Page 10 of The Lady’s Guide to Being Snowbound with a Scottish Laird (The Lady’s Guide to Love #9)

Margaret was once more gazing at the canopy of the bed, and those ridiculous wedding garlands festooning the frame.

How did I let that happen?

’Twas ill-advised beyond measure.

Foolish, shortsighted, and ludicrous was more like it.

Finlay lay back against the pillows, his hands linked behind his head and his legs spread, his manhood exposed.

He’d a smile on his face that was not just relaxed but smugly self-satisfied—as if he’d just won some wager in who could toss the caber furthest, or pulled off an astonishing business deal, rather than merely concluding an act of copulation.

Knowing Finlay, he was already thinking of how to persuade her into a second bout. Worse than that, he’d be thinking all was well, and that she’d given up on her notion of going her own way.

“I always did like how uninhibited you are, Magsie—with the bedsport.”

Heaven help me!

The hot blood was obviously still flowing through his veins, but she was cooling off rapidly. Hopping out of bed, she went to retrieve her night attire from where Finlay had tossed it, bending over in the process.

“And your arse, of course,” he added cheekily. “Nice and firm, but with a generous amount of flesh to grab onto. Give me a minute or two, and we might try—”

“Haud yer wheesht, man!” Margaret whirled about, clutching the nightgown to her.

“Not that I’m disparaging your other parts.” Finlay grinned. “You’ve a bosom to get a man panting, right enough—a good handful, rosy-tipped and ripe. Your legs are nae bad either. They’ve a strength on them, I recall, for gripping on when the loveplay turns extra lusty.”

Margaret sent him her best eye daggers. “Such words only confirm to me that what we’ve just done is an animal act, and no more. Don’t be thinking I’ll swoon into your arms, or that we’ll be doing it again.” Hastily, she threw the nightgown over her head.

“Whatever you say, Mags, though I cannae say I believe you. We could be snowed in for weeks. You think you can resist me all that time?”

“Believe it!” Angrily, Margaret climbed back under the covers. “And I certainly won’t be here for weeks! I’ll get myself back to Balmore if I have to wade knee-deep!”

She dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

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 actually be married to you.”

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 making any effort?” 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.

The organ beneath her was starting to feel less like an uncooked sausage—albeit quite a large and meaty sort—and more like a fence post. She was pretty certain that, if she directed him now, he’d provide a perfectly adequate pole upon which she might slide.

However, she didn’t have the chance to try.

“There is something that might do it.” His voice had become several degrees huskier. “I’ve a thirst for something sweet and juicy. Come here, wife, and sit on my face.”

His hands were promptly upon her waist, scooting her upward. ’Twas not a position they’d tried before, although Finlay had performed the oral act upon her from the first days of their betrothal—as a way of giving pleasure without the risk of bringing a babe along.

Margaret gripped the headboard as Finlay’s heated breath met the soft skin of her inner thigh. Instead of diving straight in, he brushed feather-light kisses up and down, making her pant for what she truly needed.

When his open mouth closed over her and sucked directly upon her nub, she let out a squeak.

Skillfully he worked upon her, drawing the tiny piece of flesh between his lips, then using his tongue to flick back and forth.

She tried her hardest to remain still, but the acrobatics of his tongue sent her into a frenzy.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Her orgasm came in a great rush, making her cry out something extremely crude.

Not that Finlay seemed to mind.

She was squirming every which way, but he had a firm grip upon her, keeping her where he wanted. She liked the strength of his hands holding her, making her feel she couldn’t escape even if she wished to. ’Twas wickedly delightful.

He gave her a moment’s respite, taking his tongue lower. Entering her sheath, he explored every recess, delving between her inner lips, drinking her cream, but soon returned to her pearl again, drawing the flat of his tongue over that sensitive place.

He was fast steering her toward another peak.

“Come for me, my lovely lass.” He paused from his efforts to encourage her, before diving back to the feast.

The second wave hit her so forcefully, she was dizzy with pleasure as he maneuvered her onto her back, brushing tendrils of hair from her face.

“God, you’re bonny. The bonniest lass in all of Scotia.” He rose above her, resting in the cradle of her hips, to sink into her softness. A long, satisfied sigh left his lips.

There was no doubt about it. He was hard as the stone of Dunrannoch Castle, and hot as embers in the forge.

As he began his rhythmic thrusting, Margaret stretched languorously beneath him and raised one knee.

Oh yes. ’Twas exactly what she needed.

“My bonny beauty.” Finlay growled between thrusts. “My bonny, beautiful wife.”