“Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
Looking Lucy up and down, Samantha glanced at her worn jeans. “Shit, Lucy, I didn’t realise we were dressing for dinner.”
“Well, hurry up and dress. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Nodding, she slammed the door and scurried over to the chair where she’d abandoned her clothes. Flinging off her jeans and jumper, she grabbed her red dress and slipped it over her head before smoothing down her hair and slashing some lipstick across her mouth. Manoeuvring her cleavage into place, she flicked a look in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. Not bad for five minutes. The red set off her blonde hair and pale skin nicely and the tight bust of the dress emphasised her pert breasts.
A breeze fluttered between her thighs and she remembered she hadn’t put any knickers on yet - a habit she’d got into recently when wearing trousers. Flinging her clothes off the chair, she scowled. She had packed a pair surely? Wrenching open her suitcase, she shook her head. Obviously not. Oh well, if it was good enough for a Scotsman, it was good enough for her. Besides, her skirt was fairly long, brushing just above her knees and it was not like there was anyone to flash. The girls had seen it all before and probably wouldn’t care less.
Stepping into her heels, Samantha hauled open the door and shivered as a cold breeze flowed over her. The hallway was dimly lit and the shadows moved, though she couldn’t figure out why. The breeze stopped abruptly and she pulled her door shut quickly and hastened down the stairs, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. God, this place was creepy.
Giggles emanated from the room to the left of the entrance way and Samantha blew out a long breath as she found her friends in the dining room, sat at a long dark wood table.
Lucy looked her up and down and whistled. “Nice, Sam.”
She rolled her eyes and seated herself next to Lucy as Fran pushed a bottle of red across table. Pouring a generous glass, she took in her surroundings. The ceilings were lower in this room and the chandelier hung close to the table. A large fireplace sat behind her and it roared audibly with each gust of wind.
“Cheers, ladies,” Annie said with a smile as she raised her glass.
Everyone echoed the sentiment, taking large sips of their wine and Samantha felt the soothing warmth of the alcohol work its way through her. She smiled at her friends and then at Aileen as she brought in steaming plates of stew. It was not haute cuisine but it looked delicious. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all.
***
Full of wine and good food, Samantha sat back in her chair and patted her stomach. “God, I’m done in.”
“I hope not,” Annie said with a grin. “We’ve still got ghosts to hunt down.”
“Don’t remind me.”
As if summoned, Aileen appeared behind them. “Ladies, it’s time to start the ghost tour. We’ll be turning off the lights so do be careful.”
Samantha came to her feet and put a hand to her head as it swam. Yep, too much red. This should be fun.
Aileen handed them all torches before poking at the fire until the flames died to a gentle glow. The lights went out suddenly and they all screamed as they were thrown into darkness.
A torch came on and they all followed suit as Aileen laughed. “We’ll start in the library. It’s said that the late laird of Inverrock likes to reside there. He likes to re-arrange all the books so watch out for flying books.”
Clutching her torch to her chest, Samantha gulped and shuffled after Lucy, training her torch on her back. As they sidled out of the dining room, her torch flickered and gave up.
“Fuck.” She stopped and hit it with her palm. It flickered briefly but refused to turn back on. “Lucy?” she called but no one responded. Blinking, she peered through the gloom but she couldn’t see a thing. Should she follow after them? She glanced around and her gaze latched on to the dim glow of the fire. No, it would be better for her to stay here and wait for them.
Fumbling her way back to her chair, she grasped a bottle of wine and put it to her lips. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to hunt for ghosts. There were worse ways to spend an evening than nursing a bottle of merlot.
The warmth of the wine trickled through her body and pooled in the pit of her stomach. She let her legs fall open and giggled to herself as cool air brushed at her bare sex, feeling silly and horny at the same time. Yep, she needed a man.
“You lost?”
Samantha screamed and flung the bottle in the air, sending its contents sloshing across her dress as it clattered on the table, by some miracle not smashing.
A man stepped into the amber light of the fire and she gasped. Tall? Check. Dark? Check. Handsome? Hell, yeah. And he wore a kilt. A kilt for Godsakes!
Attempting to control her breathing, she slapped a hand across her chest and cast her gaze over him, taking in the sight of his strong legs, up to his blue kilt, to his black woollen jumper. Finally she studied his face. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes but his face was the sort of rugged handsome you’d expect in the middle of the Highlands. Chiselled jawline, dotted with stubble and eyes that crinkled with amusement. Samantha’s mouth dried as his lips split into a grin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Coming unsteadily to her feet, Samantha waved away his apology. “No, it’s okay. I’m just a little jumpy…all the talk of ghosts and whatnot…”
He nodded and curled his hand around her elbow as she wavered. His fingers were warm and coarse and sent a surge of awareness straight to her pussy.
“I didn’t think there were any other guests staying here this weekend,” she said as she plucked at the neckline of her dress, now soaked in wine.
“I’m not exactly a guest,” he said with a smile, his fingers remaining on her arm.
“Oh.” Tugging her sodden dress away from her chest towards the light of the fire to inspect the damage, she belatedly released that she’d given him a good look at her cleavage. She snapped her hand to her side and flushed as he eyed her with a knowing grin.
“You could do with a change of clothes, I think.”
“Yes, though I don’t trust myself to find my way back to my room…not after…” She motioned to her discarded bottle. She was not drunk exactly, just very tipsy. There was no way she’d make it up those stairs in the dark in one piece.
“Not to worry, lass, I know this place like the back of my hand.”
Lass. His broad accent rolled over her, sending her knees weak and she nodded mutely as the man released her elbow and wrapped his arm around her, clasping her hip in his hand. Warmth pooled in between her legs as he urged her forwards with confidence.
“Not interested in hunting out ghosts then?” he asked as he helped her up the stairs. The meagre night illumination filtered in through the windows but she could still barely figure out where to step next. Her guide seemed perfectly confident, however, and steered her easily up the stairs and into the east wing.
“I can’t say it’s my kind of thing, no.”
“What’s your thing then?”
You. She shrugged as heat spread across her chest. “I don’t know. Peace and quiet, I suppose. I don’t see being scared to death as entertainment.”
“Inverrock is peaceful most of the time.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be. You don’t think it’s haunted then?”
“Ah, I didn’t say that.”
He stopped outside her door and Samantha frowned. She didn’t remember telling him her room number. God, she was more drunk than she realised.
“So it is haunted?”
Though it was dark, she could sense his gaze on her, his mouth probably twisted in amusement.
“Maybe.”
“What’s that meant to mean?”
“Inverrock is centuries old. Its history spans all the way back to the 11th century. A place like this holds memories. Whether they are ghosts or not, I can’t say.”
She shoved her key clumsily into the lock and pushed open he
r door. She felt the kilted man follow closely behind, the heat from his body quickly traversing the space between them. She breathed deeply and frowned. She expected the smell of cologne or perhaps soap but she couldn’t smell anything. Not even the scent of male musk.
Facing him again, she noted that the light coming in through her windows was brighter here and she could see his features clearly. Jesus, he was sexy. So broad and rugged. He towered over her small frame. Her gaze landed on his lips which were, as she had suspected, tilted in amusement.
“Have you seen any ghosts?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What does that mean?”
He chuckled but said nothing and Samantha shook her head. What an elusive man he was. Picking her way carefully across the floor, she swore as she stumbled over her trainers.
“Are you okay, lass?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. Her shin smashed into the chair and she yelped, clutching at her leg. She hopped around for a moment and stumbled, falling with a cry to the floor.
There was a rasp and a crackle as the man lit a match and set it to the candles on the mantelpiece. He looked over her with a raised brow.
“Who carries matches around in this day and age?” she muttered to herself as she pulled herself to sitting and inspected her shin.
“I do, especially in an old place like this.” He knelt down in front of her and brushed his fingers over her leg.
She gasped but couldn’t bring herself to withdraw her leg from his touch. Her skin tingled with awareness.
“No permanent damage,” he concluded, meeting her gaze from under his brow. “Though you’ll probably have a bruise in the morning.”
Samantha stared at him as his fingers lingered on her calf, stroking absently. An odd pressure pushed against her back, like icy cold fingers, and with a slight cry, she flung herself forwards. She looped her arms around the man’s neck and he gave a startled grunt before wrapping his arms around her waist.
He gazed down at her and she realised now his eyes were green. Deep, dark green and they sucked her in. “S-sorry,” she flustered but before she could pull back from him, he swooped down and captured her lips.
A vague part of her wondered if she should pull away - I don’t even know his name - but his tongue invaded her mouth and all thoughts of escape left her and she moaned against him. God, this man knew how to kiss!
His lips were oddly cool but her body surged with heat as his tongue clashed with hers and she snaked her hand up through his hair, tugging at the silky strands. He growled and pressed the kiss deeper, increasing the ache between her thighs as his hands kneaded her back. The man hauled her onto his lap and she stiffened and made a sound of surprise as the evidence of his desire prodded her bottom.
Releasing her mouth, he looked at her with regret. "Sorry."
Samantha shook her head rapidly. "Don't be...I..." She sucked in a breath as she noted the hungry look in his eyes. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. This gorgeous, sexy Scot wanted her. She allowed a smile to thread its way across her face. "I'm not."
Studying her for a moment, he tangled a hand into her hair and swept it back from her face. "Good," he said before claiming her lips once more.
Samantha relaxed into him and let the desire sweep through her body once more. Her skin prickled, her body throbbed. Never had any man had such an effect on her. Not even Marcello. Why not shag him? If the pulse of his cock was anything to go by then this was where it was heading. A hand curled around her neck, his callused tips sending a shudder down her spine and she sighed, gripping him tighter. Yes, why not indeed.
Curious fingers snaked under the neckline of her wet dress and she arched up into his touch. He groaned at the feel of her soft flesh before pressing down across her stiff nipple. He plucked and pulled roughly at it until she whimpered. With a sudden movement, he thrust her dress around her shoulders, taking the straps of her bra along with it and his mouth was suddenly on her breast.
The moist heat of his mouth made her cry out as he pressed her back against his arm, cradling her as his teeth went from one breast to the other.
"God, you taste good," he murmured against her skin. "You are so bloody gorgeous, lass."
Her heart twinged in appreciation and she threw back her head and gave herself up to his mouth, digging her nails into his scalp in a bid to keep him in place. His mouth left her skin and she shuddered as the air chilled around her. The man drew her back up to sitting and palmed her flesh as he kissed down her neck.
"I want to fuck you," he told her as he unhooked her bra.
Samantha nodded mutely, her eyes wide as his coarse words sent a flutter to her dripping cunt.
He didn’t say anything, just stared down at her, tracing every inch of her with his gaze. Her nipples hardened so much that they ached. She stared back as she waited. Waited for him to make a move. Waited for that hard cock to be unleashed. Her heart pounded in her ears.
A hand clasped over her breast again and she sighed in relief as he plucked at her nipple before giving it a sharp tug. She released a small cry of surprise as her pussy flooded and she flopped against his shoulder, his strong arm around her back.
Cradling her as if she were a delicate treasure, Samantha enjoyed the moment, as the feeling of being protected mingled with the apprehension of what he could do to her with his muscular body and rigid shaft.
“I want to fuck you,” he murmured into her ear as he dipped his head to nip at her lobe, “really, really hard.” His hand slipped from her breast and pushed underneath the fabric of her dress. She heard the little moan of appreciation as his hand encountered her slick, bare pussy but barely had time to register it before his fingers pressed sharply into her sheath.
Galvanised by the intrusion of his powerful fingers, she arched back into his arm and he used the opportunity to bite down on her neck, securing her flesh between his teeth as if claiming her. She shuddered and gasped.
God, she’d never had such a strong reaction to a man. She gripped at his arms, relishing the feel of his undulating muscles as he finger-fucked her roughly, his thumb occasionally rasping across her clit. His take-control manner plucked at the submissive, feminine part of her. The part that wanted to be needed and desired by a dominant, commanding man. The part that no other man had reached for many, many years.
His fingers left her abruptly and he threaded a hand roughly into her hair, jerking her head away from him. “Stand up,” he commanded hoarsely.
Instinctively obeying, Samantha pushed herself to her feet, her legs wavering underneath her. She didn’t need to worry though. The Scotsman was standing in an instant, flattening his hard body against hers as he forced her dress off her, leaving it to slip to the floor. His hands cupped possessively at her hips, coaxing them back into him so she could feel his throbbing cock rubbing against her arse.
“Jesus, you are so hot.”
Samantha simply sighed as he worked himself against her, mimicking a fucking motion. Her pussy clenched with every thrust of his kilt-cladded dick until moisture trickled down her leg. Shit, she would kill to have him buried inside her needy cunt right now.
He squeezed briefly at her arse cheeks, and she whimpered as it felt like his fingers had left imprints in them, before spinning her round and bringing his mouth down on hers. Swallowing her moan, he swept his tongue over hers before drawing back and nibbling at her lip. His fingers worked over her back and arse, kneading and stroking her skin. Samantha tried to do the same but his shoulders were so broad and his kisses so consuming that she barely managed to cling onto him. Just when she thought she might press her fingers underneath his jumper, he hauled her into his arms, grasping her buttocks so that she had to wrap her legs around him. Her heels slipped off and clunked to the ground, the sound echoing through the room.
With a growl, he drove her back against the wall, her spine meeting heavily with the textured wallpaper. Christ, she hadn’t had sex like this since Marcello. This
Scotsman sure had the dominant thing going on. Samantha squealed as he explored her mouth further and she dug her nails into his neck. Just as she eased into his kiss, he surprised her by hefting her higher, shifting her legs over his arms and then up and over his shoulders.
Crying out at his sudden show of strength, Samantha found herself pinned halfway up the wall, with his head buried in her soaking pussy. His hands held her steady and her nervousness quickly dissipated at being so high up as his tongue lapped at her, stroking boldly across her folds with the flat of his tongue.
He licked forcefully over every part of her sex before settling over her nub, drawing it briefly into his mouth before massaging his tongue over it in small circles. Samantha bucked against him as her legs clamped around his head.
"Fuck," she cried out as he sucked at her clit.
No one had ever paid such attention to her pussy before. Her sheath clenched and pulsed against his tongue as he probed it. She could feel the tension building, the unbearable need for release making her sex swell as he continued his torturous routine. Sweeping, licking, sucking. It was almost too much to bear.
And then he drew her bud into his mouth again and tugged on it rhythmically with his teeth until the pleasure crescendoed, ricocheting through her body and she quaked against him. He held her firm, keeping his mouth buried between her thighs as he licked away her juices.
When the spasms slowed, he withdrew carefully and dropped her to the floor with ease, sliding her body down his. She bit back a moan as the length of his shaft touched all too briefly to her tender folds.
"You taste so damned good," he told her before kissing her.
She inhaled the musky scent and tasted herself on his tongue. It was so decadent, so sinful and her sex pulsed back into life as the need to taste his sex overtook her.
Blinking away the satisfied haze that her climax drowned her in, she tugged at the waist of his kilt before bunching the fabric in her hands. She waited a moment, as if waiting for permission and he nodded. With a smile, she dropped to her knees and hauled his kilt up and over his straining erection.
The British Bondage Collection Page 9
