His hand instantly returned to the sore spot, rubbing and soothing the sting away. “I told ye to keep watching me.”
“I know, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t apologize. Just do as you’re told.”
She laughed freely, her chest pressed to the tabletop. “Oh, you cocky bastard.”
He bent down and kissed the sore spot on her backside, then ran his fingers over it again. The sting was fading to a constant burn, making each graze of his fingers sing. She wriggled her ass from side to side, teasing him.
“Holy fuck, I doubt I’ve ever been this hard in my life.”
She beamed back at him. Her confidence was building and she couldn’t help but smile at these words. She reached back to touch him. He took her hand, placing it squarely on his cock, which was as rigid and smooth as alabaster. She gasped to feel him, running her fingertips over the smooth skin at the head of him.
“My god, you’re gonna get it.”
Suddenly he pressed his foot to the inside of her ankle, forcing her to step out. Then the other. Her legs were wide now, her belly pressed firmly to the table top. He ran his hand over her ass, then up between her legs, slipping his fingers against her as she held her breath.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle with ye, Georgia.”
She took a sharp breath, then swallowed. “I don’t want you to.”
She felt his weight on her back as he bent to her ear, tucking her hair aside as he whispered. “If ye need me to stop, just tell me.”
She nodded, feeling his fingers dig into her hips, lifting her to meet him. Despite the foreign feel of him, his touch betrayed a gentle concern. Even as he slapped her ass, he followed with soft reassurance. She didn’t doubt for a moment that if she needed him to stop, he would.
The head of his cock pressed against her, then slid home. She arched her back, shrieking in response to the sudden invasion. It had been so long since she’d felt this sensation, it almost hurt to take him. He pressed into her as deep as her body would allow, then retreated, his fingers curled into her hips.
“Holy mother of fuck,” he said.
He thrust again, still slow and deliberate, but he drilled a little deeper this time, making her brace against him. Another retreat, then as he pulled her toward him, he pushed himself to the hilt, letting her cry out in near pain.
“Tell me ye want me, beautiful.”
She gasped, bracing for another thrust. She nodded, but nodding wasn’t good enough for him.
He thrust again, then grabbed her arms, pulling her upright. He turned her face to him, pinning her back to his chest as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “Tell me. I need tae hear ye say it.”
“I want you, Garrett. I want you so fucking much.”
“Ye do?”
“Yes!”
He moved inside her slowly, as though learning his way. “Because I want ye too, Georgia. God, I want ye.”
She could hear the need in his voice, feel it in the way his hands explored her.
She kissed him. “Show me.”
He almost whimpered at these words, and answered by thrusting into her. She turned her head sharply, baring her teeth, and bit his jaw. He grabbed her by the hair, turning her to meet his eyes.
He moved with purpose then, pinning her down onto the table. Then he kicked her legs even wider, and buried himself in her. She screamed, but her cries were only rewarded by more thrusts, these in fast procession, growing in purpose. The table shook beneath them, its heavy legs grating against the floorboards.
He stood to full height, taking hold of her hips and pounding into her as she braced herself, screaming in response. She tried to move her feet, get her legs sturdy beneath her, but he spanked her ass hard, and kicked her legs aside again. The only thing keeping her upright was the table.
“Fuck, I’m gonna lose it.”
She turned to see his face, his lips parted, his brow furrowed in focus. She reached back to him, touching the bare skin of his hip.
“I want you to,” she said.
His eyes went wide, meeting her gaze as his face contorted. He grunted in an almost startled way, pushing himself in as much as holding onto her. His thrusts softened, as did his gaze. He inhaled in short bursts, held his breath, then planting his hands on the table at her sides, let himself fall over her. She could feel the warmth of his exhale against her cheek.
“Dear God, woman. What have ye done to me?”
She chuckled.
He kissed her shoulder, hoisted himself onto his elbows and kissed her cheek before standing up, pulling himself slowly from inside her. She took a moment, feeling her bare-ass cool as he pulled away. Then she stood up and let the skirt of her dress shimmy back down her hips. She turned to find him collecting the toppled chair from the floor, unable to find words to fill the silence.
He turned to face her and blew air through pursed lips. Then he slumped into the now righted chair, running his hands through his hair.
“That was, without question, the best Author signin I’ve ever had, here.”
She leaned against the table, laughing. “Really? Irvine Welsh wasn’t into spanking.”
He beamed at her, but recovered quickly. “Oh he was, but I was sore for days after.”
Her face flushed. Garrett had a new ease about him that made him all the more attractive. She half wanted to climb into his lap, but didn’t dare ask for more of him; this man she’d only just met.
“Where are ye stayin, then?” He asked.
“Down at the Premier. Publisher booked it for me.”
“Ah, no too bad. No too far away either.”
“No. Close to everything, they said.”
The small talk broke and the two sat in silence a moment. She squeezed her legs together, feeling the warmth and soreness of what they’d just done. She flattened her skirts down over her thigh, and turned for the table, righting the piles of books they’d knocked aside as they thumped the table a good foot or more across the floor. Garrett hopped up to join her, assuring her she needn’t trouble herself. She was already pulling the table back to its rightful place.
Garrett swooped down to pick up a few books that had fallen, setting them in perfect order on the table for the next morning’s customers to find, oblivious to what the table had been used for just hours earlier.
He made a soft hmphing sound, laughing through his nose. She turned to find him holding his copy of The Seafarer, reading her note.
“Perfect man, ae?”
She blushed. “I have reason to believe so, yes.”
He closed the book, tucked the chairs into the table, and retrieved her coat and bag from the back room, before shutting off the store lights. He held her coat out to her, helping her put it on. Then he led the way to the front door, the two of them in a strange limbo of silence.
She stood on the cold street as he locked the shop doors, listening to the distant sound of people laughing and enjoying their night out. She turned to him, steeling herself to say good-bye. His lips were on hers before she could form words. She melted into him, letting him hold her upright as she returned the kiss. He bit her lower lip, gently, then stood to his full height.
“Well then. Still want that drink?”
She smiled and nodded. “I would love -”
“That is, before I take ye back to your hotel and wake the neighbors.”
She blushed, exhaling against the new surge of sensation that fired between her legs. She felt almost relieved to know she’d get to have him again before she headed back to Edinburgh and the rest of her life.
He took her hand in his and led her down the street. “Hopefully all the horny ladies will have gone home by now and ye won’t be bothered at the pub.”
She hustled to keep pace with him, smiling so wide her cheeks began to hurt. They’d walked several blocks before Georgia stopped short.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett asked, his tussled hair spiked above his
smiling face. “Pub’s just along the road there.”
“My underwear. I left them in the shop.”
He snorted, raised an eyebrow and glanced around the quiet street. “Did ye, now?”
Garrett pulled her into a nearby close and with a wry smile, began to hike up her dress again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Woman In White – Page 32
Douglas wrapped the rope around his calloused fingers and in two fluid movements, tied a perfect knot at my wrists. I glared up at the green eyed bastard and when he shot me a grin, I spit at his feet.
“You can’t keep me here! I’m a passenger on Her Royal Navy’s ship, The Olympus! They’ll come looking for me.”
He raised an eyebrow, appraising me. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t need to know how I came to no longer be a passenger on the Olympus, by any means.
“Tell me, lass. Did ye jump willingly, or did they cast ye off?”
I set my jaw. “Neither.”
Douglas MacCready crouched down before me and gave the ropes at my wrists a tug. I watched his hand with careful consideration. He had strong hands, and I knew if I tried to fight him now, those hands could very well snap my neck. He turned his right hand over and I saw the puckering of the skin across his knuckles; a long white and jagged line. I flinched at the sight. Surely he’d earned that mark by a sword or a whip, some violent altercation that left the other man far worse for having met him.
He chuckled, gesturing to the mark on his hand. “Looks as bad as it was. I’ll let ye guess how I got it, then, ae?”
***
Garrett woke with the sun, a strange sight for a February morning in Scotland. He’d forgotten to close the blackout curtains the night before, and the white walled room was quickly growing brighter with each passing moment. He breathed deep, tucking the comforter up over his chest.
The gentle touch of long fingers sliding over his stomach reminded him why he’d been too distracted the night before to close the curtains. He felt her breasts pressed to his bare back, and one of her legs slid over his.
He smiled, then reached for Georgia’s hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I’ve never been the little spoon before. It’s rather nice.”
Georgia pressed her lips to his shoulder. “Really? Well, then -” She squeezed him tighter, and he let out a satisfied groan. She released him and pulled her hand from his, dragging her nails over his back in a soft scratching motion. He fought to remember any other woman who had given him a back scratch of her own accord. It seemed this was a morning of firsts.
“Christ, that feels good.”
She scratched him for a couple more minutes, then slumped back onto her pillow, releasing him. He felt almost cold.
“Alright, you’re turn,” she said, and began ruffling the covers as she made a grand show of rolling over onto her side. She watched him over her shoulder as he groaned in submission, turning over to slide up behind her. She wriggled back into him, and he almost winced as her backside pressed against his usual morning erection. She pulled his arm around her, politely pretending not to feel it.
Georgia held his hand over her breasts, pulling him as close as she could, groaning and fidgeting in a show of morning discomfort. He laughed, pushing her hair out of his face. She smelled like soap and shampoo – and something else; jasmine, he thought. He mirrored her legs with his own, making sure as much of his bare skin was touching hers. Finally, she settled in his arms.
“What time do ye have tae catch the train?” He asked.
She gave an almost whining sound. “Do you have to bring that up so early?”
“I’m sorry, love.”
He rubbed his stubbled chin against her shoulder, thinking about the things he was doing to her the last time he had her in his arms like this. He was glad his groin was pressed to her backside. Otherwise, his cock might’ve jumped.
“My assistant said by eleven.”
“Ah grand, it’s only half eight. We’ve plenty of time, then.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Time for what?”
“Time for me tae make ye a nice, full Scottish breakfast. Can’t have ye leave The Highlands without it.”
Georgia began to wriggle against him, rocking her ass from side to side. His cock reacted instantly. “Really? That’s how you plan to spend your morning? Cooking?”
He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and let his hips match her rhythm, pressing himself into her as she moved. He smiled. “Careful, woman. You’re gonna get me goin again.”
“God forbid.”
“How many times will this be? Six? Seven?”
Georgia gave him an unimpressed expression. “Oh please. Grandstander. This is only number five.”
“Christ! We best get moving if we’re gonna crack a half dozen.”
He tossed back the comforter and slapped her ass, relishing in the yelp and giggle that it drew. Then he lunged for her, taking her by the full light of morning pouring through the open windows.
They took their time. Garrett basked in the pleasure of lazy morning sex with Georgia as though they’d been lovers for years. Something about her was so easy – her easy laugh, her determination to please him and to help him please her. There was no clumsy hair pulling or awkward repositioning. When she wanted something different, she damn well asked for it. Yet, unlike any other woman he’d ever been with, Georgia seemed to love everything he did.
And they laughed; God they laughed constantly.
“Will ye consider this a failure if we don’t make it tae eight?”
Georgia was sitting up against a mound of pillows as he finally rose from the bed.
“No, you’re still the perfect man, either way.”
“Am I still? Bloody fantastic.”
He curled her fingers with his, turning his hand over to kiss it. She stopped, her lips just a few inches from his hand as she ran her fingers over a long forgotten scar there.
“How’d you get this?”
Garrett lifted his head to look over her shoulder, glancing at the white mark on the back of his hand. “Ehm, ye don’t want tae know.”
She turned back to glance at him. “I do want to know.”
Garrett raised his brows, inhaling through his nose. “I took a fish hook to the hand when I was young.”
Georgia hissed, shuddering at the thought. He didn’t blame her. His cousin Scott had swung his rod in Garrett’s direction, catching the hook on the back of his knuckles and ripping across his hand before Garrett’s Uncle Ross grabbed the rod from Scott’s hands and settled in to pry the hook from Garrett’s tiny hand.
Georgia cringed again, hearing this.
“Wasn’t pleasant. Learned never tae go fishin with idiots, though. Life lesson.”
Georgia ran her finger along the line, then pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the scar.
He smiled, kissed her shoulder, and rose from the bed.
Georgia pinched his bum as he climbed over her. “Next you’ll tell me your name is Douglas MacCready.”
“Douglas MacCready? Why would I say that?”
The studio was bright and open, the sun glowing off the high white walls. There were no partitions in the apartment. His bed sat against one wall, looking directly across to the kitchen, with the raw wood based counters and the stainless steel refrigerator. He could cook her breakfast while staring across the apartment, chatting with her all while she still sat in his bed, her hair tussled and wild above her head. She was oblivious to her morning hairdo as he sauntered across the room, bareassed and cold. He couldn’t take his eyes off her a moment.
She gave a half laugh and shook her head. “Well, because it would – it would just be uncanny, I guess.”
“Well, my name is Garrett, as ye know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But Douglas is one of my middle names.”
Her skin was glowing, surrounded by white sheets and pillows. Her hair was an a
bsolute mess, and she looked beautiful. Even moreso than the poster he’d been captivated by two days previous. Garrett chuckled as he watched her try to flatten her hair on the top of her head. That poster of Victoria Mason did the reality of Georgia Kilduff no justice.
“Your middle name is Douglas?”
“Aye, and my surname is MacCauley, no MacCready.”
She stared at him a moment. “You’re kidding.”
“Nae, lass. Garrett James Douglas MacCauley. Good, long Scottish name for ye.”
Her face went blank as she watched him. He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t gave her an eyebrow wag. “Why? Who’s this Douglas MacCready, then?”
“The perfect man.”
Garrett snuck into the washroom for a piss. “Who’s this guy like? I’ll kill ‘im.”
Garrett shook himself, and flushed before washing his hands. She didn’t respond. He came out of the bathroom to find her staring at her hands.
What’s the matter, you?”
She shook her head. “Your middle name is Douglas?”
“Aye, it is. Almost had three middle names, but my mum told my dad tae stuff it. Ye hungry then?”
Georgia sat there on the bed, silent a moment. She seemed to be transfixed by her fingers. Garrett stopped at the corner of the bed, watching her. “Ye hungry, love?”
“What? Yes. Yes, I am. So what does a full Scottish Breakfast entail?” She asked, her hair still a mess, but a slightly smaller one.
Garrett made his way into the kitchen, putting the kettle on as he passed the counter. “You’ve never had one? What were they feedin ye in Edinburgh, the bastards?”
“I don’t know. All I remember of Edinburgh is an old, gray haired lady giving me an in depth description of her first experience with anal sex.”
“Yer jokin!”
“I’m not. Sadly.”
He shot her a glare from the kitchen, and quickly realized he was still bareassed and freezing against the winter air, even in his apartment. He hustled over to his bureau for a pair of boxers and slipped them on. “Jesus, why do these people think ye want tae know that shite?”
Writing Mr. Right Page 6
