My Highland adventure is due out at the end of this week. To keep the heat factor up, I’m sharing a preview. Claire is travelling with her newly wedded husband and the excitement is getting to her.
Now, riding on the waggon, her head drooped. Behind Claire’s back the buckboard had been covered with an awning and sides to provide shelter if it rained. Felix had also taken the opportunity to sell a few bags of wool in Ullapool. Those that he’d not sold remained on the waggon.
“Tired?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Stiff. Can I lie in the back?”
Felix pulled on the reins, slowing Bessie to a halt. “Why not. I shall join you.”
Her eyes widened further as he tied the reins to the seat. “Are we not returning home?”
“The weather is good. We can afford a little break.”
His choice of garb for the wedding day had astounded her: a kilt with tartan commonly warn by the Mackenzies of Garve. It afforded her a view of his strong knees and thigh muscles when he sat next to her on the waggon. She’d not been able to stop staring at his bare legs and sporran. When she clambered into the back, he chased after her, crawling on his hands and knees.
Claire giggled as she settled onto the bales of wool. They formed a nest and protected her shoulders from the hard board beneath. Felix showered her with kisses about her cheeks and neck, tickling her with the bristles on his chin. His hands roved, too, working their way up her thighs and dragging the white cotton of her dress and petticoats along with them.
“Would it not be best to wait for our bed, sir?” She squirmed, impatient for him to start and cease with the endless kisses. Her words were for formality’s sake. She’d no intention of resisting his advances, but she’d quickly learnt Felix liked a show of pretence. One morning, he’d harried her into the little room for a fuck and she’d run around the table until he’d caught her.
“Och, I cannae wait, lassie,” Felix replied, imitating Angus. His Welshness had diminished since he’d arrived in the Highlands. She didn’t doubt it would return once he was amongst the other Celtic folk of the isles.
Another exclamation of delight on her part halted her wriggling. He’d reached her bottom and given it a squeeze. He hitched the skirts up further, exposing her parted thighs and beckoning slit. Felix released a long sigh as he lowered himself between her legs. With the kilt lifted, his cock fully erect and with easy access to more of him, she grabbed his bare buttocks and pressed her fingertips into his firm flesh.
Felix clucked his tongue. “Am I not the man? Do I not have any say in how this matter is conducted?” The jovial tone of his voice was at odds with his words.
“You are, sir. The man. My man. And I would that you put your manhood in my honey hole and make me even sweeter.”
He laughed. The fleeting moment of humour died when he ground the head of his cock against her mound, exciting it. She half-closed her eyes and moaned as the wonderful sensation flourished.