Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(60)

He didn’t want to laugh at her—someone had told her that, his Lady Innocence, or she’d read it in a book. But the words, so out of place with the dark heat inside this bed cut through his sphere of anger and heartache. Cut through it like a sword, smashing the shell around him and letting Alec Mackenzie out.

He let out a laugh that built until the bed shook with it and his voice boomed around the room. He laughed for joy and the beauty of Celia, for the warmth of a beautiful woman, for the fact that he could wrap his arms around her and shut out the world.

Celia flushed a dark red. “Is that not what happens? My mother went over it so carefully.”

Alec jerked away the pillow beneath his head so he could lie flat and continue laughing. He imagined the cold-faced duchess explaining to Celia her duty to a lust-ridden Englishman eager for his young bride.

His anger at her family returned on top of his mirth, but the morose Alec Mackenzie had fled into the wind.

“Aye, that’s what happens, in words.” He gently eased her from him and sat up to unfasten the plaid. “But much more than that.”

Alec peeled the kilt from his hips and dragged off his stockings. The tartan was the blue and green of the the Black Watch, similar to but not quite the same as the Mackenzies’s colors. He imagined Celia rolled up in Mackenzie plaid and his body went rigid.

“On ye come.” Alec gathered Celia into his arms and slid her on top of him.

She looked surprised. “I thought I had to be under you?”

More laughter vibrated him. “Oh, lass, teaching you will be splendid. There is so much to learn—it might take us many years. I hope so.”

“Well, you were hired to instruct me, weren’t you?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. “I simply didn’t anticipate instruction in this.”

Alec’s cock went blood-poundingly stiff.

The fantasy of Celia turning up for drawing lessons, flushed and knowing, shot through his mind. Alec imagined every detail of unlacing her stomacher, unfastening her skirts, peeling her clothes from her, each layer falling to reveal more. He’d take his time with her stockings, sliding the fine silk down her legs, skimming his hand behind her knee to the warmth there.

He’d arrange her on the cushioned sofa he’d prepared while he dropped her silken clothing and stood back, studying her body as an artist, before putting pencil to paper and sketching her. Every line, every curve, every curl of her hair, the arc of her breasts, the proud tilt of her head.

He’d pause from time to time, lay down the pencil, and love her on the sofa until they drowsed in the sunshine.

Then he’d teach her to undress him, and he’d be the model. He’d lie back under her scrutiny while she rendered him on her canvas, and then they’d make love again.

Alec’s mind, which absorbed and remembered every facet of a situation, played the scene to him in vivid precision. His entire being willed him to make the fantasy truth.

He pulled Celia down to him, loving the warm weight of her body. Her breasts pressed his chest, her nipples points against his skin, as he moved one hand to the soft round of her buttocks.

“I won’t hurt you, love.”

Celia gave him a tight nod. “I can bear it.”

Alec caressed her cheek. “I don’t want ye to bear it, my lass. I want ye to love every second of it.”

She nodded again. “I’ll try.”

Laughter threatened to overwhelm Alec, but he held it back. This was too important.

He parted her legs with his hand and eased her very carefully over the tip of his cock. Alec bit back a groan as he felt her liquid heat, but he resisted simply thrusting into her. He had to go carefully, letting her understand, and trust.

“Oh,” Celia said. Her eyes widened as Alec slid in the barest inch. “Oh.”

“There now,” he said softly. “I’ll let you grow used to it.”

He held himself rigid as Celia stiffened, then her face softened. She was tight, squeezing his tip, fanning his hot desire.

The same desire flushed her as she bent her head to kiss him. When her teeth latched onto Alec’s lip, he lost his tight control and slipped another inch inside her.

Celia gasped, and Alec froze. His body was on fire, the need to bury himself inside her strong.

“All right?” he asked. “Am I hurting ye?” It would kill him to pull out, but he’d do it if she felt any pain. He had no intention of Celia looking at him in fear every time she remembered this day.

“No.” She drew a breath. “Not really. It feels odd.”

“Odd? Put a man in his place, why don’t ye, lass?”

Celia gave him a sudden grin. “I rather like the place you are in, my husband.”

“Ah, damn.” Alec shuddered, flashing hot at the same time. “Why do ye say things like that?”

He balled his fists as he slid ever so slowly in the rest of the way, watching Celia’s eyes soften, her thoughts scatter. Alec held her there, letting her feel full, waiting for her to understand what it meant for him to be inside her.

Celia braced herself over him, shaking her head as though trying to comprehend what was happening to her.

She made a soft moan that nearly undid him. Still, Alec held himself in check, determined not to make this beautiful moment a horror for her.

Outside, the city continued to wake, the rising voices of the vendors who strolled the streets coming to them. Their chants rang out, offering strawberries or coffee, or to take rags or grind knives, blending with the rumble of carts, the shouts of drovers, the clank of chains as a boat was unleashed from the strand and pushed into the river. London was always alive.