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It had been a long day at the fields. Long, and fruitless. 

Claire had been right, the barley wasn’t enough. Ian hoped that this wouldn’t be the case with potatoes as well.

He was always anxious during harvest. Fretful that he wouldn’t have enough to offer to his family, that he’d hear his children’s tummies rumble during the day and he couldn’t look them in the eye with his hands empty. His guilt was consuming him. He couldn’t bare it – their hunger. It was his duty to provide for them.

He’d missed dinner, and he hastily ate the watery soup and the single oatcake left for him in the deserted kitchen. Jenny hadn’t waited for him, and even though he was sure there was a reason she wasn’t there, it vexed him as he ate alone, without her warmth close to him.

This temper stuck with him as he opened the door to their bedroom and found her there, folding clothes on the bed.

“So ye did find yer way back,” she said wryly.

“What?” He stopped by the door, his eyes fixed on her back. She hadn’t even turned around, to look at him.

“’Tis late.”

It was late. He knew that just fine. What he didn’t know, however, was what his wife was on about.

“I ken,” he stated simply, still not sure what was to come.

“Ye’re not supposed to come to yer home just to eat and sleep.”

Ian’s frown got deeper. She knew he struggled for her, for their bairns. He couldn’t understand what devil got into her now. Not until she turned around, that was, and shot him a glance as quick as it was naughty. Challenging.

Ian smirked, a rare change on his face, especially as of late. She wanted to play. She was trying to rile him up. A weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he softly closed the door behind him.

“I can come back whenever I like.” He strived to keep his tone flat with his heart thundering inside his heart. He had missed their playful nights. Struggling to survive resulted in just that – surviving. Sometimes they had to remind themselves they had to live, too. Time hadn’t stopped and the world was moving on. They were still young. Surviving wasn’t enough.

She had an eyebrow raised as she turned to look at him again. “That’s what ye think, man?”


His steps towards her were slow, and he had all the time he needed to see the colour rising on her cheeks. Her bosom was heaving and his cock twitched in his pants. Jen had always had perfect breasts. Full, and round, with nipples begging to be kissed. Her breasts were larger now, after breastfeeding his bairns, and the skin wasn’t as firm as it once was, but he liked them just the same, if not more.

She wore too many clothes, he thought. A mishap easily rectified.

He reached for her, and even though his hands chafed to touch her skin, to shed her clothes and have her without delay, he stopped himself.

No. He’d make it painfully slow and delicious. He needed to hear her scream.

“Keep folding those clothes, lass,” he said low in her ear, his breath caressing the side of her neck, and he felt her shiver.

Jenny gave him a timid smile and continued with a nod. When she bent to place yet another wee skirt on the pile at the other side of the bed, he pressed his hand against her back, lightly, to indicate that she should keep that position. With two hands against the mattress, she complied.

Ian ran two calloused hands on her sides; the neck, the shoulders, the breasts, the narrow waist, until he cupped her buttocks and squeezed. He couldn’t help the groan that left his throat. Then, without thinking about it, he bent on his knees. He wasn’t fast or graceful, his peg leg always hindering such moves, but he didn’t need to be. Jenny hadn’t moved an inch.

His fingers danced on the pale skin of her legs, pausing on that spot behind her knees that always made her whimper. She was soft, and goosebumps rose on her thighs when he reached the delicate skin there, teasing her. She opened her legs more, an involuntary hungry motion, anticipating his touch. Ian bit the smile on his lips.

His hands had slipped inside her dress, the homespun covering up to his arms now. He closed his eyes, seeing her body in his mind’s eye, and he focused on the feel of her under his hands. Finally, when he decided that they both had enough of teasing, he ran the pad of his middle finger against her slit. Her moan filled the silent room. She was so wet, Ian needed to recruit all his self-restraint to keep his resolve and not enter her then.

“Not a sound,” he said, his voice husky. He didn’t wait for her reply. Lowering both hands, he grasped her skirts and racked them up to her waist. The candlelight was soft on her skin, and he absentmindedly thought that life was too good to him, giving him Jen as his wife.

When he touched her again, she trembled under his fingers. “So ye think,” he paused, withdrawing both hands for effect, “That ye have a say on the time I return to my own house?”

“Yes.” It was said half-heartedly, and he grinned as she continued their game.

He spanked the plump arse without a second thought, knowing that her gasp that followed would make his cock painfully hard. It did. He massaged the skin that started going red with care, then breathed deeply and took in the sight in front of him.

Jenny, bent, ready for him. Ah Dhia.

His middle finger dipped inside her and another moan left her lips.

“I said not a sound.” His palm landed on the other buttock, just as hard as the first. Not to really hurt her, but enough to sting. “Did ye no hear me the first time?”

“Aye. I did.” She barely mouthed the words, arching her arse towards him.

This woman would be the end of him, he knew.

His finger was still slick from her and he used it to draw two lazy circles on her clit.

“Ian…” she breathed, moving towards him.

“Stay still,” he said, and moved his face closer, taking in her scent. “Still, mo ghraidh.”

He ran his tongue on her clit, tasting her sweetness, and dipped two fingers inside her. His cock was now straining against its restraints but he wouldn’t stop, not before she fell apart around his fingers and his tongue.

He went on, stroking her and teasing her with his tongue, until her body spasmed and shuddered, and he licked her juices as he listened to his name leaving her lips. He stood up, then, undoing the laces of his trousers as he did so, and pushed himself inside her in a single thrust, feeling her core flutter feebly around his cock. His sigh mingled with hers, and he stayed unmoving for a long moment, buried inside her.

She was safety and danger. She was everything he had and everything worthy to fight for. And she was his. His wife, his friend, his companion, his whole life.

Ian moved slowly, unhurried, wanting to make it last as long as possible, needing to never let go off her.

She responded to each of his thrusts, moving her body towards him, asking for more. He kept a gentle hand on her arse, still red from his ministrations, while the other undid her laces and found her breast, the taut nipple aching for his attention.

He wanted to keep doing it all night, but his cock yearned for release, and his rhythm got faster until he abruptly stopped, emptying himself inside her, feeling her wetness enfolding him until he was spent.

She turned around then, and taking his face in her hands she kissed him – long and slow, and when she looked at him again her eyes held a sparkle, as if they were sharing a secret about love that no one else was ever meant to discover.

“Come, Ian,” she said, at last. “‘Tis been a long day and the bairns always wake up before dawn.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a chuckle, thinking of how Janet rapped on their door every morning to report that Young Ian had made yet another mischief while she quietly lay in her bed waiting for the sun to come up, as instructed.

They undressed and cuddled together, her back fitting perfectly against his torso, and Ian spoke when he felt his eyelids falling heavy. “Jen?”

“Mmm?” She scooted closer, wiggling her arse against his groin, and he smiled. Her hair smelled of the bread she had baked, and it was his favourite smell in the world.

“I love ye.”

“I love ye too, Ian. Now go to sleep.”

He chuckled, and did exactly as she bid him.