’t need you, Finlay Dalreagh; nor do I want you!”

It felt good to say it, though the way she’d just been riding him did rather belie the words. She was trying not to look at him. Nevertheless, she was certain he’d stopped smiling. Certainly, he’d ceased prattling on. She might say that he looked a little forlorn.

“I’m sorry to be blunt about it,” she added. “You’ll always have a special place in my heart, and I hope we can remain friends. Nevertheless, just because I enjoy the physical side of marriage doesn’t mean I want to actuallybemarried toyou.”

He looked confused. “I’m all for modern notions, Magsie but, really, if you’re wanting to keep up the loveplay, it’s only seemly that we’re married, don’t you think?”

Margaret bit her lip, counting slowly to ten.

Gently, he touched her arm. “Don’t worry yourself about it for the now. ’Twill soon be midnight, and my John Thomas is spent. Even if you wanted to stir him to action, I don’t think you’d be able.” He took a peek beneath the covers. “As I thought, he’s soft as a new baked bap. ’Tis naught against you, Mags. You’re a fine woman, as I said, but a man has his limits. In any case, perhaps you’ve the right of it, and ’tis a bad idea for us to indulge.”

Margaret took a sideways glance at him. Miraculously, he really did seem to have forgotten all about trying to tumble her again, and appeared ready to sleep, with his eyes closed and everything.

For some reason, she didn’t like that. It ought to be her saying when the romp was done and, now she was lying next to him again, she rather felt as if she wanted more—just to make sure she did get straight to dreaming. Moreover, she didn’t like the offhand way he was dismissing her. One quick roll about and he thought she was satisfied.

Typical! Thinking only of himself, with not a care for what my needs might be.

“Are you saying I’m incapable of inflaming you?”

“Nay.” He gave a great yawn. “Only that you’d have trouble.”

We’ll see about that.

She knew that taking him in her mouth would speed things along, but she wasn’t sure he deserved such special attention after the way he’d spoken of her body parts.

Instead, she rolled atop him and sat up, making sure the damp crux between her thighs was aligned with his supposedly uninterested member.

By her reckoning, it was neither tumescent nor droopy, but somewhere in between. There was definitely promise.

“What are you doing?” Finlay opened one eye.

“You’re giving up too easily,” she answered testily. “Never mind what I said before, ’tis insulting to tell your wife you’re unable to rise for her—and all this time apart! You ought to be insatiable.”

“Well, if you’re set upon it, we can try.” Finlay’s expression was inscrutable, but he looked less sleepy than he had.

“’Tis the least courtesy you can do me after all you’ve put me through.” Margaret wriggled her posterior, trying to discern if her position was having any effect. She thought it might be.

Still, Finlay just lay there, neither speaking nor moving.

“For goodness sake, are you makinganyeffort?” In frustration, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. “This is what you like, isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” He made a non-committal sound.

“And this?” Her nightgown was already hoicked up, so ’twas no trouble to place his other hand on her mound.

Saucily, she pushed the heel of his palm to the uppermost divide of her labia—which felt very nice indeed. Even better, without her having to ask, he extended a finger, directing it into her slit, and rubbed back and forth.

Her body really did have a mind of its own tonight, for a flood of cream descended at his touch—and she could not blame it entirely on his lately delivered seed.