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Date Posted: 19:41:34 12/04/07 Tue
Author: celtgirl
Subject: Take care then that this next bit doesn't send you up in a puff of smoke, Denise>>>>
In reply to: Denise 's message, "Lord, let me be Jamie's bed warmer! I'll conjure up a hot flash and keep him warm!" on 19:28:30 12/04/07 Tue

copyright 2007 Cindy Brandner

He stood and crossed the room in three strides. She jumped slightly, forgetting just how imposing he could be when he so chose.

“What if I say that you make me feel positively primitive and that all my well learned ways, my masks melt just looking at you. What if I say that sometimes,” he knelt down in front of her his hands firmly on her knees, disallowing her to bolt, “I’d like to kill (?) because he has touched you, that I’d like to burn the eyes out of every man who looks at you because I know what he thinks when he sees you. That sometimes,” his voice lowered and one hand moved up to caress her face, her shoulder, her breast, “I want to make love to you just to watch you lose yourself completely, to see the colours change in your skin and the sounds you make, but then,” he pushed her blouse off her shoulders and kissed her in the delicate, blue-veined hollow that joined shoulder to collar bone, “I touch you and I am so lost, in your scent, your skin, your colours that I cannot remember from one time to the next,” he opened her bra and kissed the underside of each breast, making her moan and arch towards him, anger forgotten, all forgotten, “I cannot remember what it is that binds us together so.” Then it was silence other than the scuffle, small and furious, to relieve each other of burdensome clothing.

No thought was spared for the sensibilities, delicate or otherwise, of the servants. But then when Jamie touched her, filled her, overflowed her senses as he did, gave her that pure golden light that was his alone, she found that care and inhibition were swiftly abandoned. Purely animal this, instinctual, the reaching, the pulling, the pushing, feeling as if he would never be close enough, not even if their skins were to meld within the liquid heat of desire.

She felt vaguely the rub of silk carpet under her knees as he pulled her, naked, to him, was hardly aware of the sounds that escaped her throat, crying her need, opening to him, welcoming the plunder, the bruising blood tide that rushed to every last cell, the greed that grasped and demanded and knew nothing but its own want. She heard him speak softly, partly in English, a few words of what she took to be smutty Italian and in the tenderest, barest, most fragile of moments she would hear the smoke and mist of Gaelic fall from his tongue.

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