The Highlander’s Pirate Lass by Heather McCollum

Chapter Nine

Beck bent his head toward hers. The contact was soft against Eliza’s lips, nothing like the few bruising presses against her mouth she’d experienced before. He pulled back but kept his face close. “Ye need to relax, Eliza.”

“Relax,” she repeated, swallowing. How was that possible? Her heart pattered like a drumbeat for dancing.

He smiled and touched his forehead to hers. “Eliza,” he said and dipped so that she had to meet his gaze. “Ye are in charge.”

She didn’t feel in charge of this situation now that she’d asked to be in it.

“If ye change your mind along the way, whatever we do, tell me, and we will stop.” His hand came up to slide through the heavy mass of her hair that was half damp, half a riot of curls drying in the humid air. “Do ye understand?”

She nodded, offering him a slight smile. “I can say stop, and you will stop.” She inhaled, trying to lower her shoulders, which she hadn’t realized had crept up high toward her neck. “And I need to relax.”

He smiled. “Aye, and most people close their eyes when they kiss, otherwise ye go cross-eyed trying to see up that close.”

“Eyes closed,” she murmured, and he nodded. She closed her eyes, inhaling to loosen her shoulders, which kept trying to creep upward.

She felt his breath on her lips, and his nose slid along hers gently. He kissed her cheek. “Just let yourself feel, lass,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “Och, but ye are the softest creature I have ever touched.”

His words unfurled some of the tension in her limbs. He kissed along her jawline, and she felt his large body press against her as his other hand wrapped around to strum down her spine. Her lips remained parted, and he brushed them with his own, once, twice, before kissing along the other side of her face. His mouth was warm and soft, but what caught her up in the sensation was the reverence the touch imparted. He moved slowly, his hand stroking her back as his lips touched along her face and then down her neck.

Inside, the chill of unease began to melt. Beck was noble, and just like on the deck of his ship, he’d put her in charge. Eliza’s hands rose to his chest, her fingers curling into the damp tunic that spanned it. They were both still wet, their clothes clinging to their skin.

His mouth moved back to her lips, settling over them as his hand guided her face to slant, deepening the warm kiss. She inhaled through her nose, smelling him. Fresh rainwater mixed with his natural scent, a combination of the soap he favored and wild Scottish wind. He tasted of the ale they’d shared. Her lips parted, and his followed, their bodies pressing closer together. She could feel his jack, hard and long, through his woolen wrap. She’d seen a number of jacks in her ten years living on board a ship with a crew of men, but they had hung low. Her hand slid down his chest and past the edge of his kilt to press against his length.

Beck inhaled, reeling her in even closer with the pressure of his hand on her back.

“Large, like the rest of you,” she said against his kiss. Her voice sounded breathless in her ears as the flame inside her grew. It stretched down her middle to the crux between her thighs, making her legs shift under her wet skirts.

Breathing heavy, Beck pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Eliza,” he said, and backed up a small amount so that his body didn’t press against hers. “Ye need to know that there is sometimes pain the first time.”

He looked pained himself, all humor gone from his face. It was wild with want. Even a virgin could see that. But instead of making her worry, it just made the heat within her body roar. “Alice told me about that.”

He exhaled. “Good. ’Tis my job to soothe it away,” he said, pulling her back against him.

“And are you good at your job?” she said, teasing.

“I have never lain with a virgin.” His voice was rough, as if he labored.

She smiled. “Then this is the first at something for both of us.”

A grin broke through the intensity of his features. “Aye.” His fingers slid on the sides of her head, threading through her wet hair. “Ye must be cold in all this dampness.”

“I am actually growing a bit hot inside,” she said, making him smile. “And I think I would learn best without being cinched up like a chicken to be roasted.”

He stepped back and pulled his wet tunic off over his head. The firelight glowed against his tanned skin, and she swallowed. She’d known Beck was brawny, his strength evident in his movements and the way he handled his sword and the ropes on the Calypso. But Lord, his muscles were bigger than any she had seen on a man, even Captain John.

Beck’s biceps mounded as he threw his tunic at the empty table. Muscles filled his chest, curving in waves down his stomach to his narrow hips where the edge of his kilt sat low.

A light trail of hair curled over his chest down to where it disappeared under his plaid. His hair was cut to fall at his chin, accentuating his jawline and strong neck. He turned, bending over to untie his boots. The muscles of his broad back rippled in the firelight.

Gloriouswas all Eliza could think. The sight of him pushed away any doubts she had about wanting to be touched by this man. Oh Lord, she wanted to be touched and to touch him.

He turned back toward her, and she forced herself to shut her open mouth. “Now your turn, lass.” He made a circle with his finger, and she turned around. His steps toward her were quieter without his boots, and she felt his fingers push her hair aside to help slide off her outer jacket that matched the blue of the gown. She unpinned the stomacher in front, letting it fall with the jacket.

She watched as his strong, nimble fingers plucked open the laces down her front, releasing the hold her stays had on her, allowing her to breathe in deeply. Her petticoat pooled around her feet as she slid the sopping wet slippers off. She stood in her damp smock before him.

“Bloody hell, Eliza lass,” he murmured, an appreciative glance sliding down her form. “Ye are lovely.”

“And you are…” She lifted her hand to indicate his chest. “Bigger and stronger than any man I have seen. ’Tis making me feel… I don’t know. Soft inside.” Was that how she should feel? It was almost like a fever, but the only ache was between her legs, and it wasn’t unpleasant. She knew enough about her own body to know the ache there would lead to pleasure. She reached down her body, and his gaze followed.

Beck inhaled as she touched herself through the smock, rubbing. “I ache, Beck,” she whispered, and her gaze dropped to his obvious arousal through his kilt.

His large hand went to it, rubbing himself through the fabric. “Och, lass. I am on fire inside, especially when ye tell me how ye feel.”

She smiled. “Then I should keep talking.”

He stepped closer, touching her hair again with reverence. “Aye, as much as ye wish.”

She slid her palms down his warm skin, and his face lowered to hers. Their lips touched, and she slanted her face, bringing their mouths into perfect contact, as if she were an oyster shell and the kiss was unlocking her. The feel of him under her hands made her want more. She wrapped her arms around his middle as their kiss intensified, growing wild. She opened her lips, and his tongue moved inside, tasting. She touched it timidly, and he groaned, hugging her close.

The linen of her smock slid against her skin, making it even more sensitive, the heat of Beck’s body adding to the fire growing inside her. She stroked her hands down the cording of his body and moved them to her smock, rucking it slowly upward. She broke away from him, taking a step back.

“I want this off,” she said, lifting the edge of the white fabric. His handsome features were tight, but he kept his gaze directed at her eyes. It was as if she was revealing more through her eyes than lifting the smock off her naked body, and he did not want to miss any of it. She broke the gaze when the smock covered her face. She pulled it off her head to let it fall into a damp heap behind her. She wore only the brooch that her mother had given her, the one she kept hidden under her tunics.

Beck’s eyes never left her face. “You can look at me,” she said, her words soft, and she took a step back toward the hearth, her toes curling across the cool floorboards. No one had ever seen her completely naked. Alice had cared for her when she’d had fevers and had helped her dress, but she had never seen Eliza naked from head to toe.

“Och, lass…” Beck’s deep voice sent a thrill down her, and small bumps rose over her skin, making her nipples pearl even more. “Tell me now if ye want to stop this.” His voice was rough as if he restrained himself. Did he worry she would change him into a wild beast unable to stop? Did she have such power over this mighty man?

A small smile eased across her mouth, and she took a step closer to him. She lifted the thin chain that held the brooch over her head. It clunked on the tabletop as she set it down, the chain following with a whisper. “Touch me, Beck. Teach me what you know about pleasure.”

Without hesitation, Beck moved up against her, his arms surrounding her so that her breasts pressed into his hard chest. The contact shot sensation through her, making her breasts feel heavy. She rubbed her lower half against his still covered jack, feeling how hard it was against her abdomen.

Her fingers moved to his belt that held the wrapping in place, tugging. He helped, and the heavy wool dropped, the buckle thudding with it onto the floor. She didn’t need to glance down to know he was massive. She could feel that against her. Hot, hard, and reaching.

But curiosity sent her hands down to him, and she wrapped her fingers around his thick jack. Beck groaned against her mouth as if he teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. She slid her hands up and down like he’d done through his kilt. It was long and hard, nothing like she’d glimpsed the few times she’d seen men washing on the ship. He murmured something in his burbling Gaelic language, something ancient that resonated within her chest, as if it called to her.

He leaned over her with the kiss, and her hands rose to hold onto his shoulders, wrapping around the back of his neck, their naked bodies pressing together. Heat and sensation slid through Eliza like the strongest whisky. But instead of numbing her body, his touch woke it, bringing her fully alive.

Beck’s large hands stroked down to cup her arse. Her breathing grew rapid as he lifted her up to rub the crux of her legs against his jack. The ache there grew, and she arched backward so that his fingers could dip down her backside to reach between her legs. “Please,” she whispered against his lips. “The ache…” And then he found her, his strong fingers dipping into her sensitive flesh. She moaned into his mouth.

“Lass,” he said, breathing heavily and kissing a trail to her ear. “Ye are full of wet fire.”

Eliza lifted her face to the ceiling, closing her eyes to the sensation of his mouth working down her throat as his fingers delved within her, moving, seeking. “Oh God,” she whispered, swallowing, fully surrendering her body to whatever his mouth and fingers wished to do to her.

Catching her to him, his hand came around the front, finding her most sensitive spot as his face dipped to her breast. His kisses on her flesh turned to hot, wet suction as he drew her nipple into his mouth. Teeth and tongue teased her as his fingers stroked below. “Bloody yes,” she whispered on a gasp that turned into a moan as he played her body.

He raised his head, kissing her lips, and they slanted together for long minutes. “So wet,” he murmured. “I want to taste ye.”

“You taste of ale and delicious Beck,” she murmured against him. She could feel him smile against her mouth as he backed her up slowly until she felt the edge of the bed against her naked calves.

“I want to taste your honey, lass.”

Her mind tried to latch onto his words, but she couldn’t make sense of them as he continued to rub his thumb back and forth against her most sensitive nub. The warmth of his kiss and the fire of his touch infused her entire body.

“Sit and relax back,” he said. His hand came away as he pushed her gently down to the edge, the soft, cool quilt under her arse.

She opened her eyes to see him kneel, his intense gaze meeting hers. “See if ye like this,” he said, and his hands pressed her legs apart, baring her most intimate self to him. She caught her breath as he dipped his head, and she fell back onto her elbows. Her full breasts were perched on her chest, her stomach muscles tensing when she felt his hot mouth touch her. “Holy hell,” she murmured as wet heat surrounded her below, his fingers dipping back into her as his tongue teased and tasted.

The sight of him loving her between her splayed legs was utterly erotic. This powerful man, who could take anything from her at the moment, chose to give. And Lord, how he gave. Eliza sucked in her breath as sensation shot up from his touch, rippling through her body, plucking at her taut lines, tighter and tighter. And then he pressed his fingers into her flesh again.

“Oh God, Beck,” she cried out as the crest of the wave he’d built up within her curled over. She moaned, her head thrown back as the sound grew into a deep groan that filled the cottage. Pleasure shattered through her, and she sucked in large inhales of fresh air.

The friction of his warm skin as he slid up her body stroked her senses, and she opened her eyes as he helped slide her fully onto the bed. He wore a wicked grin, his handsome face the most beautiful she’d ever seen. The firelight cast him in gold, the slight stubble of his beard and the appreciative bend of his mouth giving him the look of a scoundrel. “Sweet honey,” he said. He leaned in, his lips finding hers as he lay next to her, his talented fingers teasing her tight nipples.

Eliza glided her toes up and down his muscular legs. They were so strong. Her hands rubbed across his rock-hard chest, traveling down his taut stomach and abdomen to clasp his jack once more. Beck groaned against her mouth as she stroked him, discovering every nook along his length that made his breath catch.

The ache grew inside her again, and she thrust her pelvis forward, rubbing against him. Beck’s fingers teased her below, and her legs slid wide apart. “I want you, Beck,” she murmured against his mouth.

“And bloody hell, I want ye,” he said as she felt him nudge against her.

“Now,” she said as she lifted her knees, bracing herself with him right at the entrance to her aching body.

He pulled his face back so they could look into each other’s eyes. Intense, hard, and determined, Beck was…beautiful. And he thrust into her.

Eliza’s mouth dropped open as his hugeness sank deep. The twinge of pain that she’d heard afflicted virgins was hardly noticeable against the surge of passion pulsing through her. Beck was huge, and the power behind his jack was immense, and all of it sent a thrill through her. His lips slid across her lips, and his fingers found her sensitive spot below, rubbing it. She moaned into his mouth and thrust upward, feeling him fully embedded.

He groaned in return but didn’t move. “I don’t want to hurt ye,” he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled back, her hands going to the sides of his face, and he opened his eyes. “You are not hurting me, but I might hurt you if you don’t start moving.”

Beck inhaled, his nostrils flaring open as if he were ready to charge into battle. Only the slight lift at the corners of his mouth softened the intensity chiseled into his face. He pulled almost completely back from her body and then surged forward again.

Eliza’s mouth dropped open as her eyes closed with the intensity of the pleasure. “Aye!” she cried, and he did it again. “Again,” she yelled, and he did just that, moving faster. Her fingers clutched his broad shoulders, anchoring herself as she thrust upward to meet his plunging. Even so, the power behind his thrusts pushed her up the bed.

Finding a rhythm, their bodies surged and retreated, while kissing, teasing, and rubbing. The fire building up again through Eliza burned away all thought. “Oh God, Beck!” She felt the wave growing, the one that had crashed over her before with such exquisite pleasure. “Aye!” His finger moved across her nub, gentle but constant, teasing her higher and higher as he moved within her. The pleasure shattered, harder than the first time, plunging her off into waves of pure sensation. “Beck!” she screamed, her eyes closing and her body straining.

With a roar of his own, Beck pulled from her body, rolling to the side. She opened her eyes to see him use the blanket to catch his explosion. His entire power-built body strained, the muscles mounded. She stared, her jaw open at the intensity of his pleasure as he poured himself into the cloth. Her body clenched as if wishing he were still within her.

We cannot father bastards. His words twisted in her mind. Not that she wished to have a babe. There were too many lost in this cruel world. But the thought of a wee babe with Beck’s smile and beautiful gray eyes made her chest squeeze.

He rolled back to her, pulling her into him, his arms encircling her. She inhaled his scent as she nuzzled her face against the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. Their legs twisted together, and he tugged up the quilt to cover them. His fingers grazed her cheek, and she looked upward into those perfect gray eyes.

She smiled seductively. “I am quite certain I chose the right teacher.”

He gave her a cocky grin. “’Twas just the first lesson. There are plenty more, lass.”

She drew a circle with her finger on the skin of his chest. “And did I earn superior marks, teacher?”

He laughed outright, falling onto his back and pulling her to lie across his chest. “The highest marks possible.” He looked up into her face, his expression growing more serious. “I have never met anyone like ye, Eliza.”

Something inside her clenched, making it hard to swallow. His words, the feel of him against her, the respect in his gaze… Aye, Beck Macquarie was dangerous. He could slice her heart into a million pieces when he left her. Because all men left in some way. Through a need to adventure, or through death, or through wedding another. All men left. ’Twas another reason not to lose one’s heart to a man.

He stared at her, seeming to wait for an answer. She gave him a saucy smile. “And I have never met any man who smells as good as you, Beck Macquarie.” She inhaled along his skin as if savoring a steaming sweet bun.

He laughed, rolling her onto her back as he started to nuzzle along her skin. She gasped at the tickling. “Ye smell delicious too,” he said and caught her head between his hands for another long, leading kiss.

…

Such pleasure couldn’t be dreamt. Beck’s eyes opened as a deep groan funneled up from his chest. Deep shadows sat in the corners of his cottage, the fire burned down but still giving off a glow. Was this another glorious fantasy about Eliza?

“A Dhia,” he said, his rasping whisper breaking the quiet of the night. The stroke along his rock-hard jack was no dream. “Eliza?” He glanced down his body and sucked in an inhale so hard his lungs could have jumped from his chest.

The woman knelt between his legs, both hands wrapped around his length. She glanced up at him, a mischievous smile on her glorious face, her hair cascading down over her shoulders to tickle along his knees. “Lesson number two,” she said. “I want to taste you.”

Her lips opened, and he watched her mouth descend. Heat, good Lord, wet heat enveloped Beck, and another deep growl grew, breaking from him. He forced his eyes open to watch her as the pleasure of her exploration shot through him. “Oh God, Eliza,” he groaned as she worked along him, back and forth. She was the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced, making him stronger and weaker at the same time. Her hands worked with the rhythm along with her generous mouth, touching all of him. Tasting him as he’d tasted her.

She pulled back, and the coolness of the room replaced her heat. “Tell me what you like,” she whispered.

Eliza was an angel and a devilish siren at the same time. She was everything alluring and intriguing. Her breasts hung down over him as she waited, continuing to stroke him.

“Everything,” he said. “I like everything ye do with that foking glorious mouth.”

She smiled broadly. “You said fok. I must be getting superior marks again.” She didn’t wait for him to respond but dove back down over his rigid jack. His roar of pleasure filled the cottage—and maybe the night.

…

“I don’t mind if people know,” Eliza said as Beck walked with her along the path leading to Gylin Castle. They held hands in the dawn light. It was the first time Beck could remember being awake at dawn with a bloody smile on his face.

He stopped, pulling her around to give her another kiss. Lord, why had he made her get up instead of keeping her next to him in his bed all this day? He pulled back gently, the reasons clearer when he didn’t have his lips on her warm body. “I don’t want to give anyone a reason to say something that will make ye cut their tongue out.”

She chuckled, her fingers fiddling with the chain that tucked into her bodice. “You think my feelings will be hurt?”

He looked straight into her eyes. “Cecilia is still here, and she has a waspish tongue.”

“Maybe she needs to have it removed.”

He turned to gently tug her along. “Exactly why we are up at dawn to sneak ye back into the castle.”

“Even if I say I want another lesson?” She slid her hand up his kilt to squeeze his arse.

With a playful growl, he pulled her around and swept her close in his arms. He kissed her soundly, their mouths slanting together in a gloriously familiar way. He held her under her arse in the stiff and rumpled blue gown. His jack rose to the call for Eliza’s further education, but he finally set her back down, pleased that her teasing face had relaxed into open want.

He leaned in. “Tonight, on the Calypso.”

Hunger sat in her eyes, and she let the tip of her tongue come out to slide along her bottom lip. He groaned and tugged her along behind him. “I cannot even look at ye or I’ll drag ye off into the bushes.”

Her laughter made him smile despite the torture, and they walked up to and through the door in the wall to an empty bailey. He whispered into her ear, “Ye should sneak up the stairs and go to bed in the room with Anders before he wakes.”

“I am not tired,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the quiet morning air.

He put his finger across her lips, giving her a for-the-love-of-God-stay-quiet look. Her lips curled up under the pressure of his finger, and she opened her mouth, sucking his finger inside. Her teeth grazed it, and her tongue swirled around it with perfect suction. His mouth dropped open.

She slid her mouth off his finger and turned to saunter away, her hips swinging most provocatively. At the archway she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze dropped to his fully tented-out kilt. She chuckled and walked into the keep. “Sleep tight.”

Good Lord, how was he going to last the day?

“Ye are up early,” Adam said as he walked down those same stairs. His brows rose as he saw Beck’s obvious erection. He glanced back at the archway, and then at Beck, a frown growing. “I thought ye were staying away from her.”

Beck once again tried to adjust himself. “She came to me.”

Adam exhaled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye cannot get her with child. Even if the curse is not real, people make it real by believing it. If they hear ye’ve fathered a bastard, they will never settle here.”

Icy anger froze away the desire that had infiltrated him. “Bloody hell, Adam. Do ye not think I know that? I spilled outside her.”

Adam looked back at the stairs. “’Tis not a guarantee.” He shook his head. “Would ye wed her?”

Beck exhaled, rubbing a fist against his forehead. “She says she will not wed. Ever.”

Adam stared hard at him. “Ye should break off whatever is between ye before either of ye gets attached. She will be leaving soon, and ye will wed someone else.”

Beck frowned. Adam was the eldest and the chief of the clan. “Is that an order from my chief?”

“If it needs to be in order to safeguard the clan.”

“Daingead,” Beck swore. “Before ye were all ‘I don’t believe in curses.’” Beck mimicked his brother. “It didn’t matter to ye that Lark is a bastard.’”

Adam took a step closer to stare evenly at his brother. “We found out from the bible that it doesn’t matter if the bride is a bastard, only if we father them, which ye will if ye stay with Eliza Wentworth and she won’t marry ye.”

“Well, she’s not one,” Beck said. “She’s an orphan who has lived with rough men for ten years. It could take some time before she is ready to wed anyone.”

“Or she will not at all,” Adam said, dropping his arms and striding toward the bailey.

Beck caught up to him in the dark entryway, slamming his hand down on his shoulder. His brother turned abruptly toward him, ready for an attack, but Beck just stared at Adam’s shadow. “Is it your order that I stay away from her?” he asked. “Because I need to know if I am breaking my allegiance to my clan or not.”

“Beck,” Adam said, “ye may just be intrigued by her, a lass who is alluring and one ye know won’t tie ye down.”

“What do ye mean?”

Adam’s outline in the dark stepped closer. “We all know ye don’t want to settle down with one lass yet, but we need ye to.”

“Ye know there are three other Macquarie brothers,” Beck said. “They are welcome to start. It doesn’t have to follow oldest to youngest.”

“So what then?” Adam asked. “Ye follow Eliza with the Calypso, tupping until she does get with child but still won’t marry ye?”

“Maybe I’ll leave the isle,” Beck said, his voice low. Would he do that? Leave his family for a woman he’d only just met? Was his attraction to Eliza that strong or was he just annoyed by Adam’s dictates?

Adam’s hands fell onto his shoulders. “Ye are a Macquarie wherever ye roam.”

“But if folks don’t know I’ve had a bastard, and curses aren’t real, then it wouldn’t matter what I do as long as no one knows.”

Adam exhaled, dropping his hands from Beck’s shoulders. “Ye would give up your family for a lass ye just met? One who may or may not be a pirate herself?”

Beck raked his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Adam.”

“Try to pull back some from her and see. Ye need a clear head, and tupping her will just cloud it. Promise me ye will think about breaking off whatever ye’ve started with her.”

Beck released his breath in a huff. “Aye, I will think about it.”

“Good.” Adam turned, walking out into the morning air, and Beck followed him.

In his mind he saw Eliza sailing away with a crew of pirates. He must marry for the sake of the clan. Damn. Was Adam right? Should he cut things off with Eliza? Now, before this heaviness in his gut grew any weightier?