Free A Faerie Fated Forever by Mary Anne Graham Page B

Skye?”
    “Since I've never lived elsewhere I doubt I would have a basis for comparison." She looked at him carefully and asked, "Are you all right? You're wide-eyed and sweating and you seem to be having trouble sitting still. Do you need help of some kind, perhaps some sort of medical assistance?"
    Sorcha gave a single low-pitched chuckle as she rolled her eyes. "If you try to help him with this stiff issue, my dear, it'll send him screaming from the room."
    Nial saw Heather and her parents darting glances at him, expecting him to berate the widow. He looked at Heather and gave a small, rather helpless shrug. He reached for his napkin to wipe his forehead as he surged up in his seat. He settled down again when he felt Sorcha’s hand on his thigh. She traced small circles that never reached the organ howling for help. He ignored the elder’s frown to look at her intently, beseechingly. She leaned over, far too close, and her pebbled nipples brushed his forearm. He clenched his hands into fists, fighting the physical compulsion to touch.
    She whispered, her tone flavored with undisguised amusement, “Do you want me to touch it or do you want me to stop? If you want me to touch, you must make that very clear.”
    He spread his legs so wide that one bumped into the widow and the other into Calum. Uncharacteristically, Calum made no comment, not even in jest.
    “Not good enough, baby,” she whispered, flicking out her tongue to his ear under cover of the whisper, and he groaned softly. This time she laughed, but he was too far-gone to think that strange. “If you want my hand there you need to reach under the table and flip up your kilt.”
    He sat there, his distress open and visible even if the cause remained hidden.
    Heather leaned forward again, her concern as visible as his distress. “Nial, are you certain you're all right? You seem to be in pain. Are you ill?”
    “I’m fine, just fine,” he assured her, in a voice that sounded deep and strained.
    Nial ordered himself to keep his hands by his side, and was astonished when he flipped up his kilt. He wasn’t so astonished that he failed to draw her attention to it, whispering to the widow, “I did what you asked.”
    She said, “good boy” and reached under the table to find him bare. She skipped the erection and feathered her palms around his balls. She touched the head briefly, teasingly, and drew a bead of ecstasy. She looked at him with open contempt as she realized that a couple of strokes would finish it for him and bring him off right here at the dinner table. But that wasn’t the plan.
    She withdrew her hand and he bit his lip to keep from asking that she put it back. He glanced over to where an exit to the back garden beckoned like the entrance to Eden.
    Abruptly he stood and excused himself, saying, truthfully, “ I fear that I have urgent business to attend to.”
    As he scurried to the door, keeping his back to the assembly one of the elders called out something, but his ears rang so loudly that he didn’t hear the words. Sorcha waited only seconds before excusing herself to leave by a different door but with the same destination in mind. The widow spotted Nial standing with his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and his hands under the skirt of his kilt, pulling and tugging. She threw back her head and cackled, and he actually blushed, dismayed at being caught like a callow lad tugging on his own reins. She walked forward and stopped just a foot away to reach up and free her breasts, capped by the taut nipples that had stirred him to a frenzy of arousal.
    He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself not to look. There was no time for this. Heather would be here very soon. When he heard movement at his feet, he opened his eyes and looked down to where she lay nude, with her hands between her thighs where her dark curls were wet and sparkling.
    He took a step forward and stopped. “We can’t Sorcha, not now. Heather will be here soon. Later. Put