Ye Give Love A Plaid Name (Bad in Plaid 3)

“Ye do!” She was outright giggling now. “I’m just…Oh,” she gasped again as he slid from her.

“I’ve made ye deliriously happy, is that it?”

By the time she’d turned around, he was already reaching for a basin of water and a rag, and she draped her arms around his shoulders as he cleaned her. The pressure of his hands on her core made her squirm, the area sensitive from her back-to-back orgasms.

When he finished, he bent and placed one arm behind her knees, scooping her against him. She sighed and rested her head against his chest, although it only took him a few strides to cross the room.

Gently he laid her on the bed, then stepped back to remove his clothing—finally.

She pulled the blankets back and squirmed beneath them, all while eagerly watching him.

When he paused and raised a brow, she grinned. “Particularly fine, husband.”

He looked proud when he finally slipped into bed with her and took her in his arms. With a sigh, she curled up against him.

Her husband.

Who would’ve thought, all those months ago, when Da had made that ridiculous ultimatum, she’d have found love right here on Oliphant land?

“I love ye,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

He hummed. “Ye’re just saying that because ye like my tongue.”

“‘Twas a delightful, if unexpected, way to start our married life. I dinnae recall seeing it in A Harlot’s Guide, although it bears some similarities to Three Men, One Spoon.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “I suppose that means the Gray Lady was never lucky enough to experience it?”

“If ‘tis the case, then it’ll be our first contribution to yer manuscript,” he declared smugly.

It was absolutely delightful, cuddling here with him in a sated sort of bliss. “I think we ought to put it on the verra first page, so that all young ladies know what pleasure awaits if their lover cares about their pleasure.”

His hand found her arse and he squeezed. “I love ye, Wynda.”

Smiling, she shifted position. “What are ye going to call it?”

“It? I cannae name it. I didnae invent oral sex, wife.”

“What?” She pushed herself up on one elbow. “Is that what ‘tis called? That makes nae sense.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Aye, it does.”

“Nay, I could see someone like Robena enjoying aural sex, but only because music is such an important part of her life.” She used her other hand to gesture toward the side of her face. “Unless there’s some strange perversion involving ears and penises—penii? Penisi? What’s the plural of penis?”

Pherson had started to chuckle, and now he rolled her over on her back, pinning her there. She glared up at him as he continued.

“Dinnae laugh at me, husband. Ye’re the one who brought ear-sex into this conversation. Unless ye meant aural, as in it sounds like making in love, in which case I would think any sort of general moaning would be appropriate. Hellfire, have ye ever heard Fen eating cake? The sounds she makes could be considered—“

His lips silenced hers.

Just as well. Ye were blathering again.

She didn’t mind one bit.

Pherson was smiling as he propped himself above her. “Oral sex, wife. I cannae spell it, but oral involving the mouth. No’ aural, involving the ear.”

She felt herself blushing as she realized her mistake, but merely shrugged, her arms already around his shoulders. “Aye, I thought ‘twas a bit odd.”

“Nay, I’m the one who is awed, Wynda.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Ye should be. We can both be odd. And awed.”