Page 35 of The Laird's Dark Obsession

“M’Laird,” she replied, gripping him. That pressure from the night before was starting to mount in her core.

“Call me by my name,” he urged.

Before she could get it out, his hands pressed to the backs of her thighs and brought her knees toward the bed. His mouth hovered over hers, panting, as he pounded into her fast and hard. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but lie there and moan as he ravished her.

“Say it, Kira,” he said again.

For a moment, she was too lost to make sense of the command. Once she found her bearings, however, she pressed her hands to his lower back, urging him deeper as she cried out his name. His movements were feral, violent, all-consuming—and she soaked in every second of it. As pleasure ripped through her and shook her body beneath his, she could feel him stiffen against her. His movements became jagged and his breathing shallowed further.

And then, they collapsed into one another. His face pressed to the crook of her neck and her fingers combed through his hair idly as she caught her breath.

“Ye ken, it used to be lost on me but I’m starting to understand why some couples have ten or more children,” she muttered.

Hunter chuckled and slid his hand down her side, groping at her curves. “Is that so?” he queried.

She loved the sound of his laughter, breathy, throaty, joyful. And she doubted a day would come where she would tire of it. When his hand reached her hip, it dipped between her legs and took hold of her inner thigh. “That is good to hear,” he said.

And then he moved away from her neck and positioned himself between her legs, his face at her groin. She sat up, startled, staring down at him, ready to ask what in the world he was doing. His hazel eye flashed a dangerous, playful gleam up at her before he said, “Because we’re only just getting started, wife.”

His tongue lapped at her seam and a ripple of need rolled through her achy, spent body. But for Hunter, it would come alive again. Endlessly.

15

The days that followed their wedding were trying.

While the couple came together in new and exciting ways in the privacy of their chambers, there was still the clan to win over and that started with the Keep’s staff. Hunter knew that he couldn’t force them to accept her, as it would only garner resistance, and he still had to oversee the clan affairs. And so, during the day, he entrusted Kira to Edine. Edine was close with the maids and cooks, and so it was the best place he could think of to start.

Three days later, Hunter had holed himself away in his study to try to come up with a plan for their next steps. He had sent word to Fairbairn of their union and it was only a matter of time until her father’s response came—whether it be in writing or retaliation.

It was past dinnertime and he was still without a solid plan. He sat at his desk sipping a bit of whisky as he mindlessly packed a clay pipe with tobacco leaves. He had never been much of a smoker, but when his mind was really struggling with a concept, he found himself reaching for it. Likely because his father always had a pipe in hand when thinking or reading, and it left the impression on his young mind that it somehow made you more clever.

A small knock came at the door and he called over permission to enter. Peering up, he found his mood immediately lightened at the sight of Kira pattering in. When she sat across from him, he could feel the corners of his lips curving upward at the sight of flour splashed across the skirt of her dress.

“What have ye been up to?” he queried.

“Edine and I have spent the day with the cooks. It was really quite something,” she said. “We even went to help with the bread for tomorrow, after supper. We just finished up.”

“Hard at work all day, goodness me,” he commented in a lightly teasing manner.

But he truly admired her for it, the work she was putting in to become one with the Keep. She hadn’t been told to, she had sought it out on her own. All he had done was push her toward Edine, and she had taken the honest initiative.

No longer was she making herself small and shifting her eyes all around to assess the danger. She was smiling and tender and simply flourishing during that short time since their wedding day. He wondered if such a difference could be made in mere days, just exactly who she would be in a year’s time.

“It’s very different,” Kira admitted. “But it’s nice. The cooks seemed reluctant at first, and the head cook is a bit gruff, but she told me my bread would ‘make do’. I think I’m winning her over.”

“That is good to hear,” he said, relaxing back in his seat. He placed the mouthpiece of the pipe between his lips, though he didn’t light it.

“Ye missed dinner,” Kira commented. “How come?”

He chewed on the mouthpiece, eyeing her carefully before deciding it was best to come out with it plainly. “I sent word to yer faither. It should be any time now that we hear of his response and if he intends to retaliate.”

Her posture stiffened but she gave a small nod. Hunter wasn’t under any illusions. No matter how strained and difficult her relationship with her father might be, it was difficult to face the fact that her own blood was the enemy. He watched her carefully as she took a deep breath while maintaining eye contact.

“What will ye do if he does nae back down?” she queried.

Violent images that were more familiar than any other memory or fantasy flashed across the forefront of his mind. His hands around Laird Fairbairn’s throat as he dangled him from his study balcony, fear finally gleaming in his blue eyes. He blinked them away, though, and looked back at his wife.

A wife who was more dear and precious to him than she had any right to be. One that he would gladly spend every night with for the rest of his life, and one he would kill for again and again—but he doubted that giving up his pursuit of her father was something he could do.