St. Kelsi save us from idiots. Did these men really think the orgasm was the only part of making love?
“Well, the fondling is nice,” Giric allowed. “But the aaaaahhh is the favorite part.”
“Seems Robbie doesnae think so. Ye’ve got the lad blushing like an apple!” Weesil snickered.
Robena lifted a hand to her mouth and was—as always—surprised when her fingers encountered the mustache. It had become a part of her, one she barely noticed anymore, even while eating…although those first few days had been difficult. Now, each morning, she touched up the glue with a small pot she’d brought along and tried not to think of it.
‘Twas after all, the heart of her disguise.
“Ye dinnae think ‘tis the best part of sex?” Giric demanded, pinning her with a disbelieving stare. “The aaah.” He made the jerking gesture again. “Spilling yer seed?”
St. Kelsi help me. Help us all.
“I think…” she hesitantly began. “I think ‘tis a good part, aye. But the intimacy, the touching—“
“He thinks cuddling’s the best part of sex!” hooted Giric, throwing a punch at Mook’s arm which didn’t rock the big man, but caused their horses to shy.
The other men chuckled, except for Auld Gommy, who came to her rescue. “Lads, when ye get as auld as I am, ye realize there’s some benefit to no’ always going at a lass like a randy buck. Some finesse, aye, and cuddling, willnae be amiss.”
“He’s just saying that because his cock needs a chance to recover!” Pudge growled, and the rest hooted with laughter.
In an effort to avoid looking at Gommy—St. Kelsi’s eardrum, could her cheeks get any warmer?—Robena turned in the saddle to glance back at Kester.
As he’d been for the last few days, the man she’d thought she loved sat tall in the saddle, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword as he kept watch over them all. Except…now, he was looking at her.
This wasn’t any different than the hundreds of times she’d glanced back at him over the last days, but those times weren’t in the midst of discussing cocks.
Slowly, Kester raised one brow.
And aye, it turned out her cheeks could get warmer. She felt her whole body flush in response to that little acknowledgement, and twisted back into position so quickly she felt her blood swirl in her temples.
Unfortunately, the men had noticed her distraction, and changed their stories from fables of their own prowess to those about their laird.
Robena kept her chin tucked against her chest.
‘Twas one thing to hear stories of Kester’s success with the ladies, or how impressive his manhood was…and another thing to remember the way that hardness had felt pressed against her, and how it had left her wet and needing.
Now is no’ the time.
“One time I was hanging over the edge of a cliff,” Auld Gommy was saying, “and ye ken how the MacBain will do aught to save a clansman? Well he didnae have a rope with him, so he threw me the only thing he had!”
Robena groaned and lowered her forehead to her horse’s neck.
“‘Tis that long?” laughed Giric.
Gommy continued, “Aye, he threw me his wee willie and saved my life!”
From up ahead, Mook rumbled, “I had a cousin named Wee Willie.”
“Nay, lad, he’s Wee Wullie,” Pudge corrected with a sigh. “Gommy’s talking of the laird’s cock.”
“The MacBain brought a chicken?” Mook asked, twisting in his saddle.
Since Robena’s eyes were closed, she had no warning when Weesil leaned over and socked her shoulder, which she was coming to realize was a prime method of communication with these men.
Rubbing her shoulder, she sat up. “What was that for?”
“I’ll wager ye could write a song about our laird’s member, eh? An ode to his manhood?”