A Reception Thing, 2/2
Chapter One | Chapter Two
The rest of the time passed quickly, all things considered. Mickey visited with them for a bit before dancing with Rose; Peter remained standing where he was, watching her beam as she danced with her oldest friend, smiling as she snuck glances at him. Jake stopped by while he watched, offering his formal congratulations before making a teasing comment about how far gone he was. Elias and his wife stood with him for a bit, taking a break from dancing themselves, Elias good-naturedly teasing Peter about having to be social before Peter stunned both of them by asking his partner’s wife to dance. She laughed, teasing him even as he led her to the dance floor, and he was reminded of a comment she had made to him in the first week they knew each other.
“Remember when you asked why Rose was with me?” He grinned, guiding Elias’s wife through the dance.
His dance partner looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. “I’ve asked you that a dozen times, Peter.”
He laughed-she had. “It was right after you mentioned that the word ‘toddler’ had been used to describe me.”
The penny dropped. “Ah. I think I might remember that one.” She had suggested that the only reason she was with Peter was because he was a good shag.
He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “It’s true.” He straightened, grinning, taking delight in watching the unflappable Mrs. McCoy blush scarlet before bursting into laughter.
He’d enjoyed that dance, but had retreated once again to the sidelines for a short break afterwards.
The last dance before dessert, he finally made up his mind and walked over to Anna, asking if she’d be up for a dance; she was surprised, clearly, but happily accepted. He saw Rose walk over and sit with Penny during that dance, happily chatting with his former partner while he and Anna talked about how things were in Kendal, while he listened to her talk in excited tones about how happy she was to be having a child.
Dessert was a simple tiered cake; he rather thought it tasted like cardboard held together with paste, but held his tongue. Jackie had gone to great effort, after all, and he suspected the cake was as much for her as for he and Rose. The guests certainly seemed to like it, eating their small slices before returning to the dance floor. As he pushed his half-eaten cake away he surprised Rose, turning to her and asking if she’d like to dance again. She smiled at him, that shy smile that she so rarely used-and was so dearly treasured by him-and gave him her hand, accepting with a soft “Yes.” They slid in amongst the crowd, and once again got lost dancing in each other’s arms.
“Are you ready to retire upstairs, Mrs. Carlisle?” he whispered against her ear as they came to the end of the dance.
“I think I might be, Mr. Carlisle,” she answered, a smile in her voice. “But whatever shall we do?”
He leaned forward. “I think, first, I’ll let you know exactly what’s under this kilt.”
“Oh? And then what?”
“And then I’m going to take that dress off of you, and make sure to kiss every single centimetre of your skin.”
“All while you’re still dressed?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve been fantasizing about unwrapping you, tonight, peeling your clothes off, then making slow, lazy love to you.”
“Ah.” He felt his body stir, the memories of making love to Rose coursing through him. “Then I suggest we go upstairs with all due haste.”
They made their way off the floor, intent on finding their friends to pay their respects, to find Rose’s parents to say good night. It took far longer than he would have liked, and it was nearly an hour later that they walked out of the warmth of the tent into the cool night air, crossing the lawn to the lights of the manor house. Rose let them into one of the side entrances, leading him up a servants staircase, down the hall; their entire route was unlit, but she led him with surety, knowing exactly where she was going. They’d not said a word to each other during their walk, the tension building between them until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to wait until they found her room.
They finally made it and he closed her bedroom door behind him, turning the lock with his right hand, while his left held onto hers. The door secured, he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms as he kissed her ferociously. She wasted no time, her hands fumbling with his bow tie, pulling the ends apart and undoing the knot before moving to part his jacket, working speedily to unbutton his waistcoat and his shirt. Her hands slid across his chest, pushing the layers of fabric out of the way, her desire to take his clothes off slowly clearly no longer a priority. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and smiled slowly at her as she met his gaze.
“Not so much for the slow unwrapping then?”
Rose blinked, before sliding her hands from his chest and stepping away. “As a matter of fact...” She turned, stepping away from him, walking slowly down the short hallway to the room proper. He stood, stunned, staring after her; hadn’t they just been about to make love against the wall?
She paused just inside the room, reaching over to flick the wall switch for the small desk lamp before glancing over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Will I have to this alone, then?”
She reached behind her, fumbling for the zip of her dress, slowly sliding the metal down to reveal a vee of creamy skin at the top of her back. He moved, crossing the distance between them in two strides, his hands sliding up to help her, slowly easing the zip the rest of the way down her back. He couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing her skin, brushing his lips across each inch as it was revealed to him. He heard her sigh as he finished, and he slowly straightened. “Now what, Mrs. Carlisle?” he whispered against her neck, continuing to brush kisses across the skin there, gently pushing the loosened fabric aside to reveal her shoulders.
“Hmmm?” She tilted her head, encouraging him to continue what he was doing.
He smiled against her skin, brushing one last kiss across it before stepping back. “Now what, Mrs. Carlisle?” He repeated the question, taking care to enunciate each word as he moved to stand in front of Rose.
She met his gaze as he stopped in front of her, a smile just curving the corners of her mouth. “Now, Mr. Carlisle, I finish unwrapping my present.” She reached out, her fingers skimming across his skin, causing him to close his eyes. He felt her hands slide over his shirt, under his jacket. She flattened her palms, moving them up, across his chest, along his shoulders, gradually easing the heavy wool down his biceps; he relaxed, allowing the jacket to slide from his arms, the fabric settling on the floor with a soft sound.
She leaned into him, brushing kisses against his chin, and he turned, his lips meeting hers. She braced her hands against his chest, rocking up and into their kiss, and he quickly shrugged out of his waistcoat before wrapping his arms around her, holding her against him.
They stood together, kissing leisurely, enjoying the moment; enjoying it being just the two of them, safe, hidden from the world for a little bit. Peter still couldn’t get enough of kissing Rose, of feeling her pressed against him, of tasting her; his wife, the woman who might, one day, bear his children.
He loved her more than he thought possible.
He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding across her back, finding bare skin, helping to move the satin of the dress out of the way. Rose moved her hands, finding room to move them against his bare chest, working them further under his shirt, the heat of her skin warming him further.
He helped to guide her dress over her shoulders; as he felt gravity begin to work on the fabric, sliding it down Rose’s arms, he broke the kiss. Taking a step back, he held her eyes as her dress fell to the floor. She looked at him, her lips red, her cheeks pink; her eyes were dark, and she gave him a soft smile-her smile for him, and him only.
She’d changed out of her slip after he’d left to get dressed, and was instead wearing a scarlet bra trimmed with black lace and a matching pair of knickers. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out to run his fingers along the straps of the bra, along her sides, bringing his hands to rest on her hips. He watched Rose as she brought her hands to his chest once more, her eyes following the movement of her fingers as they moved the fabric of his shirt aside, easing it over his shoulders and down his arms. He took a step back, releasing his cufflinks before allowing the shirt to join his jacket and waistcoat on the floor.
He reached down, holding Rose’s gaze as he removed his sporran, feeling oddly naked with the comforting weight gone. He’d have to remove his ghillie brogues at some point, take off his hose...
Rose smiled, a slight quirk to the corner of her mouth, and slowly walked over to him. “Peter...bed...” She pressed her hand lightly against his chest, moving him in the direction she wanted. He staggered slightly before finding his footing, holding her gaze as she continued to push him backwards; he felt the mattress hit the back of his legs, and felt Rose give him a gentle push downwards.
“But I’m not-“
“Shh.” She brought her finger to his lips, her eyes warm as she watched him settle onto the edge of the bed without further argument.
She leaned forward, replacing her finger with her lips, kissing him as she moved to kneel in front of him. Her hands rested on his legs, and his hands once more found their way to her shoulders, to the smooth satin of the straps of her bra. He slid his fingers down, following the line of the fabric, and Rose broke the kiss, scooting backwards.
“Not yet.” She shifted her gaze, directing her attention to his left leg; her right hand slid across his knee, down his leg, her fingers following the line of his laces before moving to trace the line of skin just above his hose. She bent forward, brushing her lips across his knee, before moving to unknot his laces, to unwind them from his leg and eventually remove his shoe from his foot; she then made short work of the garter, finally rolling his hose down over his calf, gently lifting his foot to free it from the fabric.
He’d leaned back, his head tilting as she worked, his eyes shut as he savoured the sensation. He felt her run her hand slowly up his bare leg, his skin exceptionally sensitive after being covered in tight fabric for the night, and he shivered. He’d never had someone undress him when he’d worn the traditional formal attire, had never-even in his wildest dreams-imagined it. He heard Rose chuckle, and raised his head.
“Are you quite done, Mrs. Carlisle?”
“Not quite, Mr. Carlisle.” She placed a last kiss on his left leg, before turning her attention to his right. She untied his laces and removed the shoe without ado, carefully setting the items aside before focusing her attention on his leg. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly dancing around where he’d tucked his sgian dubh into his hose; she finally tilted her head, looking up at him, her tongue peeping out from her mouth.
“I wasn’t aware you were armed, Peter.”
“I told you I’d dressed properly tonight. Which includes that.” He glanced down to where her fingers had stilled.
“I’d no idea.”
He tutted. “I’m disappointed in your powers of observation, then, Rose.”
“I was distracted, Peter.” Her voice was low, sultry; he was tired of the teasing, wanted to make love to his wife. He reached down, removing the dagger and setting it on the floor, reaching under the hose to unclasp the garter. Rose looked up at him in protest, and he leaned forward to capture her lips.
“Enough of this.” He shoved the hose down, yanked it from his foot before reaching to Rose and pulling her to him; she leaned forward, eagerly returning his kiss. She moved to stand as he brought his arms around her, and he leaned backwards, pulling her with him onto the mattress.
He rolled, pinning her underneath him, her body against his, her hands drifting along his back. He continued to kiss her as he moved, bringing a hand between them to cup her breast, squeezing lightly before using his fingers to tease her.
She arched into him, encouraging him, her hands drifting to his bum; he broke the kiss, drifting his lips across her jaw, down her neck, between the hollow of her breasts. Her hands moved to his hair, guiding him to her, and he ran his tongue across the fabric covering her left breast.
Rose moaned, her fingers curling in his hair; he braced his weight on his elbow, sliding the strap of her bra out of the way, moving the fabric aside, brushing the tip of his tongue across her hardened nipple before beginning to nip and suckle.
“Peter...god...please....” Rose moved restlessly below him as he continued to tease her; he couldn’t help but smile, and began to slide down her body, planting kisses across her stomach.
“Please what, Rose?” he asked, pausing at the line of her knickers, the scarlet vivid against the white of her skin.
“Please.”
He slid his fingers under her knickers, pulling them down her legs; she freed a leg from the satin, moving to open for him. He slid an arm under her thigh before moving to place a kiss on her hip.
“My Rose.” He kissed lower, nearer to where she wanted him; nearer to where he wanted to be. “I love you.” Another kiss, almost there. “I love how you taste.” He ran his tongue lightly against her, tasting the damp saltiness that was waiting for him. She groaned, moving her legs further apart for him.
He began to run his tongue against her, dancing lightly around her clit before sliding down and dipping into her; Rose tried to move, to rock against him, and he brought his other arm under her leg, pinning her in place. “Mine,” he whispered against her before delving his tongue into her again, sucking lightly against her labia.
He set a rhythm, light swipes of his tongue alternating with gentle nips of teeth, or the pull of his lips on her flesh; he raised his eyes to look up Rose’s body, watching as she moved her hands to her breast, pinching and rubbing in time to his ministrations. He felt her begin to quiver, and increased his pace.
She came with a shout, sobbing his name; he continued to lap at her, prolonging her orgasm, gently pulling back as she finally relaxed.
He placed a kiss against her thigh before sliding his arms out from under her, sliding along her body once more before coming to rest alongside her.
“My Rose. My wife.” He cupped her jaw, pulling her to him for a kiss.
She smiled at him as he broke the kiss, her hand stroking his cheek. “Peter.” Her voice was rich and warm, and he felt another wave of awe pass through him.
She really was married to him. They really were husband and wife.
They lay, staring at each other for a long moment, before Rose spoke again. “So. Y’ goin’ to show me what’s under that kilt?”
“I think you already know.”
“Show me, Peter.” Her eyes were almost black, and he rolled away from her, hurriedly shifting to the side of the bed so he could stand.
Rose sat up, watching, as he reached down, working to unfasten the buckles of the kilt. She moved forward as he reached the last of the buckles, her hands resting on his as he finished sliding the leather through the metal. “Allow me.”
He gazed down at Rose as she pulled the wool aside, as her hands move to his waist and parted the fabric. He gasped as the cool air hit his skin; Rose raised her eyes to his before gently setting the kilt aside.
“Like a true Scotsman,” she said, humour in her gaze.
“Yes.” He ached for her, and reached his hands down to rest gently against her face.
She smiled gently, her hands moving to gently grasp his erection; he felt his breath catch as she began to stroke him, as she leaned forward and took him in her mouth.
His hands moved to her hair, resting there, as she slowly slid him out of her mouth, her cheeks hollow as she sucked. He barely had time to catch his breath before she took him in again, her teeth lightly brushing against his skin, her hand squeezing the base of his penis.
“My...Oh...Rose...” He fought to keep from using his hand to pull her against him, instead focused on the sensation as she began to set a rhythm, her mouth feeling heavenly around him, her hands drifting across the sensitive skin of his thighs, or across his testicles. She knew what would drive him wild, and was using every trick she’d learned.
He could feel the orgasm coiling inside of him, knew that she’d soon have him releasing; as much as he enjoyed what she was doing with her mouth, he wanted to be more traditionally joined with her when he came. “Rose.”
She continued to torment him with her mouth, and he felt his resolve briefly weaken as she did something amazing with her tongue.
“Rose.”
She pulled back, releasing him with a pop before raising her eyes to his. He leaned down, his lips capturing hers, pushing her backwards onto the bed. He needed to be in her, needed to finish this; he slid a knee between her legs, and wasted no time driving into her when she opened for him.
She gasped, arching against him; as he pulled out, he reached down, his arm looping under her knee and hiking her leg up. He began to drive into her, hard, fast; he fed off her grunts as he continued to pound into her, held her gaze as he focused on finding his own pleasure. Rose reached up, her hand cupping his cheek; her thumb brushed against his lips as she gasped, “My husband. My Peter.”
He could feel the orgasm begin to unspool; he increased his pace, groaning Rose’s name as he came. She arched into him, her leg pressing down on his arm as he thrust into her the final few times, as he rode out his orgasm. He released her leg, and felt her wrap her arms around him, holding her to him as he rested on top of her, his head buried in the crook of her neck.
He felt her run her fingers through his hair, as she periodically brushed soft kisses against the crown of his head.
“I love you,” she whispered, her breath cool against his sweat-soaked skin.
“I love you,” he replied, shifting to gaze at her. He slid out of her, moving his weight from her body, rolling to hold her in a gentle embrace.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Rose sighed against Peter, relaxing into his embrace as they lay together on the bed. She still couldn’t believe they were married, couldn’t believe that he was her husband. She felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought, and brushed a kiss across his chest. He rubbed her arm, brushing an absent-minded kiss over her head, and she tilted her chin to look up at him.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
He stared up at the ceiling as he answered, “I was just thinking...wondering...if you wanted to have children. Some day.”
He moved, gazing down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. She felt a wave of icy heat pass through her, her stomach tensing as she considered his question.
Did she? She’d never considered it, to be honest-in spite of their using only one level of contraception, now they were married. Children were something other people had; were something that she’d somehow assumed she would just never have. She knew she loved Peter, knew she couldn’t imagine life without him. And as she lay there, thinking about it, she realized that yes, she did want to-wanted to give a baby to him, wanted to make a new life with him.
But not yet. She wasn’t ready to be a mother.
“I...I had never really...I mean, I’d want to, eventually, but...but I don’t know that I want to...just yet.” She rolled onto her side, shifting back slightly so she could look at him. He mirrored her, resting his head on his hand. “What brought this on?” She brought her hand up, cupping his jaw, rubbing her thumb across the clean-shaven skin.
“Just...seeing Penny, and Anna...they look so happy. And I started thinking about it, wondering if we’d ever...if you’d ever want to.” He turned his head, kissing her palm.
She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek, watching him as she thought. Seeing Penny and Anna--happy together, Anna glowing as she neared term-no doubt did cause him to start thinking about it. But she strongly suspected that although Peter thought the idea was a new one to him, it was something he’d probably wanted for years; a desire he’d buried long ago, thinking it wasn’t ever going to be an option for him. She wondered if he’d had dreams of having a child when he married Loreen, wondered if “child” fell on the list his younger self had created for building the perfect life-the list that had fallen apart or been buried, the pain of trying to meet it growing to be too much.
She felt her heart clench anew for him, for the thought of his younger self deciding to give up on a dream, all because of that woman.
“I’d want to, Peter. Just...not yet.” She held his gaze, wanting him to know that she wasn’t rejecting the idea. “The lives we lead-the life I lead-they’re...it’s not good for having a child. And I...I don’t think I’m ready for it.”
She ached as she told him her thoughts, of her reluctance; she felt as though she were crushing one of his dreams, that he’d taken a chance telling her what he’d hoped for, and she was casting it aside. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and she rested her palm on his jaw. “I’m sorry, Peter. I just...can’t. Not now.”
He leaned down, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “It’s ok, Rose...”
“But it’s not, because it’s something you want, and I want to give you a child, just not now, and-“
“It’s ok.” He brushed another kiss over her cheek before moving to enfold her in an embrace. “You’re not ready, I understand. Just...knowing you’d want to...someday...that’s enough.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, fighting the urge to cry, a sense of failure flooding through her. “I want to give you everything you ever wanted,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“Rose, you already have-more than I’d have ever dreamed of, or hoped for.”
“Peter,” she whispered against his shoulder, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
“Look at me.” His voice was firm, and she pulled back, raising her eyes to his. “I’d rather you be honest, now, before we try, than bury it, being miserable simply to make me happy.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling tears threaten again.
“No need to be.” He smiled, a sad sort of smile that made her heart break.
“But-“
“I’ll be ok, Rose. I promise. And, one day, when you think you’re ready, or want to try, then I’ll happily agree. Ok?”
She hesitated. Would it be? Would he be able to bury that dream again, to tuck it away and not dwell on it, to not resent her for it? Would he see a family-visit Penny, see him with his child-and not think of how she let him down? She looked at him, gazing into his eyes, warm and full of love for her, his expression serious, and she nodded slowly. She had to believe him when he said he’d be willing to wait, to trust that he wouldn’t hold her decision against her.
“Ok,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, pulling her up to him, kissing her gently. “Done and sealed with a kiss, then.” He brought a hand around, stroking her hair back from her face, gazing at her. “I love you. Rose Carlisle.”
She ducked her head, relief and embarrassment washing through her.
“I do. I always will. My wonderful wife. Tha gaol agam ort.”
She raised her eyes to his, her heart fluttering as he reverted to gaelic-a true rarity for him. She closed the distance between them, kissing him gently, before returning to snuggle against him. “And I love you, Peter. My wonderful husband,” she whispered softly.
He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her for a moment before sliding his fingers across her ribs, tickling her. She giggled, retaliating by dancing her fingers along his neck, behind his ear. She loved the sound of him giggling, loved running her fingers over his body, hearing the joy as he giggled and laughed and tried to escape her tormenting hands.
As they finally lay together in a tangle of limbs, breathless, periodic giggles still erupting as he wiggled a finger against her skin, as she teased him one last time, she finally had the thought that things would be just fine between them. That, no matter what challenge they might face, they’d come out of it stronger.
And happy.
The rest of the time passed quickly, all things considered. Mickey visited with them for a bit before dancing with Rose; Peter remained standing where he was, watching her beam as she danced with her oldest friend, smiling as she snuck glances at him. Jake stopped by while he watched, offering his formal congratulations before making a teasing comment about how far gone he was. Elias and his wife stood with him for a bit, taking a break from dancing themselves, Elias good-naturedly teasing Peter about having to be social before Peter stunned both of them by asking his partner’s wife to dance. She laughed, teasing him even as he led her to the dance floor, and he was reminded of a comment she had made to him in the first week they knew each other.
“Remember when you asked why Rose was with me?” He grinned, guiding Elias’s wife through the dance.
His dance partner looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. “I’ve asked you that a dozen times, Peter.”
He laughed-she had. “It was right after you mentioned that the word ‘toddler’ had been used to describe me.”
The penny dropped. “Ah. I think I might remember that one.” She had suggested that the only reason she was with Peter was because he was a good shag.
He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “It’s true.” He straightened, grinning, taking delight in watching the unflappable Mrs. McCoy blush scarlet before bursting into laughter.
He’d enjoyed that dance, but had retreated once again to the sidelines for a short break afterwards.
The last dance before dessert, he finally made up his mind and walked over to Anna, asking if she’d be up for a dance; she was surprised, clearly, but happily accepted. He saw Rose walk over and sit with Penny during that dance, happily chatting with his former partner while he and Anna talked about how things were in Kendal, while he listened to her talk in excited tones about how happy she was to be having a child.
Dessert was a simple tiered cake; he rather thought it tasted like cardboard held together with paste, but held his tongue. Jackie had gone to great effort, after all, and he suspected the cake was as much for her as for he and Rose. The guests certainly seemed to like it, eating their small slices before returning to the dance floor. As he pushed his half-eaten cake away he surprised Rose, turning to her and asking if she’d like to dance again. She smiled at him, that shy smile that she so rarely used-and was so dearly treasured by him-and gave him her hand, accepting with a soft “Yes.” They slid in amongst the crowd, and once again got lost dancing in each other’s arms.
“Are you ready to retire upstairs, Mrs. Carlisle?” he whispered against her ear as they came to the end of the dance.
“I think I might be, Mr. Carlisle,” she answered, a smile in her voice. “But whatever shall we do?”
He leaned forward. “I think, first, I’ll let you know exactly what’s under this kilt.”
“Oh? And then what?”
“And then I’m going to take that dress off of you, and make sure to kiss every single centimetre of your skin.”
“All while you’re still dressed?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve been fantasizing about unwrapping you, tonight, peeling your clothes off, then making slow, lazy love to you.”
“Ah.” He felt his body stir, the memories of making love to Rose coursing through him. “Then I suggest we go upstairs with all due haste.”
They made their way off the floor, intent on finding their friends to pay their respects, to find Rose’s parents to say good night. It took far longer than he would have liked, and it was nearly an hour later that they walked out of the warmth of the tent into the cool night air, crossing the lawn to the lights of the manor house. Rose let them into one of the side entrances, leading him up a servants staircase, down the hall; their entire route was unlit, but she led him with surety, knowing exactly where she was going. They’d not said a word to each other during their walk, the tension building between them until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to wait until they found her room.
They finally made it and he closed her bedroom door behind him, turning the lock with his right hand, while his left held onto hers. The door secured, he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms as he kissed her ferociously. She wasted no time, her hands fumbling with his bow tie, pulling the ends apart and undoing the knot before moving to part his jacket, working speedily to unbutton his waistcoat and his shirt. Her hands slid across his chest, pushing the layers of fabric out of the way, her desire to take his clothes off slowly clearly no longer a priority. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and smiled slowly at her as she met his gaze.
“Not so much for the slow unwrapping then?”
Rose blinked, before sliding her hands from his chest and stepping away. “As a matter of fact...” She turned, stepping away from him, walking slowly down the short hallway to the room proper. He stood, stunned, staring after her; hadn’t they just been about to make love against the wall?
She paused just inside the room, reaching over to flick the wall switch for the small desk lamp before glancing over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Will I have to this alone, then?”
She reached behind her, fumbling for the zip of her dress, slowly sliding the metal down to reveal a vee of creamy skin at the top of her back. He moved, crossing the distance between them in two strides, his hands sliding up to help her, slowly easing the zip the rest of the way down her back. He couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing her skin, brushing his lips across each inch as it was revealed to him. He heard her sigh as he finished, and he slowly straightened. “Now what, Mrs. Carlisle?” he whispered against her neck, continuing to brush kisses across the skin there, gently pushing the loosened fabric aside to reveal her shoulders.
“Hmmm?” She tilted her head, encouraging him to continue what he was doing.
He smiled against her skin, brushing one last kiss across it before stepping back. “Now what, Mrs. Carlisle?” He repeated the question, taking care to enunciate each word as he moved to stand in front of Rose.
She met his gaze as he stopped in front of her, a smile just curving the corners of her mouth. “Now, Mr. Carlisle, I finish unwrapping my present.” She reached out, her fingers skimming across his skin, causing him to close his eyes. He felt her hands slide over his shirt, under his jacket. She flattened her palms, moving them up, across his chest, along his shoulders, gradually easing the heavy wool down his biceps; he relaxed, allowing the jacket to slide from his arms, the fabric settling on the floor with a soft sound.
She leaned into him, brushing kisses against his chin, and he turned, his lips meeting hers. She braced her hands against his chest, rocking up and into their kiss, and he quickly shrugged out of his waistcoat before wrapping his arms around her, holding her against him.
They stood together, kissing leisurely, enjoying the moment; enjoying it being just the two of them, safe, hidden from the world for a little bit. Peter still couldn’t get enough of kissing Rose, of feeling her pressed against him, of tasting her; his wife, the woman who might, one day, bear his children.
He loved her more than he thought possible.
He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding across her back, finding bare skin, helping to move the satin of the dress out of the way. Rose moved her hands, finding room to move them against his bare chest, working them further under his shirt, the heat of her skin warming him further.
He helped to guide her dress over her shoulders; as he felt gravity begin to work on the fabric, sliding it down Rose’s arms, he broke the kiss. Taking a step back, he held her eyes as her dress fell to the floor. She looked at him, her lips red, her cheeks pink; her eyes were dark, and she gave him a soft smile-her smile for him, and him only.
She’d changed out of her slip after he’d left to get dressed, and was instead wearing a scarlet bra trimmed with black lace and a matching pair of knickers. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out to run his fingers along the straps of the bra, along her sides, bringing his hands to rest on her hips. He watched Rose as she brought her hands to his chest once more, her eyes following the movement of her fingers as they moved the fabric of his shirt aside, easing it over his shoulders and down his arms. He took a step back, releasing his cufflinks before allowing the shirt to join his jacket and waistcoat on the floor.
He reached down, holding Rose’s gaze as he removed his sporran, feeling oddly naked with the comforting weight gone. He’d have to remove his ghillie brogues at some point, take off his hose...
Rose smiled, a slight quirk to the corner of her mouth, and slowly walked over to him. “Peter...bed...” She pressed her hand lightly against his chest, moving him in the direction she wanted. He staggered slightly before finding his footing, holding her gaze as she continued to push him backwards; he felt the mattress hit the back of his legs, and felt Rose give him a gentle push downwards.
“But I’m not-“
“Shh.” She brought her finger to his lips, her eyes warm as she watched him settle onto the edge of the bed without further argument.
She leaned forward, replacing her finger with her lips, kissing him as she moved to kneel in front of him. Her hands rested on his legs, and his hands once more found their way to her shoulders, to the smooth satin of the straps of her bra. He slid his fingers down, following the line of the fabric, and Rose broke the kiss, scooting backwards.
“Not yet.” She shifted her gaze, directing her attention to his left leg; her right hand slid across his knee, down his leg, her fingers following the line of his laces before moving to trace the line of skin just above his hose. She bent forward, brushing her lips across his knee, before moving to unknot his laces, to unwind them from his leg and eventually remove his shoe from his foot; she then made short work of the garter, finally rolling his hose down over his calf, gently lifting his foot to free it from the fabric.
He’d leaned back, his head tilting as she worked, his eyes shut as he savoured the sensation. He felt her run her hand slowly up his bare leg, his skin exceptionally sensitive after being covered in tight fabric for the night, and he shivered. He’d never had someone undress him when he’d worn the traditional formal attire, had never-even in his wildest dreams-imagined it. He heard Rose chuckle, and raised his head.
“Are you quite done, Mrs. Carlisle?”
“Not quite, Mr. Carlisle.” She placed a last kiss on his left leg, before turning her attention to his right. She untied his laces and removed the shoe without ado, carefully setting the items aside before focusing her attention on his leg. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly dancing around where he’d tucked his sgian dubh into his hose; she finally tilted her head, looking up at him, her tongue peeping out from her mouth.
“I wasn’t aware you were armed, Peter.”
“I told you I’d dressed properly tonight. Which includes that.” He glanced down to where her fingers had stilled.
“I’d no idea.”
He tutted. “I’m disappointed in your powers of observation, then, Rose.”
“I was distracted, Peter.” Her voice was low, sultry; he was tired of the teasing, wanted to make love to his wife. He reached down, removing the dagger and setting it on the floor, reaching under the hose to unclasp the garter. Rose looked up at him in protest, and he leaned forward to capture her lips.
“Enough of this.” He shoved the hose down, yanked it from his foot before reaching to Rose and pulling her to him; she leaned forward, eagerly returning his kiss. She moved to stand as he brought his arms around her, and he leaned backwards, pulling her with him onto the mattress.
He rolled, pinning her underneath him, her body against his, her hands drifting along his back. He continued to kiss her as he moved, bringing a hand between them to cup her breast, squeezing lightly before using his fingers to tease her.
She arched into him, encouraging him, her hands drifting to his bum; he broke the kiss, drifting his lips across her jaw, down her neck, between the hollow of her breasts. Her hands moved to his hair, guiding him to her, and he ran his tongue across the fabric covering her left breast.
Rose moaned, her fingers curling in his hair; he braced his weight on his elbow, sliding the strap of her bra out of the way, moving the fabric aside, brushing the tip of his tongue across her hardened nipple before beginning to nip and suckle.
“Peter...god...please....” Rose moved restlessly below him as he continued to tease her; he couldn’t help but smile, and began to slide down her body, planting kisses across her stomach.
“Please what, Rose?” he asked, pausing at the line of her knickers, the scarlet vivid against the white of her skin.
“Please.”
He slid his fingers under her knickers, pulling them down her legs; she freed a leg from the satin, moving to open for him. He slid an arm under her thigh before moving to place a kiss on her hip.
“My Rose.” He kissed lower, nearer to where she wanted him; nearer to where he wanted to be. “I love you.” Another kiss, almost there. “I love how you taste.” He ran his tongue lightly against her, tasting the damp saltiness that was waiting for him. She groaned, moving her legs further apart for him.
He began to run his tongue against her, dancing lightly around her clit before sliding down and dipping into her; Rose tried to move, to rock against him, and he brought his other arm under her leg, pinning her in place. “Mine,” he whispered against her before delving his tongue into her again, sucking lightly against her labia.
He set a rhythm, light swipes of his tongue alternating with gentle nips of teeth, or the pull of his lips on her flesh; he raised his eyes to look up Rose’s body, watching as she moved her hands to her breast, pinching and rubbing in time to his ministrations. He felt her begin to quiver, and increased his pace.
She came with a shout, sobbing his name; he continued to lap at her, prolonging her orgasm, gently pulling back as she finally relaxed.
He placed a kiss against her thigh before sliding his arms out from under her, sliding along her body once more before coming to rest alongside her.
“My Rose. My wife.” He cupped her jaw, pulling her to him for a kiss.
She smiled at him as he broke the kiss, her hand stroking his cheek. “Peter.” Her voice was rich and warm, and he felt another wave of awe pass through him.
She really was married to him. They really were husband and wife.
They lay, staring at each other for a long moment, before Rose spoke again. “So. Y’ goin’ to show me what’s under that kilt?”
“I think you already know.”
“Show me, Peter.” Her eyes were almost black, and he rolled away from her, hurriedly shifting to the side of the bed so he could stand.
Rose sat up, watching, as he reached down, working to unfasten the buckles of the kilt. She moved forward as he reached the last of the buckles, her hands resting on his as he finished sliding the leather through the metal. “Allow me.”
He gazed down at Rose as she pulled the wool aside, as her hands move to his waist and parted the fabric. He gasped as the cool air hit his skin; Rose raised her eyes to his before gently setting the kilt aside.
“Like a true Scotsman,” she said, humour in her gaze.
“Yes.” He ached for her, and reached his hands down to rest gently against her face.
She smiled gently, her hands moving to gently grasp his erection; he felt his breath catch as she began to stroke him, as she leaned forward and took him in her mouth.
His hands moved to her hair, resting there, as she slowly slid him out of her mouth, her cheeks hollow as she sucked. He barely had time to catch his breath before she took him in again, her teeth lightly brushing against his skin, her hand squeezing the base of his penis.
“My...Oh...Rose...” He fought to keep from using his hand to pull her against him, instead focused on the sensation as she began to set a rhythm, her mouth feeling heavenly around him, her hands drifting across the sensitive skin of his thighs, or across his testicles. She knew what would drive him wild, and was using every trick she’d learned.
He could feel the orgasm coiling inside of him, knew that she’d soon have him releasing; as much as he enjoyed what she was doing with her mouth, he wanted to be more traditionally joined with her when he came. “Rose.”
She continued to torment him with her mouth, and he felt his resolve briefly weaken as she did something amazing with her tongue.
“Rose.”
She pulled back, releasing him with a pop before raising her eyes to his. He leaned down, his lips capturing hers, pushing her backwards onto the bed. He needed to be in her, needed to finish this; he slid a knee between her legs, and wasted no time driving into her when she opened for him.
She gasped, arching against him; as he pulled out, he reached down, his arm looping under her knee and hiking her leg up. He began to drive into her, hard, fast; he fed off her grunts as he continued to pound into her, held her gaze as he focused on finding his own pleasure. Rose reached up, her hand cupping his cheek; her thumb brushed against his lips as she gasped, “My husband. My Peter.”
He could feel the orgasm begin to unspool; he increased his pace, groaning Rose’s name as he came. She arched into him, her leg pressing down on his arm as he thrust into her the final few times, as he rode out his orgasm. He released her leg, and felt her wrap her arms around him, holding her to him as he rested on top of her, his head buried in the crook of her neck.
He felt her run her fingers through his hair, as she periodically brushed soft kisses against the crown of his head.
“I love you,” she whispered, her breath cool against his sweat-soaked skin.
“I love you,” he replied, shifting to gaze at her. He slid out of her, moving his weight from her body, rolling to hold her in a gentle embrace.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Rose sighed against Peter, relaxing into his embrace as they lay together on the bed. She still couldn’t believe they were married, couldn’t believe that he was her husband. She felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought, and brushed a kiss across his chest. He rubbed her arm, brushing an absent-minded kiss over her head, and she tilted her chin to look up at him.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
He stared up at the ceiling as he answered, “I was just thinking...wondering...if you wanted to have children. Some day.”
He moved, gazing down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. She felt a wave of icy heat pass through her, her stomach tensing as she considered his question.
Did she? She’d never considered it, to be honest-in spite of their using only one level of contraception, now they were married. Children were something other people had; were something that she’d somehow assumed she would just never have. She knew she loved Peter, knew she couldn’t imagine life without him. And as she lay there, thinking about it, she realized that yes, she did want to-wanted to give a baby to him, wanted to make a new life with him.
But not yet. She wasn’t ready to be a mother.
“I...I had never really...I mean, I’d want to, eventually, but...but I don’t know that I want to...just yet.” She rolled onto her side, shifting back slightly so she could look at him. He mirrored her, resting his head on his hand. “What brought this on?” She brought her hand up, cupping his jaw, rubbing her thumb across the clean-shaven skin.
“Just...seeing Penny, and Anna...they look so happy. And I started thinking about it, wondering if we’d ever...if you’d ever want to.” He turned his head, kissing her palm.
She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek, watching him as she thought. Seeing Penny and Anna--happy together, Anna glowing as she neared term-no doubt did cause him to start thinking about it. But she strongly suspected that although Peter thought the idea was a new one to him, it was something he’d probably wanted for years; a desire he’d buried long ago, thinking it wasn’t ever going to be an option for him. She wondered if he’d had dreams of having a child when he married Loreen, wondered if “child” fell on the list his younger self had created for building the perfect life-the list that had fallen apart or been buried, the pain of trying to meet it growing to be too much.
She felt her heart clench anew for him, for the thought of his younger self deciding to give up on a dream, all because of that woman.
“I’d want to, Peter. Just...not yet.” She held his gaze, wanting him to know that she wasn’t rejecting the idea. “The lives we lead-the life I lead-they’re...it’s not good for having a child. And I...I don’t think I’m ready for it.”
She ached as she told him her thoughts, of her reluctance; she felt as though she were crushing one of his dreams, that he’d taken a chance telling her what he’d hoped for, and she was casting it aside. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and she rested her palm on his jaw. “I’m sorry, Peter. I just...can’t. Not now.”
He leaned down, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “It’s ok, Rose...”
“But it’s not, because it’s something you want, and I want to give you a child, just not now, and-“
“It’s ok.” He brushed another kiss over her cheek before moving to enfold her in an embrace. “You’re not ready, I understand. Just...knowing you’d want to...someday...that’s enough.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, fighting the urge to cry, a sense of failure flooding through her. “I want to give you everything you ever wanted,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“Rose, you already have-more than I’d have ever dreamed of, or hoped for.”
“Peter,” she whispered against his shoulder, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
“Look at me.” His voice was firm, and she pulled back, raising her eyes to his. “I’d rather you be honest, now, before we try, than bury it, being miserable simply to make me happy.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling tears threaten again.
“No need to be.” He smiled, a sad sort of smile that made her heart break.
“But-“
“I’ll be ok, Rose. I promise. And, one day, when you think you’re ready, or want to try, then I’ll happily agree. Ok?”
She hesitated. Would it be? Would he be able to bury that dream again, to tuck it away and not dwell on it, to not resent her for it? Would he see a family-visit Penny, see him with his child-and not think of how she let him down? She looked at him, gazing into his eyes, warm and full of love for her, his expression serious, and she nodded slowly. She had to believe him when he said he’d be willing to wait, to trust that he wouldn’t hold her decision against her.
“Ok,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, pulling her up to him, kissing her gently. “Done and sealed with a kiss, then.” He brought a hand around, stroking her hair back from her face, gazing at her. “I love you. Rose Carlisle.”
She ducked her head, relief and embarrassment washing through her.
“I do. I always will. My wonderful wife. Tha gaol agam ort.”
She raised her eyes to his, her heart fluttering as he reverted to gaelic-a true rarity for him. She closed the distance between them, kissing him gently, before returning to snuggle against him. “And I love you, Peter. My wonderful husband,” she whispered softly.
He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her for a moment before sliding his fingers across her ribs, tickling her. She giggled, retaliating by dancing her fingers along his neck, behind his ear. She loved the sound of him giggling, loved running her fingers over his body, hearing the joy as he giggled and laughed and tried to escape her tormenting hands.
As they finally lay together in a tangle of limbs, breathless, periodic giggles still erupting as he wiggled a finger against her skin, as she teased him one last time, she finally had the thought that things would be just fine between them. That, no matter what challenge they might face, they’d come out of it stronger.
And happy.