by Anna Durand
Silence. Only the faint noise of a TV in the background told me we were still connected.
"You've been seeing someone?" she asked, the hopeful tone replaced with confusion. "You never mentioned it."
"The last time we talked, I wasn't seeing anyone." Since we'd last talked five days ago, she must've been calculating the maximum duration of this courtship. "It happened fast. His name is Rory MacTaggart, he's from Scotland. Tomorrow, we're flying to his home near a village in the Highlands called Ballachulish."
"Y — You're moving to Scotland?"
"I'm excited about it. A new country, a fresh start. You know I was sick of programming, and now I can find something else to do with my life."'
"You can do that in America. Or come to Sydney and stay with us."
Another silence echoed between us for several seconds. I could imagine her struggling to absorb this information and collect her wits before speaking again.
"I'm sorry," Mom said. "Of course we're happy for you, if you're happy. Do you love him?"
Ack. How to answer honestly without giving away the game? "Rory is a good man. He's smart and kind, very determined, not to mention gorgeous and sexy. He's also, um, a multimillionaire lawyer."
"Are you marrying him for sex or money?"
Rory thought I was.
"This is what I want," I said. "Rory offers me the change I've needed in my life."
"You could've shacked up with him for a while. What's the rush to get married?"
How many mothers would recommend their daughters shack up with a guy instead of getting married? These days, I supposed some might. My traditionalist mom never would have before, but I'd shocked her so much she was clamoring for any alternative. She wouldn't have liked me moving in with a stranger, either.
"You know me," I said, aiming for the only truth I could offer. "I'm impulsive, and when I decide what I want I go for it."
A click indicated someone else had joined our conversation.
"What's going on?" my dad said in his gravelly voice. "Your mom's white as a sheet. Emmy, what the blazes have you done this time?"
"I married a Scottish man, and I'm moving to the Highlands with him."
"What?" Dad all but shouted. "Who is this guy? Gimme his name so I can get on the Internet and order a full background check."
"Dad, honestly. Rory is a good guy." I squirmed on the sofa's edge. "Besides, it's too late. I'm already married to him."
"We can come get you anytime."
"Ted," my mom said in her best chastising tone, "stop haranguing Emmy. She's a grown woman capable of making her own decisions, whether we understand them or not."
How could they understand? I wasn't so sure I did.
Dad snorted. "We haven't even met this guy."
The glass door slid open, and Rory strode back inside. When he caught sight of me, he lifted one brow in a silent question.
"Mom, Dad, please," I said, "try to be cool about this, okay? I know you haven't met Rory but —"
Rory commandeered my phone. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, this is Rory MacTaggart."
He spoke in a calm, pleasant tone that did not match his tight expression.
I tried to speak, but my voice had died.
"Please accept my apologies," Rory said, "for sweeping your daughter off her feet with a whirlwind courtship and marriage. I need to go home tomorrow, and I couldn't bear to leave without her. However, I should've spoken to you first so this wouldn't have been such a shock. I hope you can forgive me."
He listened intently, nodding.
I pushed up off the sofa, scrutinizing his facial expression but gaining no insight from it.
"You have my word," he told my parents. "I will do everything in my power to ensure Emery is happy. She will not be alone in a foreign country. She has me — and my family. But you should visit as soon as possible. I'm certain you'll feel more comfortable with the situation once we've met."
The idea of seeing my parents in Scotland, soon, made my heart swell.
"Never mind the expense," Rory assured my parents, "I'll send my jet for you. And of course, I will have Emery's sister and her family flown in as well. Let us know when you can take a holiday, and I'll arrange everything."
Holy shit. He was flying my whole family to Scotland? Just to make them feel better?
It was a smart move. Placate the family, placate the wife.
This intelligent, cunning, determined man had set his sights on making my family happy. If I'd learned anything about Rory, it was that once he'd set a goal for himself, he would stop at nothing to achieve it. All that intensity and iron resolve, it was… sexy as hell.
The room had grown hot, and my breaths quickened.
Oh, it wasn't the room. I'd grown hot and tingly inside, desperate to rip his clothes off.
I tore the phone from his hand. "We'll be in touch to talk travel details. It's our wedding night, so forgive the rude goodbye but — goodbye."
I hung up and tossed my phone on the coffee table.
Humor crinkled Rory's eyes.
"Thank you," I said, "for handling my parents like that. Once they calm down, they'll be stoked about getting a free trip to Scotland."
"I look forward to meeting them."
"One more thing." I jabbed a finger toward his chest. "Don't ever butt into my life again. I don't like being bossed around, even if it turns me on big time the way you take charge and get things done."
With a deliberate casualness that indicated sarcasm, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. "Should I order dinner?"
"Later." I seized the lapels of his suit jacket and hauled him closer. "Take me into the bedroom and fuck me."
He hit me with a devastating, erotic smile. "Whatever my wife desires."
Chapter Twelve
I sprawled naked on a large bed, waiting for my new husband to recover his pride. Rory slumped at the foot of the bed in the nude with his feet on the floor, elbows on his thighs, hands slack between his legs. For ten minutes, he'd stared down at his hands in silence. I raised my left hand, fingering the plain gold band on my third finger. We'd gone from betrothed to be-married in a matter of hours.
"You okay?" I asked.
He flashed me a dark look that said are you nuts.
I sat up. "This is completely normal. It happens to everybody."
"Not to me." He dropped his face into his palms. "What have I done?"
Whether he meant his inability to perform or his decision to marry me, I didn't know.
Everything had started out so good. Lots of kissing, plenty of fondling, and by the time we undressed we were both ready to go.
Then something had changed. He'd swept me up and set me down on the bed, his lust obvious in the glossiness of his eyes and the strong curve of his erection. I had smiled at him, entranced by the vision of my gloriously naked husband — and he had frozen. His eyes bulged. He swallowed hard enough I could see it and hear the little gulp. While I lay puzzled on the bed, he had stumbled backward.
And his arousal flagged like a flower pummeled by a rainstorm.
"What have I done?" he repeated, his voice hardly a whisper but rife with self-recrimination.
I crawled to him and knelt at his back, laying my hands on his shoulders.
His head shot up, and he stiffened.
"Take it easy, baby," I said, twining my arms loosely around his neck, my hands over his collarbone. I held my lips to his ear. "I know you don't have a physical problem, which means this is emotional. We can work through it together."
"Cannae."
I nuzzled his cheek. "You're awfully morose for a man who got what he wanted today."
He drummed one knuckle on his thigh.
"What is it you're afraid you've done?" I asked.
"Doesnae matter."
Translation: None of your business, Emery.
Maybe he regretted our quickie marriage. Maybe… Gah. I could drive myself bat
s worrying about what he'd meant, but I would never know until he decided to tell me. My best option was to deal with the more immediate issue.
I floated my hands down his chest, swirling my palms over his pecs. "The night isn't a bust yet. We had a weird, stressful day. That's bound to make you anxious." I coiled my tongue around his earlobe. "Let me help you relax."
"Ye can try, but it willnae work."
"Don't be such a pessimist." I pressed my lips to the pulse point on his throat, while my hands moved ever lower, caressing and exploring his abs. "I have skills too, ya know."
He pulled in a ragged breath.
I dragged my mouth down his throat, tasting his skin with light licks as I moved.
The knuckle drumming his thigh went motionless. He'd stopped breathing, his lips parted.
"Mmmmm," I said as I curled one hand around the base of his shaft. "I love the flavor of your skin."
While my hand glided along his penis, I sank my teeth into his shoulder.
A breath exploded out of him.
My chin on his shoulder, I watched my hand moving along his cock. "I can feel your enthusiasm growing."
He pried my fingers from his hardening shaft. "You first."
"Me first what?"
Rory turned his head to peek at me. "Lie down and you'll find out."
Powerless to resist, and with no desire to anyhow, I reclined on the silken sheets.
My husband crouched at my feet, his hands on my ankles, his focus on my groin. "Yer so beautiful, ye make my bagais ache, cho cinnteach is a tha bod's an each. I want my face in your camas, my mouth on your brillean."
I had no clue what he'd said, but the huskiness of his voice made my body ache for his.
Any thoughts of asking for a translation scattered when he leaned in to spread his hands on my thighs.
"Leannan," he said, "I wanted ye in the tub the other day when ye tickled me with your wee bonnie toes. I wanted to give ye the happy ending ye needed, but I held back." He slid his hands under my thighs and lifted them to bend my knees slightly. "Ahmno holding back tonight."
His hands shifted to my inner thighs, easing them apart. As he settled in between my legs, he kept his hands on my inner thighs. His tongue stroked across his lower lip, slowly, as if he were envisioning savoring my flesh. He brushed his lips over the hairs of my mound.
My fingers curled into the sheets.
With the index fingers of each hand, he parted my outer folds, exposing my clitoris and the pink inner folds of my sex.
I held my breath, transfixed by the hunger on his face.
He skimmed his fingers up and down my folds, exciting my flesh so deeply I bit down on my lip and breaths blustered from my nostrils. Eyes half closed, he puckered his mouth and blew a stream of cool air across my rigid clitoris.
"Please," I moaned.
With a crooked smile, he flicked his tongue over my clit with feather-light pressure, the pace languid and steady, the delicacy of his ministrations propelling me to the brink of orgasm. I threw my hands above my head, clenching the pillow so tight my fingers hurt. His fingers whisked along my folds, teased my opening, and his tongue swirled around my clit in that maddeningly gentle way.
"Oh God," I said, my breaths coming in sharp bursts. "Please don't stop, please."
He chuckled, and tiny wisps of his breath tormented my skin.
I closed my eyes, lost to the pleasure.
"Stop," he snarled. "Donnae close your eyes."
My lids flew open, but I couldn't quite focus on him or what he'd said. "What?"
"Donnae close your eyes." He compressed his lips and then, with a visible effort, relaxed his features. "Please."
Another hang-up? Christ, I wanted an orgasm, not a lecture on the rules of Rorydom. With my mind scrambled by thwarted bliss, I said in a breathless rush, "Okayfinewhatever."
The tension in his body melted away.
"Just don't stop, Rory. For heaven's sake, don't stop."
"Donnae say my name either."
I gaped at him with my heart pounding and my clit pulsating. "What, like, ever?"
"Not while we're being intimate."
I hoisted my head up and tried to puzzle out his expression, but he didn't seem to be joking. "What should I call you? How about 'asshole'?"
"Anything but my name."
I flopped back onto the mattress and whimpered — not with lust, but from the sheer agony of needing to climax. "Why did you have to tell me these crazy rules right in the middle of things, when I was about to — to —"
Tears blurred my vision, tears of extreme frustration.
"Donnae cry," he said, his voice as soft as the look in his eyes. "I'm sorry for shouting."
"I'll get mad at you later. Finish what you started before I rip my hair out."
His gaze tethered to mine, he lowered his mouth once more.
The instant his tongue lapped at my clitoris, I came. My back flattened into the mattress, my hands gripped the pillow, my teeth clamped together even as desperate cries erupted from me. He licked and licked my flesh through so many waves of pulsating pleasure that black dots popped out in my vision and my ears rang.
When he raised his head at last, I went limp, dazed from the unbelievable strength of the climax he'd given me.
"Oh God," I breathed. "That was… you are…"
My words trailed off. I couldn't form a coherent sentence anymore.
Rory crawled up my body to crouch on all fours over me, his face above mine. "Have I exhausted you?"
"In a good way."
His erection bobbed between our bodies, sheathed in a condom.
I sealed my hand around his cock and swept it up to the base. "When did you put this on?"
"While you were coming down from the clouds. You had your eyes closed."
I winced. "Oops. Sorry, I meant to keep my eyes open."
"Donnae worry." He lowered his head next to mine, our cheeks touching. "You looked at me when I was pleasuring you and when you came. That's what I needed."
He needed me to look at him during sex. I longed to ask why, but the answer must've formed the crux of his anxieties about love and marriage. Reluctant to push that button yet, I satisfied myself with knowing I'd given him what he needed tonight.
I folded an arm around his neck while I methodically pumped his shaft. "We're not done yet, are we?"
His cheek lingering on mine, he grasped my wrist to halt my hand. "We are nowhere near done."
"Good," I murmured into his ear, "because I can't get enough of you."
He held stone-still for a moment, then pulled his head back, his wary gaze on me. "I want you more than I should. We have a business arrangement, not a traditional marriage. Sex for us should be a mutual satisfaction of needs and nothing more."
"Stop making this so complicated." Though his hand on my wrist prevented me from pumping his length, I rubbed my fingers over his engorged flesh. "I'm your wife. Kiss me."
His mouth arched into his patented sensual smirk. He lunged his head to within millimeters of my mouth.
I parted my lips, alive with anticipation.
He planted a kiss on my shoulder.
"You rat," I said, slapping his arm.
My husband chuckled. "Rat is better than 'asshole.' "
"You might earn the asshole designation soon enough."
He nipped my chin. "Patience, my sweet wife."
"I want to be fucked, not appeased."
"Of course." He raised onto one straight arm. "I promised to deliver anything my wife desires."
His free hand plunged under my bottom. He elevated my hip until I lay twisted at the waist with my shoulders on the bed. His hand coasted over my hip and down the side of my thigh, while he fluttered his lips over the back of my knee, urging me to bend it with light pressure from his hand.
"Not quite sure what you're doing," I said, "but I'm game for anything."
"One o
f your most endearing qualities."
Had he called me endearing? I had no chance to consider his statement, because he shifted one of his legs to jam it between mine. My bent knee wound up hooked around his hip.
This was… interesting. None of my ex-lovers had been creative in bed. I watched his every move, enthralled by whatever plan he'd concocted.
He lodged his knee firmly on the mattress, my body between his legs, and his erection brushed against my sex.
I shuddered with need, helpless to stop my hands from reaching for him.
Rory captured my wrists in one hand, pinned them above my head, and braced his other hand alongside my shoulder. "Ye want to be fucked, aye?"
"Oh yes, please."
He drove into me with a single, all-consuming thrust — and paused there, buried inside me to the hilt.
My protest came out as a squeak.
That grin, the one imbued with wicked intention, flashed across his face and devastated my willpower. I surrendered to him completely, relaxing into his hold on my wrists, awaiting anything he might do to me.
He rolled his hips in a circle, his cock penetrating me deeply, his unhurried motions connecting with parts of me no one had touched before. Bound by his hands, I couldn't clutch him with my hands, so I clutched him with the leg I had locked around him. Mindlessly, I rocked my hips in time with his movements, luxuriating in the feel of this new position, how it seemed to unite our bodies with exquisite intimacy.
I nestled my face against his neck and inhaled the masculine scent of him, mixed with the scent of sweat.
With a groan, he impaled me in lush, vigorous strokes. His pace accelerated as he thrust harder each time, pounding into me until we both bounced on the mattress from the force of his passion. I shut my eyes, helpless not to, grateful my face was mashed against his neck where he couldn't see. The need for climax tortured me, the promise of bliss a magnificent agony.
He pistoned his hips, his flesh scraping my clitoris.
My body went rigid. I came like a firework bursting in the sky, scorching and brilliant, ripped apart by explosions of color. My body convulsed, my muscles pulsating around him, frantic to milk his release. His climax hit while I thrashed under him, my orgasm rolling on and on, and he kept thrusting lazily until, at last, the riot of pleasure calmed inside me.
