by Alam, Donna
As Kit pushes the door open to our room, a mixture of excitement and trepidation fills my chest. Kit was right all along. Anticipation is an addictive and powerful thing.
Blondie isn’t fully undressed but sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of black boxer briefs.
‘A free thinker,’ I say with a giggle. ‘What are you going to do about that?’
Hand in hand, we make our way over to the bed until we’re towering over him. As quick as a flash, Kit grabs the hair at the back of his neck, dragging him to his feet as he groans. But not from shock or pain. His mouth is mere inches from mine, little puffs of hot air caressing my lips.
‘What do you think? Should we let Robin kiss you?’
Without waiting for an answer, Kit pushes him a little closer, yanking him back at the last minute to kiss me himself instead. Our tongues entwine as we kiss with a slow passion . . . until I become aware of air hitting my thighs. Robin is on his knees in front of me, lifting my dress.
‘I thought he could kiss you there, instead.’
‘You always have the best ideas.’
Kit slips behind me, his fingers over my thighs, gathering the front of my dress in slow increments.
‘Fucking awesome.’ Robin smiles wickedly, his eyes slipping from between my legs to my face as though he doesn’t know what he likes best. ‘I love a woman who’s prepared.’
‘A pussy this pretty should be on display always.’ So raw and so sensual, Kit’s words and tone have me arching my back against his body. ‘That’s right, darlin’. You show him what belongs to me.’
I widen my stance, lost in his words and Robin’s avid gaze.
‘Touch her,’ Kit whispers. ‘With your tongue,’ he demands.
Robin’s hand drops immediately, and leaning forward, he slides his tongue between my slit instead. His aim is well honed. I whimper as he teases my clit, bringing my arms around the back of Kit’s head, spreading myself wider as the other man suddenly buries himself between my legs. Like a man starved, he works me, eagerness compensating for his lack of skill. Kit’s sweetly sordid whispers in my ear and the tongue probing and lapping between my legs drive me to the edge quickly.
‘That’s it, let him taste my honey.’
I grind myself into his face, Kit’s words bursting white hot inside me. Again and again, I thrust and rub as Robin’s flat tongue laps up everything.
Limp and sated against Kit’s chest and held up by only his strong arms, I laugh a little breathily. Robin smiles up at me, all gleaming white teeth and panting himself.
‘Awesome,’ he says again. Obviously, he’s a man of few other words. As he goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, Kit stops him.
‘That belongs to me,’ he rasps, pulling the man up from his knees. His arm still around my waist, Kit brings Robin closer, his hand once again wrapped in his hair.
My heart stops. This will never get old.
With a swipe of Kit’s tongue against the seam of his wet, shining lips, Robin is owned. He moans so beautifully, the sound echoes through the room. There’s such sweet agony in this simple swipe of lips and tongue. Kit certainly knows how to kiss, and I love to watch him kiss another man.
And it’s an aphrodisiac like no other, watching the man you crave taste you from the tongue of someone else.
Kit pulls away, leaving Robin hazy eyed and obviously hard through the thin fabric of his underwear.
‘I want to taste you, too,’ he rasps.
We begin frantically shedding our clothes, sheer instinct and need bringing us together as one. Kit lies on his back, my pussy in his face as I watch Robin crawl between his legs, placing his lips with reverence against the powerful jut of his hip.
It’s madness. Sheer sensation overload as Kit growls and laps at me as Robin peppers my man’s skin with hot kisses. He trails a tongue from his balls to the tip of his dick, and I call out. Watching him roll his tongue over Kit’s piercing is thrilling, but Kit isn’t the only beneficiary because, with each swipe of tongue and kiss, Kit’s attentions between my legs become more serious. His fingers widen me as he begins thrusting with his tongue. I’m so ready, so turned on, so fucking into this as I undulate against him while trying not to come. I want to, but not yet, lost to the image of Robin’s mouth sucking greedily, working Kit’s dick to a fever pitch.
‘He’s so fucking big.’ His voice is hoarse as he comes up for air, sending a hazy, lust-filled look my way. With his hand between his legs, he jacks himself slowly when Kit rasps a demand against my wet flesh.
‘Fucking suck it.’
Once again, the room is filled with the obscene sounds of our coupling—sighs of ecstasy and flesh hitting flesh. Though the air is cool, my skin is hot and tingling, as if pierced by a million burning pins. The sensation contracts as I edge closer to climax. Kit pushes me upwards, growling I should get Robin a condom.
From the bowl on the nightstand, I grab one and tear it open. Curling my finger in a come here motion, Robin moves his mouth from base to tip once more before crawling up the bed.
On his knees in front of me, his cock bounces eagerly. It’s hard to resist running my tongue over the swollen head. I trail soft, open-mouthed kisses over his silky length, my gaze owned by Kit. His grey eyes are stormy with arousal as he watches me swallow him down.
‘Enough playing, honey bee. I know you want to ride his cock.’
As I slide the condom down Robin’s shaft, he shudders under my hands. In a shuffle of positions, Kit and Robin swap places. Kit places his hands on my hips, and he lowers me on the other man’s cock. I’m so slick; I slide to his hilt with a languid, drawn-out groan. But the knowledge of what’s coming next sends shivers of need through my limbs.
With the cool smear of lube between my cheeks, and long, lazy kisses across the back of my shoulders, I’m bucking against the two fingers he works into my asshole. I lean forward, my palms either side of Robin’s head, lick the seam of his lips, and then kiss him wet and slow. Until Kit’s fingers work me faster and I pull away to cry out in pleasure
‘Oh, God,’ I cry out, my bucking motions working in tandem with Robin’s upward thrusts as his hands hold my breasts as though to earth himself.
‘Push back, baby,’ Kit whispers, the broad head of his cock breaching the ring of muscle, my body closing around him as he pushes inside, inch by slow inch.
If you’d asked me a few months ago if I’d ever try anal, the answer would’ve been hell no. Similarly, if you’d asked me just two months ago if I’d let Kit anywhere near my ass, I’d have told you not only was it improbable, but it was also likely impossible due to his sheer size, yet here I am. With two cocks inside me and loving every hot, filled, and dirty minute of it.
Something tells me Robin has done this before as he falls into a rhythm with Kit. He pants under me, whispering how fantastic it feels as their cocks meet through the thin membrane of skin. Backwards and forwards, they work me in tandem, the sound of Kit’s guttural moans in my ear becoming too much to bear.
‘You’re fucking delicious. I want to stay buried in you forever,’ he growls. Flushed with a rush of desire at his words, my hands begin to scrabble for purchase, not sure where to find it. I want to hold Kit—pull him to me—but make do with the bedding, twisting the sheets until my fingers are bloodless and as white as the linens.
My spine arched, I cry out as white-hot pleasure burns through my skin, bending my mind and body until I’m just a thing—not a person. A rutting, fucking, crying vessel of ecstasy.
Not a moment later, Kit’s movements become erratic, his fingers digging so hard into my hips I’m sure to bruise.
‘Fuck, fuck me,’ Robin chants, his body reacting to the internal pulsing of Kit’s orgasm, causing aftershocks of pleasure to shoot through us all.
Sweaty and sated, we roll apart.
‘I feel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven.’ My words are a raspy exhale, my chest moving like I’ve run a marathon. My skin sticky as I run a fin
ger between my breasts.
‘No, honey bee,’ answers Kit, kissing my cheek. ‘Only good girls go to heaven. Bad girls get to come on me.’
‘You say the sweetest things,’ I whisper, placing my hand over his thundering chest, my index finger stretching to caress his latest tattoo.
A tiny honey bee flying above his heart.
‘Aye, that’s why you love me.’ Curling his hand around my waist, he pats my ass . . . and my matching tattoo—the thing that Fin had declared just the sweetest thing. A kit, or a baby fox, with an overly large appendage. Just like my man.
It’s safe to assume she thought the picture was cute, unaware of the connotation.
‘I do love you, Kit Tremaine. Every dirty Scottish inch of you.’
‘Less of the inches,’ he says, all husky words and filthy smile. ‘Get a tape measure if you’re not sure.’
‘Okay, I love your footlong. That better, ego maniac?’
‘Much, thanks.’
‘I love all of you,’ I add more seriously as he rolls me tighter to him, skin to sticky skin.
‘And that’s why you’re keeping me, too.’
KIT
I’m finishing up at work when my phone buzzes with a text.
Hurry home, or I’m starting this anniversary party without you . . .
This woman will be the death of me. But I’ll die with a smile on my face, that’s for sure.
Honey bee, I type out, I thought Friday was our anniversary party.
That was your anniversary gift. The party’s waiting here for you at home. Naked.
‘Ah, man.’ I slide my palm over my crotch. ‘Bad timing.’
‘Are you talkin’ to your dick?’ Fuck. I raise my eyes to my brother, leaning against the doorframe, that ever present cocky expression plastered across his face. ‘I don’t even want to guess at the sick pathology behind that.’
‘And I don’t want to guess why you’re thinking about my dick. No, wait,’ I add, holding up my index finger. ‘I remember now. It’s because of your inadequacies. My commiserations to Fin.’
‘My dick works just fine and Fin has no complaints,’ Rory scoffs. ‘In fact, I think I’ll be singing news of just how well my dick does work real soon.’
A lot has changed in my life this past year. The same goes for Rory and Fin. They’d eloped a few weeks ago and married on some tropical beach, and would have us believe the whole thing wasn’t planned, but rather a spur of the moment thing. Let’s just say I’ve had my suspicions regarding the speed at which things had moved, given Fin wore her engagement ring on a keychain for months.
Also, there’s something Bea’s not telling these last few days. Every time her best friend’s name has come up in conversation, she has this moony sort of grin.
As though sensing my thoughts of her, my phone buzzes with a text from Bea again.
Naked. So naked . . .
Life is so unfair.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but will naked still be on the table when I tell you I’ve booked a swanky place for dinner tonight?
Cancel it, comes her immediate reply. Your dinner is on the table now. And in case you missed it the first time, she’s naked.
‘Fuck!’ More frustration than word, I scrub my hand across my jaw, then through my hair.
‘You’ll be bald by the time you’re thirty if you keep pullin’ it like that.’
‘Come back to me when your kid’s a year old and we’ll talk about stress balding.’
‘You’re not allowed to tell anyone,’ he cautions, wagging his finger at me, channelling Meg, our granny.
‘My lips are sealed, dad.’
‘Now, what about tonight? Everything sorted? We good to go?’
I hook my dinner jacket from the back of my chair, sliding it on. ‘Yeah, Bea’s just putting some clothes on.’ Conflicted. So conflicted. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
As he nods and leaves the room, I turn my attention back to my phone.
You’re killing me here, honey bee, but I’ve had this reservation for months. The place is kind of a big deal and I wanted it to be a surprise.
I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you dressing for dinner and serving yourself as dessert when we get home?
The responding bubbles appear immediately, her answer flashing on screen a second later.
You’re serious?
Trust me, I type out. ‘I must be fuckin’ mad,’ I grumble to myself. ‘Probably not as mad as she’ll be, though.’ And wear the gold dress.
You’re picking my clothes out now?
Her next text is an angry faced cat emoji.
‘Yep, really mad, though not too subtle, darlin’.’
I’ve ordered you a cab. You’ve got twenty minutes, I text next.
Her response? It’ll have me rock hard all night.
What a pity that isn’t enough time to put my underwear on . . .
‘Wee minx,’ I say to the empty room as I power my laptop down.
She calls me her devil but she’s temptation herself.
I can’t even recall how I existed in the past without her in my life. This girl. My girl. She’s turned my life on its head and I wouldn’t have it any way else.
I propose to her almost weekly, but she’s yet to accept. I don’t think she takes my sentiments seriously somehow. Yeah, so I usually ask her to marry me just after we’ve had sex. In my defence, that’s when my heart is most open, I’ve told her.
Want an honest answer from a man? Ask your question just after he’s shot his load. When he’s at his most vulnerable.
True fucking story, literally.
Last night at the Den, I’d almost proposed to Bea once again, clamping my lips closed on her neck at the last minute to prevent the words from spilling.
Nothing screams romance like a sex club, hey? Especially with some random man in a superhero mask curled between you.
I can’t see that being a story we want to pass down the generations.
Grandad, where did you propose to Granny?
Well, my fine wee fella. It was at a sex club. I’d just eaten your granny out and was covered in—
Yeah, that’s not gonnae work.
What’s needed is another setting. Another experience. Another day.
This day, actually.
I’d secretly flown Bea’s parents out from South Africa and both of her brothers arrived in London today. They’re all staying in our Bawdy House hotel. Christ knows what Bea’s parents think about the place. I suppose I’ll find out soon.
I’d also arranged for her pals to fly down from Scotland, including June and her nurse. We’ve both become fond of the auld bat—she’s as mad as a bag of cats, but that just increases her worth, as far as I’m concerned.
Even Dylan and Ivy have flown in from L.A. for tonight. Claish Castle may be their home base but they spend a fair bit of time in the U.S. It’ll mean a lot to Bea that they’re there.
I flip off the lights and close the door to my office, patting the black box I’ve concealed in my jacket pocket, its contents weighing heavily on my mind. But I’m giving her no chance to laugh off my proposal tonight. Not with the audience waiting for her.
I mean business. I’m deadly serious. This woman is mine for life and I want everyone to know.
Dr Honey Bea, I text as I make my way to the elevator, I’m coming for you. I hope you’re ready.
The End
Acknowledgements
Massive thanks are due to Aimee Bowyer, Natasha Harvey. Without your input, One Dirty Scot would’ve been a sow’s ear indeed.
My thanks also to Jenny from Editing 4 Indies for her fabulous eagle eye and polishing skills.
Thanks to the Lambs for being there and for your words of encouragement.
Thanks to my family for allowing me to ignore you all while finishing this, and not getting the hump.
Thanks to you who have read ODS. Without you, I’d be talking to the voices in my head. Probably in some mental facili
ty!
Copyright © 2017 Donna Alam
A Catch Up With Natasha!
By Donna Alam
Copyright © 2017 Donna Alam
Published By: Donna Alam
Copyright and Disclaimer
The moral right of this author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express permission of the author
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Donna Alam
Natasha
‘You’ll never settle down.’
‘Is that right?’ I respond, sarcasm dripping from my words. ‘So what your saying is, I’m what? Basically unlovable?’
‘Someone fishing for compliments more like,’ interjects Fin, pushing the snuffling baby she holds higher against her shoulder.
‘And that’s absolutely not what I’m saying,’ replies Ivy scornfully. ‘You’re too much of a—’
‘Slut?’ I respond. ‘A slapper? Too free with my lovin’?’
I glance at the three women in the suddenly quiet room. Not that it was exactly buzzing beforehand, but it’s surprising how much noise this lot can make. Ivy, Fin, Bea, and myself. Plus the babies; wee Niall, Fin’s seven-month-old, and Ivy’s toddler, Alasdair, though he’s since been encouraged to go to bed. I suppose I should include the little one Ivy’s cooking at the minute, too. Not on the stove or anything, but cooking in utero. While the wee lassie isn’t making any noise we can hear, she’s certainly causing her mother to groan with each kick she aims from inside Ivy’s neat basketball of a stomach.
This is what’s become of my Friday nights, but only if I’m lucky. Getting my favourite girls together in one place is as rare as finding a hen with a full set of teeth. Bea’s usually too busy rummaging around someone’s insides to meet up, be that on the operating table or at that freaky sex club she and Kit like to frequent. At least, that’s what I imagine she gets up to while there. Sadly, I haven’t been invited to confirm my suspicions. Yet. But Ivy, at least, will be in Scotland for the next few months after opting to have her baby here rather than in some swanky private hospital in the U.S. And Fin? I’m just surprised she’s still standing upright considering Niall hasn’t slept for more than four hours at a stretch since the day he was born.
