Free Lois Greiman by Bewitching the Highlander

heat around him, wet and fierce and demanding.
    He groaned, beyond pain, beyond euphoria, gripping the bedsheets in fingers like talons, wanting more, needing more. But she drew away and lapped her tongue along the length of his straining desire. He shuddered beneath her ministrations, but she was already turning toward him, bare limbs brushing his flesh as she straddled him once again.
    Her eyes gleamed with mischievous pleasure when she faced him. Her lips were swollen and bright. And her breasts! Holy fook, her breasts, dangling warm and heavy above his face like ripened fruit.
    “Take me,” she breathed.
    “I believe he’s coming to,” said a voice. The harsh sound rasped against Keelan’s raw senses.
    “Wake for me,” repeated a softer voice.
    His mind churned like a wobbly mill. He opened swollen eyes. Lord Chetfield stood not two feet away. Keelan jerked. Pain roared through him at the motion.
    Near the middle of the bed, Lambkin wobbled to her feet and stumbled off her master’s nether parts. Keelan blinked, trying to find hisbearings in the roiling mists of unreality. The last dream had seemed more real than this. And far more pleasant. Or had it been a dream a’tall?
    “Careful, luv. Careful.”
    He cut his gaze to the left. Charity stood on the other side of his mattress, but she wasn’t gazing at him with lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Neither was she naked. Instead, she was wearing the simple auburn gown from his dreams. Confused, he glanced down, but he couldn’t be certain whether he was naked or not, for his lower regions were covered with blankets.
    So there was a God, but he had a damned strange sense of humor.
    “Where am I?” His voice was nothing more than a croak.
    Charity shifted her worried eyes toward the ghoul and back. “You are at Crevan House with me and Lord Chetfield. Don’t you remember?”
    Memories rushed at him like winged bats. Torture, lies, pain. Yes, he remembered. But the dream had seemed so real.
    He tried to prop himself on his elbows but it hurt like hell, and she still wasn’t naked, so there seemed little point to the effort. He eased back onto the mattress, head swimming miserably,and let his eyes fall closed.
    “How long have I been unawares?” It felt as if the words were dragged from his throat with a garden rake.
    “Through a day and a night,” she murmured.
    “Our Charity was quite concerned for your well-being,” Chetfield said.
    He felt like death come to visit, and yet he had no wish to hear worry in her sweet voice, little matter how he felt.
    “You were talking in your sleep,” Chetfield added, but his voice seemed to come from a great distance, and Keelan’s attention had slipped away.
    It was not the girl’s fault that he was—His thoughts slammed to a halt as the old man’s words came home to him. “I did na mean what I said!” he rasped.
    The room went silent. The wolf-eyed ghoul was watching him from close proximity. “And what is it exactly that you didn’t mean, Mr. MacLeod?”
    Keelan glanced at Charity and back. She looked tense, and still fully dressed. Maybe that was best. “I was but dreaming,” he croaked.
    The old man’s expression was unchanged. Keelan forced himself to relax. He was, after all, still alive.
    “Here then,” said the girl, and settled carefully onto his mattress. Her position brought back flaming memories of the vivid dreams just past, pumping up his heart rate, hardening his desire. Still, she was modestly clothed. He informed his erection, but it remained stubbornly engorged. “You must be drier than cinders, you poor thing.”
    Aye, his throat hurt. But what didn’t? She was holding a goblet, he realized, and suddenly felt rather giddy at the sight of it.
    “You will have to sit up to drink,” she said.
    His ability to do so seemed unlikely…rather tantamount to flying.
    “Perhaps we could ask Bear and Frankie to assist again,” Chetfield suggested.
    “Nay,” Keelan rasped, grasping