Their Private Arrangement Read Free Page B

legs?”
    With a quick intake of breath, Morag urged herself to respond well. She sought the right words and as she did she noticed that Mr. Grant seemed quite attuned to what was being said, and watched with interest. Did he wish to observe them together? It was something she had experienced before—the urge some folk had to look, rather than to partake—but nevertheless she was surprised.
    â€œAre you offering to take on the task?” She looked up at Duggan as boldly as she could, hoping that was the case.
    Duggan smiled broadly and responded by ducking his head to kiss her neck. It was a hungry kiss and his hands locked around her waist. Morag swayed, her heart pounding, her head swimming. His hands tightened on her, for which she was grateful, for he held her upright when otherwise she might fall. He surely was a strong man, and a moment later she found her feet swept from under her as he lifted in his arms.
    Morag wondered briefly if she were dreaming, but when his breath warmed her face and his hair brushed her forehead, she knew she wasn’t. Resting there in his arms, she stared at him in awe, her lips parted.
    â€œA ripe fruit, ready and eager to be picked and enjoyed,” Duggan said, and glanced in Mr. Grant’s direction. “Don’t you agree?”
    Morag clasped Duggan around the neck and glanced at Mr. Grant from under her lashes. His lips were pursed as if in thought, but he nodded. There was a mixture of curiosity and nervousness in his expression, and his cheeks were stained with color. Again Morag had the feeling that it was Duggan who made the decisions here.
    He turned away and carried her to the bed, where he rested her and kissed her hungrily on the mouth while he reached for her skirts. He seemed to recall their earlier discussion about a firm hand, because he made no pretence at politeness as he elbowed her legs apart.
    Morag could not, however, forget the other man’s presence. Did Duggan expect her to ignore him? The nature of their game was not at all clear, and whilst she had dallied with other folk who had taken their lodgings at the Drover’s Inn, none had been like these two were. Her understanding of their situation—if it was correct—was that they were forbidden lovers, men who were attracted to their own kind. It made her even more curious about the arrangement, as well as her part in it.
    Duggan’s bold approach affected her though, making her wanton. She opened her mouth to his tongue and grappled for the hem of her skirts, which she hauled up to assist his approach. Morag wanted nothing more than to feel his weight over her. She desired him above all and was brazen in her responses, despite the onlooker.
    â€œA willing wench,” he said, and sighed as he plucked at the top of her woolen stockings.
    She leaned her head close alongside his and whispered, “That I am.”
    Duggan pushed her stockings down her legs so that he could examine her legs.
    Higher, between her thighs, she ached to be touched, her puss tingling. Soon he would touch her there, and she wriggled under him, eager for it.
    Duggan’s fingers roved along the soft insides of her thighs, stroking her until she was in a frenzy of need. His gaze followed, his mouth moving sensuously as if he were enjoying each discovery.
    â€œ Mr. Duggan,” she pleaded, breathless in her urgency.
    He responded by throwing her skirts up as far as her waist and staring down at his quarry. “Yes, my lusty wench, what is that you want?”
    He was having a jest—it was there in his voice and in his expression.
    Morag gripped his sleeve and tugged up on it. The lips of her puss were swollen and hot and wanting to be touched, her cunny eager to be filled.
    â€œIs it this that you want?” He clasped her bared puss with his whole hand, squeezing it firmly.
    For a moment she could not breathe at all, then she rocked her hips in his grasp, and that made her craving