Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation (Bad in Plaid 4)

“Ye’d be too cold.”

“Ye’d keep me warm,” she countered.

Kester rose on his elbows. “Ye cannae swim.”

“Ye will keep me safe.”

She could hear his smile when he drawled, “Aye, that is true enough.”

Robena wrapped her arms around his waist as he moved over her. “And when we bathe, ye can make certain to get my tits really clean.”

He burst into laughter.

Feeling mischievous, and already hoping for a repeat of the pleasure she’d just received, she wriggled her hips under his. “I’ll likely have to hold tightly onto ye. Mayhap wrap my legs around ye.” She shifted under him. “Ye ken, in order to protect me from drowning.”

“Really, lass?” Still chuckling, he rolled to one side, then propped his head up on his hand. “I’m thinking all this talk of bathing might just be an excuse to get me naked and in yer arms again.”

Robena gasped theatrically. “Ye think I would do such a thing?”

“For more pleasure?”

Remembering the way the MacBain warriors had spoken of sex, when they thought her a lad, she kept her tone solemn when she nodded. “The aaahhhh is my favorite part.”

“Saints protect us,” he groaned, dropping his head down with a dull thunk. “My men have corrupted ye.”

“Thoroughly,” she agreed with a giggle, rolling over atop him. “I learned so much from them, and I think ye can teach me even more.”

In the dim light, she saw him peek out from under his forearm. “Like what?” he asked suspiciously.

She could feel his half-erect member, sticky with his seed. Mischievously, she closed her hand around it. “Have ye ever heard of The Supplicant Swan, husband?”

Her only response was a strained sort of grunt, and she smiled.

“It involves a man in this position, and a woman bending over him, her head and neck bobbing as she takes his cock into her mouth—”

He sat up. “How do ye ken such a thing?”

“I spent a lot of time as a lad, remember?” She teased. “I was thinking I’d like to try The Supplicant Swan, but after we’ve bathed.”

He was moving before she’d finished her sentence, pulling her out of the tent. Laughing, she called, “Where are we going, husband?”

“To bathe!”

As they rose to their feet, she teased, “And after, I could reaffix my mustache while we practiced—”

Her mock threat was cut short by her squeal when he—as naked as she—hoisted her over his shoulder.

“What are ye doing?” she half-squeaked, half-laughed.

He lightly smacked her arse-cheek, which caused her laugh to turn a little breathless, especially when he turned the touch into a caress.

“Kester?” she breathed.

He was already crashing through the woods and she admired his sense of surety. Especially without boots.

“I’m taking ye to bathe, wife. I figured this was the easiest way to get to the aaahhh, without a mustache.”

She propped her elbows up on his back, planted her chin in her hands, and decided to enjoy the ride. From this angle, she could see his arse-dimples in the moonlight.

“Well, love, far be it for me to object to yer plan.”

“I love ye, Robbie.”

And she began to laugh.

Really, what more could a lass ask for?