Retrieving game is never easy in this rugged landscape and this time, Isabeau has chosen a particularly challenging spot to take down her prey. A viciously swirling sea inlet separates Lachie and me from her and the puffin between her claws.

"No worries," I say to Lachie in a chipper voice, "you can stay right here while I'll get her."

The truth is that I'm too drunk on the feeling of being admired by Lachie to tell him I might be in over my head.

Alas, my options to get to the birds are limited. I can either wade through the water or find a way around. A bit further, the inlet has formed a cove in a craggy rock wall. The prospect of climbing that wall is daunting and I'm already out of breath from clattering over the outcrop behind us, so the water is my best bet. It won't be the first time I return to the cave with soaked clothes and at least, the sun is out today.

As for the current, fingers crossed it isn't stronger than me.

"Do you even know how deep that is?" Lachie asks.

"No, but I'm a good swimmer." I shrug out of my doublet and hand it to him.

"I don't know, Mari. That water looks treacherous. Why don't you let me get the birds?"

"Let you get the birds? What a ridiculous thing to say! I'm the falconer. You're my guest. So over my dead body will I leave it up to you to get wet feet."

"The idea of your dead body's precisely what's bothering me. Can't we call Isabeau over here?"

"That puffin is too heavy for her."

"Leave the puffin then!"

"And have it died for no reason? Truly, enough nonsense, Lachie Greer. Stand back!"

His objections only make me more determined. He thinks I can't do it. Right now, I don't care how good a kisser he is. Fuck him!

And kiss me later, ta-dee-dah!

I lower myself to the rock and dangle my legs into the water. With brutal force, the incoming sea pushes and tugs at my boots but it's not far to the other side. Four to five steps tops. I can make it. I know I can.

I shiver as the water seeps into my clothes. It's damn fucking freezing.

"I'm not going to stand back and watch you drown yourself," says Lachie. He neatly folds my doublet and puts it out of water's reach, then drops down beside me and aptly swings his legs in.

"It makes no sense for both of us to get wet clothes," I protest to Lachie's intervention because honestly, it's maddening as hell. The last thing I want is the humiliation of him beating me to my goal. Feeling even more rushed, I quickly sink into the water.

Gaaah, I'm waist deep by the time my feet find the underground. It's so freaking cold.

"Mari, get back up! Please, this is not a game." Lachie is crazy fast. Already, he has reached the middle and the water reaches up to his chin.

Fuck, that means I'll probably have to swim.

"Don't even think about it," he warns angrily, "the current is too strong. You can't swim here."

We'll see about that.

I wade deeper but the underground isn't as steady as I'd like, rocks and pebbles wobbling under my feet. I have to pace myself. Meanwhile, the water thrashes at my chest from all sides.

"Mari, I beg you. Turn around."

"Lachie," I huff, starting to regret that I've brought him along.

He turns to me in an attempt to back me up, but he should've known better. I duck and sidestep.

Then, everything comes crashing down.

A pebble shifts beneath my foot.

I loose my balance.

The sea slaps my legs from under me and a vicious undercurrent pulls me down.

I gulp down a mouthful of water.

It enters my nose, burning and stinging.

I thrash my legs to get back to the surface.

A hand grabs my chemise and hoists me up but the sea won't have it.

Mercilessly, she sweeps the two of us together. She sweeps us up, down, and around, as if we're separate tumbleweeds, and like the wind, her mission is to mold us together into a bigger one. Powerless against this force of nature, we tumble once, twice, three times, bouncing and scratching ourselves until finally, she spits us out into the cove exactly how she envisioned us: a battered lump of entangled limbs.

I've barely finished coughing out my guts, when Lachie's hands wrap around my face. "Are you alright? Tell me you're alright!" His face-paint looks a little smudged and his voice a little panicked but apart from that, he's still in one solid piece and his wet clothes make sure I get an even better view than usual.

I've had to crawl back up to worse sights, I daresay. "Never been better," I croak, "You?"

His eyes darken from worried to angry. "Never been better? You're unbelievable, Mari. What were you thinking? You could've hit your head, broken your legs. You could've broken your neck. You're so fucking stubborn, ... so fucking ..." His voice breaks and a whirlwind of emotion seems to pass over his features before his mouth crashes on mine in a kiss that's very different from our first.

This kiss is a punishment, but one I'm happy to receive.

When he lets go, it's only to ascertain whether I'm speaking the truth. He straddles me—to which I don't object—and frantically starts examining me for possible damage.

"I'm fine. We're fine," I mumble in between kisses, while his fingers probe my skull and neck before working their way down. He's all over me and it's not enough.

The rush of being alive takes possession of my body and I need him to absorb some of it because it's too much, too wild for me to hold alone. My hands caress his back and assess the firmness of his ass. I'm happy to report, it's perfectly firm, and to my delight, his cock responds by twitching against my belly, but I can tell his mind is still occupied elsewhere.

With a sigh, he rubs his thumb over my eyebrow and shows me blood on its tip. "You're bruised all over, cuts and scrapes everywhere. Your brow is bleeding."

I don't feel any pain though.

One of his arms is chafed over the entire length but instead of pointing that out, I kiss a cut on his lip. The warm, irony taste of his blood evokes a new set of emotions. "I'm sorry," I whisper, at the same time thankful to find all of his teeth intact. "I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough, Mari. You can't just say, I'm sorry."

I kiss him again, deeper this time.

He pulls away with a soft growl, as if he's sorry to break the connection but has no other option. "I need you to promise me you'll never do something this reckless again."

I shake my head. How can I do that? "We live on a rock, Lachie."

"I could've lost you."

"But you haven't. You haven't." I guide his hands over my wet chemise that leaves nothing to the imagination and let them rest on my breasts. "I'm right here."

"Mari ..." His voice still sounds pained but his thumbs brush slowly over my nipples and his breathing becomes ragged. I wonder what it will take to wipe that tormented look from his face and figure grinding my pelvis up against his ass can be a beginning. The friction also feels fucking amazing.

From the look of him, he agrees.

"Mari," he groans, and I like how he drags this newly adopted endearment over his tongue as if it's paved with course sand. "Mari," he says again, "You're playing with fire, behaving like a spoiled brat. Keep this up and I'm just going to have to fuck some fucking sense into you. I don't see any other way."

Sounds like finally, he's getting back to his senses.

I kiss his jaw and whisper to his earlobe, "I don't see anyone stopping you."

His breath hitches and he swallows before turning his mouth to that soft, sensible spot just below my ear. "You should stop me. I really think you should. One word of you and I'll stop." He sounds genuine, almost begging, but too bad for him, I'm in the mood to go after what I want and I don't mind being ruthless.

"I won't do a damn thing to stop you, Lachie Greer, so you better make good on your promise."

"This is still a game to you, isn't it?" His hands, still cold from our water adventure, move up my chemise. I gasp when they find my breasts, take my nipples between thumb and finger and twitch them lightly. "But make no mistake, sweet Marigold, I know how to play."

"I was hoping for that," I pant, "Come on, we should get out of these wet clothes."

"You definitely should," he agrees, shimmying up my chemise and taking my breast into his mouth as he goes. His breath on me is so fucking hot, the sensation of his warm saliva on my skin makes me squirm with pleasure.

Even through our icy wet breeches, his growing, rigid form shows great promise and my hands ache to undress him. When he pulls me half up to tug my chemise over my head, I grasp the hem of his.

"Tsk, tsk, my game now," he growls and pins my hands to the sides of my head. He starts with a sloppy kiss to my mouth, then rubs his jaw from my cheek to my collar bone, very much like a cat would do, probably smudging my skin with his face-paint.

Leave it to Lachie Greer to make awkward gestures sensual as fuck. Every one of his touches leaves me breathless. I want him so bad.

"You're painting me white," I wonder out loud, "Not black, not red, white. Tell me, what does it mean?" I add this last question in jest, not actually thinking it means anything, but he returns my question with a haunting gaze that tells me he knows exactly what to say.

Painting me white was not an accident. It was intentional.

"White is for surrender," he says, "surrender to me, Marigold!"

Unsure of what he means, my heart racing, squeezing my legs together because I'm so aroused it aches, I do my best to smirk like I mean it. "Isn't it you who should surrender to me?"

"I surrendered to you a long time ago. Your turn now. Say it!"

WC 1798 words
TWC 13955 words