Wicked in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 2)

by Anna Durand

  "You have become rather possessive of my body."

  He kissed my belly. "Let me show you how much I covet your body."

  I bent one knee and grazed it against his cock. "I covet yours too."

  He hissed in a breath as I hooked my leg around his hip. "Thig mi air do mhuin."

  "No clue what that means, but I'm game for anything."

  "Means I'm coming to mount you." He laid a hand on my belly, gliding it lower and lower until his fingertips teased the hairs on my mound. "No need to fannadh anymore, unless you want me to watch."

  "I want you inside me."

  "Dé an doimhneachd?"

  "You have got to teach me Gaelic. What's that one mean?"

  "How deep."

  Lifting my hips, I pressed his palm into my mound so his fingers skimmed my clitoris. "Deep as your slat can go. I want you so deep inside me I can feel you come, like you're a part of me."

  "We are a part of each other, mo leannan." He thrust his hand between my folds, caressing the skin, fondling my clit. When I arched my back and moaned, he grinned. "I'm impressed you learned a Gealic word all on your own. Slat? Never taught you that one. Where'd you learn it?"

  "Rory told me."

  Aidan's hand stilled, his eyes went wide. "That bloody bod ceann — "

  "I'm kidding," I said, helpless not to laugh at his adorably offended expression. "Your brother's not a dickhead. But I learned slat from the Internet."

  "Did you now." That hand began to stroke me again with leisurely ease, stoking my need, making me wriggle against his palm and clench my fingers in the sheets. "I'm going to show you things the Internet cannae teach ye."

  "No better teacher than Aidan the Magnificent."

  He pulled his hand away, glided a palm to the inside of each of my thighs, and spread me wide for him. "We come together this time."

  Joined hearts, joined lives, joined bodies. He'd always taken care of my pleasure first, before taking my body, though I invariably climaxed again when his impassioned love-making drove me over the edge along with him. But this time, on our wedding night, it seemed appropriate we find our pleasure as one.

  He planted his hands at either side of me, his arms straight and his face above mine. "I love you with everything I am."

  "I love you, Aidan, so much."

  He slid inside me, slowly, delicately, filling me until it seemed we had merged. He, a part to of me. I, a part of him. Forever.

  I clung to him as he began to pump his hips, pulling his cock out of me and then driving it deep inside again, the pace languid and deliciously torturous. With my heels flat on the bed, I hoisted my hips up to meet his thrusts, my mouth open on a string of moans and gasps, the desperation to come mounting like a spring wound ever tighter. He pumped faster, harder, grunting each time he lunged into me and blustering out a breath when he retreated. I locked my legs and arms around him, begging him to never stop, to make me come, to never stop.

  My body went rigid, my release hovered so close I could almost taste it, the promised pleasure like a bite of a decadent dessert hovering a breath away from my lips. His hips pistoned in a frantic pace as his cock pounded into me, making me cry out.

  In the instant my orgasm wrenched my body, the ecstasy flooding over me, his release pulsed inside me and he threw his head back, shouting a long litany of Gaelic. I clutched him and cried out again and again, lost in endless waves of bliss. Aidan pumped into me twice more, then shoved a hand down to massage my clit, ever determined to see my climax through to the very last. When I thought my orgasm would never end, it at last faded away on a final, shuddering wave.

  He collapsed beside me and pulled me into his arms, cradled against his powerful body. We both breathed hard, nearly breathless from the incredible rapture of our love-making. With my ear pressed to his chest, I listened to his heartbeat while it gradually slowed.

  "The wedding was beautiful," I said, "but this was more fun."

  My thoughts traveled back to the wedding and the two of us reciting our vows atop a hillside behind Lachlan and Erica's home, surrounded by a carpet of purple heather. It seemed appropriate we join our hearts and lives on the same hill where they had taken their vows. After all, I would never have met Aidan if he hadn't gone to Dance Ardor in hopes of re-creating his brother's journey to lasting love.

  "Weddings are for the guests," Aidan said. "This was for us."

  "I finally got to meet the infamous Rory, but I didn't see the caber."

  "He was in a good mood today, because of the wedding." Aidan shook his head. "The man needs a strong woman to shake some sense into him."

  "I'm sure he'll find the right girl someday."

  "Not unless she ties him up and drags him away from his office."

  "Let's not talk about your family anymore tonight."

  "Anything my wife wants." He rolled onto his back, taking me with him, and I wound up sprawled atop him. His fingers traced small, delicate circles on my back. "Should I worry about your brother's intentions with my sister?"

  I laughed, recalling the sight of Gavin and Jamie engaged in a secret conversation. They'd slipped away from the crowd at the outdoor reception — held at Lachlan and Erica's, of course — to a spot off to the side where they could have some privacy. Aidan had spotted the pair and poked me in the ribs, his lips twisted as he nodded toward Gavin and Jamie.

  "What are they up to?" he'd asked me.

  I'd shrugged. "No idea. Maybe a quick tryst."

  He'd looked so adorably horrified at the idea. "Bad enough he had her in a hunting shack in the woods."

  "Young love. What can you do?"

  Back in the present, ensconced in the arms of my wicked Scot, I propped my chin on his chest and said, "Gavin and Jamie may be the next couple to tie the knot. Do you have a problem with that?"

  "Not so long as he treats her right."

  I raked my nails down his chest. "You mean as long as he's doesn't act like the two Scotsmen I know, who seduce us American girls at first sight."

  "Exactly."

  A phone rang, muffled but nearby. I sat up, trying to decide if it was my phone or his. "Sounds like mine."

  "Let it go," Aidan said. "We're on holiday."

  "Better check it, just to be sure."

  He wriggled out from under me and marched across the room stark naked to dig my phone out from under my wedding dress, which had wound up piled atop a chair. He glanced at the phone's screen and cursed in Gaelic.

  "What's wrong?" I asked, sitting up.

  "It's the surgery," he said, and tossed me the phone.

  I caught it in one hand.

  "My checkup?"A few days ago I'd signed up with the MacTaggart family's GP, a prudent step considering we wanted to have a baby. "Probably calling to tell me the blood tests were fine. It was a standard physical, that's all."

  "They called on our wedding day. Must be urgent."

  "Don't turn into a worry wart. That's my job." I held the phone to my ear. "This is Calli."

  "Miss Douglas — " The woman halted mid-sentence. I recognized the melodic voice of the surgery's nurse. "Pardon me. It's Mrs. MacTaggart now, isn't it? Congratulations, dearie."

  "Thank you."

  "We've got your blood results and there was a wee bit of a surprise. I thought you'd want to hear it right away."

  "Surprise?"

  "Yes." The woman made a delighted little noise. "You are pregnant, dearie."

  "What?" I virtually screeched the word. "That's incredible. I thought it would take longer to happen, but this such perfect timing."

  "Congratulations, gràidh."

  She'd called me darling. It would've been sweet, if I hadn't been overwhelmed by the news. "Thank you for calling. I have no idea what to say."

  "Tell your husband, that's what you should do."

  She said goodbye and I said it back, not thinking anymore, acting by rote. I dropped my phone on the bed and looked at Aidan.

  He grasped my face in his hands, searching my ey
es. "What is it? Are you ill?"

  "No, not at all." I laid my hands over his, unable to stem the tears trickling down my cheeks, and smiled. "We're having a baby, Aidan. I'm pregnant."

  For a couple seconds, he stared blankly at me. Then he let out the loudest, most uproarious whoop I'd ever heard, head thrown back, arms flung wide. The whoop segued into laughter and he leaped onto the bed, bowling me over with him. Tangled in each other's arms, we laughed and cried and kissed. The kissing grew more heated, our hands began to grope, and his penis began to swell once more.

  "This," he said, licking and nibbling his way down my neck, "requires another celebration."

  "You mean sex."

  "Would ye rather drink champagne?"

  "Oh no. I want sex, right now."

  He pushed up onto his knees. "I'd wager we made a bairn that day under the apple tree."

  "The magic fertility tree? I think so too." My eyes fluttered shut as he skimmed his hands up and down my body, exploring every curve and dip, worshiping me with his rough but tender hands. "This might sound weird, but I'm looking forward to coming back after the honeymoon and getting to work. Cataloging your uncle's piles and piles of family papers and historical books is like catnip to a librarian."

  "I'm looking forward to working with my new partner." He dipped his tongue inside my belly button, swirling it there. "The best partner a man could want. My bonnie, clever wife."

  He lay down beside me and settled his head on my belly, his ear to my womb and a blissful smile lighting up his beautiful face. "I was right again. Said you could give me everything I wanted and you have."

  "Don't get arrogant about it. You may be wrong at some point."

  "Maybe." He kissed my belly and smirked. "Donnae hold your breath, though."

  I grabbed a pillow and whapped him on the head with it.

  He peppered kisses over my skin, up between my breasts, to the hollow of my throat. There, he breathed his words against the sensitive flesh. "I want you, but only if it willnae hurt the wee one."

  Wee one? I needed a second to figure that one out. "If you mean the itty-bitty fetus growing inside me, nothing you do is going to hurt it."

  "Good." He rolled us both over, with me on top. "But to be safe, you should take the reins this time."

  "Oh, I see. This is for safety." I placed my hands on his chest and pushed up into a half-sitting position, my breasts dangling. "I thought you just liked watching my boobs bounce."

  He waggled his eyebrows. "That I do."

  I raised onto my knees, took hold of his shaft, and positioned the head at my opening. "You ready for hot, married sex?"

  "We've already done that, mo leannan."

  "But this time it's hot, married, we're-having-a-baby sex."

  "Ah, that is different."

  His crooked smile was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen. He looked like a man overjoyed at the prospect of raising a bairn. With me. Our family.

  "Aidan," I said, my hand still around his cock, "you've given me everything I didn't know I wanted. Let me show you how grateful I am."

  I slid onto his cock, inch by velvety inch, until he was seated snug inside me.

  He grasped my hips, that naughty gleam in his eyes. "I'm grateful I found a wife who's such a great fuck."

  I slapped his chest. "Arrogant Scot."

  "Cheeky American."

  For the rest of the night, we demonstrated our gratitude and devotion to each other in more ways than I'd ever imagined, even in my wildest fantasies. Not only had I met a man who treated me with respect, one who appreciated my quirks and made all my fantasies come true, I'd also found the one man in the world who accomplished a feat I'd believed impossible.

  He set me free — in every way.

  And for that, I would be grateful for the rest of my life.

  Excerpt from

  Fired Up

  a friends to lovers romance with a firefighter twist

  Mel crept out of the bedroom and down the hallway, her socked feet dragging across the wood floor. On the living room threshold, she hesitated, wringing her hands. Last night...

  Her heart thumped. Oh God, last night she'd thrown herself at Adam. Had she really untied the straps of her halter dress to bare herself to him? She squeezed her eyes shut. Oh yes, she had done that. Still, she must've imagined writhing around on the bed? The memory of it rushed through her mind, exciting her body all over again even as she cringed at her behavior.

  Yet she had gotten tipsy on purpose, aware of the effect it might have on her inhibitions. At the time, she'd longed for the freedom of loosening her iron grip on her desires. Once the alcohol had kicked in, she'd given in to those deep-seated, long-repressed cravings for...Adam.

  Both hands on her burning cheeks, she shut her eyes and sent out a fervent prayer nothing else happened that she didn't remember. She scuffled out into the living room, her gaze passing over the floor-to-ceiling windows and their view over the tops of modern buildings toward the blue stripe of Lake Michigan. The vista, her favorite part of her apartment, failed to captivate her today. Instead, she became fixated on the pair of brown leather booths with metal buckles that sat by the sofa and the two decorative pillows piled at one end of the sofa, the top pillow indented in the shape of a human head.

  Adam's boots. Adam's head. He must've slept on the sofa, ever the gentleman looking out for his best friend. If his boots were still here, that meant he was here.

  One hand flew to her chest, where a pang started behind her ribs. How on earth could she face him after last night? Acid burned up her throat, souring her tongue. She glanced down at the yoga pants and form-fitting T-shirt she'd slipped on after crawling out of bed a few minutes ago. Maybe she should change into baggier clothes, something less attractive.

  Oh for heaven's sake, it was Adam, not some lecherous creep. If he'd wanted to take advantage of her, he could've done it last night. Instead, he'd escaped her bedroom as fast as he could, no doubt embarrassed by her wanton behavior. Despite his aversion to commitment, Adam treated women with respect.

  But where was he? Not in the living room, or the open kitchen.

  Mel wandered through the living room, down the short hallway to the bathroom, and froze. The soft, lulling sound of the shower running emanated from the bathroom. The door was closed. Though she couldn't see inside the room, her mind went wild filling in the scene. On the other side, mere feet away, Adam stood in the shower naked and wet, surrounded by steam.

  The water shut off. Paralyzed, she stared at the door.

  Wet, nude, muscular Adam. Right there. On the other side. Her hand floated up to the door knob, her finger curled around the cool metal. Hot, wet Adam.

  The door swung open, the knob jerked out of her hand.

  Adam's gaze swept over the length of her. "Good morning."

  "Morning," she croaked.

  "How do you feel?" he asked, squinting at her.

  "Fine."

  He reached for her arm, but she shrugged away from his touch. The thought of his skin on hers ricocheted memories through her mind — Adam carrying her into the bedroom, her commanding him to kiss her, his stern refusal, her slithering across the bed like a porn star. Her cheeks flamed. Worst of all, she'd expressed a fervent desire to strip for him — and nearly demonstrated it. The heat in her cheeks rushed over her whole face, her ears, even her scalp.

  Adam sighed, dropping his hand. "You remember, don't you?"

  She hugged herself, unable to meet his gaze. "Um, yeah."

  Her focus landed on his chest. Droplets of heated water drizzled down his chiseled torso to dip beneath his towel — the only piece of cloth on his body. The towel, sized for her, strained to encircle his hips. Her heartbeat accelerated at the sight of a bulge under the fabric. Last night, he'd been aroused. Very aroused. She'd seen the hard lump inside his pants and the shameless part of her had longed to thrust her hand under the waistband and fondle him.

  "You were drunk," Adam said in a matter-of-fac
t tone. "That gives you a pass for what you said and did."

  She tore her gaze away from his crotch and somehow, with an effort that made her stomach lurch, managed to look him in the eye. Well, the corner of his eye. The trouble was, she knew she hadn't been inebriated enough to earn a pass for anything she'd done last night. The champagne unchained a desire she'd sublimated and locked away in the deepest corner of her psyche. She no longer had the luxury of denying she harbored those feelings, but she could chain them up again. With five padlocks. Each welded shut.

  "Hey." Adam hooked a finger under her chin, lifting it to level their gazes. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." Liar. She forced a smile. If he wasn't going to bring up her behavior, she'd repress the memory of it. "I do not need a babysitter, so you can leave. I'm sure your femme du jour is waiting for your call."

  "How's your head?"

  "A-okay. No headache, no nausea, my mind is clear as a bell." She almost wished it weren't, so she wouldn't have to recall last night.

  "You seem okay," he said.

  "Because I am." She shooed him away with her hands. "Go on home."

  Folding his arms over his broad, gorgeous chest, he shook his head. "No. We need to talk."

  "You'd leave the femme du jour out in the cold?"

  "Stop with the stupid French words."

  "It means woman of the day."

  "Yeah, I got the gist of it." He scrunched up his face and cocked one hip.

  The bulge protruded more and she could not wrench her gaze away from it. He was bigger than Devon. She swerved her head sideways, shutting her eyes. She meant taller, not — not — that kind of bigger.

  She raised her eyes to the heavens. If her late father was watching over her, she prayed he'd averted his attention for the past twelve hours or so.

  Mel rolled back her shoulders and nailed her gaze to Adam's. "I don't need a babysitter, which means you — "

  "Not leaving." He pushed past her, headed for the laundry room.