Hard

by Donna Alam

  ‘You own me,’ I whisper, my voice hoarse with longing and love.

  ‘And you own me.’ His tone is so dark and so seductive, my heart beats hard, my insides along with it. ‘Say it,’ he whispers hoarsely. ‘Tell me I’m yours.’

  ‘You are—’ my voice catches, tears stinging my eyes ‘—you are mine.’

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  My insides pound to the beat of my longing and love as he loosens his hold on my wrists. I twist my head to meet his mouth and he kisses me again and again, his lips a mixture of command and gentleness, our tongues entangled in a slow, passionate dance. ‘Mine forever.’

  Keir’s eyes are dark as he pulls away, not trusting my body’s answers. One hand suddenly tight on my hips, the other holds his cock as he balances it between my lips.

  ‘Fuck.’ It’s not a curse but a prayer as he casts his eyes heavenwards. ‘You will be the ending of me.’ And with his final appeal, he slides himself inside. Everything falls away. There is nothing more. Not him. Not me. Just us. Just pleasure. Just the feel of him inside me. ‘And I will die a very happy man.’ With an undulation of his body and a grunt to counter my cry, he starts to move. His hands on my hips steady me and stop me from floating away, as he fucks me so solidly it’s like he’d touch my heart if he could.

  ‘I’ll spend my life worshiping you with my body.’

  ‘Yes!’ I cry out in my pleasure. I cry out his name.

  ‘I’ll endow you with my cock.’

  ‘Yes!’ My hands ball the sheets as his tempo changes, deep thrusts now shallow bursts.

  ‘Endow you with my worldly goods.’

  As my orgasm is drawn from every inch of my skin, I arch my back, grinding into him, crying out. Everything blurs around the edges—the window in front of me, the wet sounds of our pleasure, our breathing—everything. Everything but the most intense, writhing kind of pleasure that detonates deep inside.

  Behind me, he pulses once, twice. And the sound he makes? I’d bottle it if I could.

  Limp and boneless, Keir slides his arms around me, his harsh breath blowing against my damp skin.

  ‘I’m so fucking happy.’ His words are part whisper, part groan as he pulls me into his body, somehow rolling us across the bed. Propped on his elbow, he brushes the tangles of hair from my face. ‘So fucking happy.’ And boy does he look it, staring down at me with this post orgasm grin

  ‘Orgasms.’ It’s all I can say, though I add a limp wave of my hand.

  ‘Aye, and plenty of them.’ My eyes closed, I feel him take my hand, pressing both to my heart. ‘For the rest of your life.’

  My eyes spring open. More than the tease in his tone, I realise what he’s just said.

  ‘What?’ he asks amused. ‘You didn’t think I meant it when I got down on my knees, so I thought I’d try it another way.’

  ‘Ano—That was a proposal? And you thought you’d fuck a yes out of me?’

  ‘I think I fucked a few of them out of you,’ he replies with a sexy smirk.

  ‘You haven’t even told me you love me yet!’

  A beat later, I’m sitting at the end of the bed, Keir on his knees in front of me—no, that’s not right. He’s in front of me on one knee.’

  ‘Paisley,’ he begins. ‘Let me tell you how ardently I covet your body.’ I open my mouth to protest—to tell him I’m still not taking him seriously when he grasps my hand. ‘How ardently I love your heart and your soul. If you’d so me the honour of becoming my wife, I promise to spend the rest of my life making you happy. And making you come.’

  ‘This is not the kind of proposal story we can tell our grandchildren—or your daughter.’

  ‘We’ll keep the good bits to ourselves. Come on, trouble. What do you say? It’s not so hard. Just say yes.’

  Chapter 29

  KEIR

  Of course, she did say yes.

  So it might have taken me crawling up her body, placing kisses as I’d travelled—it might have taken an afternoon of worshiping her pussy while whispering promises of my everlasting love. But none of that was any great hardship. Because this woman. My trouble. She’s everything.

  I don’t think I could put a point or time to it, or tell you the exact instant that I knew I was in love. I’d spent years promising myself I wouldn’t put go through it again—I wasn’t going to risk my heart and my sanity. I kept telling myself I don’t need companionship or sex. Until a chance meeting at a wedding I didn’t even want to attend brought me to this point.

  My own wedding.

  Four days have passed since I proposed to her, my knees against the hard wooden floor, stark bollock naked, and still desperate for her. And I don’t care what she says, it’s an excellent story to tell our grandkids. I can see it now . . .

  Well, it was like this, little Jimmy. Your Grandma was on her knees after the best orgasm of her life, when I looked down at her beautiful pink pussy and I knew—I just knew—that I’d be the luckiest man alive to get be the one to pound it for the rest of her life.

  It’ll be an awkward conversation for the dinner table, sure, but one they won’t forget. I only hope I don’t live long enough to lose the memory of her smile to dementia—her smile as she’d watched me open the tiny velvet box to her ring. Yep, I’d bought it before our flight and had it couriered to the hotel. And it wasn’t a last-minute panic buy, but something I saw and just knew she’d love . . . if I could only get her to take me seriously.

  It’s Art Deco in style, to remind her of the Claridge’s and our first night. Sapphires for the colour of her eyes. A teardrop shaped diamond of several carats, that reminded me of a certain part of her anatomy. Or rather, two shapes of her anatomy.

  ‘What’s the smile for? Will suddenly appears in front of me, dressed in a white linen shirt and pale pants. Pinned to his chest is the smallest, most pale pink rose I’ve ever seen, and he has another in his hand. ‘Actually, I recognise that kind of look. I’m just not used to seeing it on your face. And on second thoughts, keep it to yourself, whatever depravity you’re imagining, yeah?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I reply. ‘I was just thinking about getting old.’

  ‘What kind of lunatic thinks about losing his hair and getting saggy balls on the day of his wedding,’ he asks, pinning the flower to my chest. Then he slaps both hands against my cheeks.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Sadie says, coming up behind her husband, beaming the widest smile I’ve ever seen her face wear. ‘You look so handsome, Keir. And just wait until you see your gorgeous bride. Oh, and Sorcha, too.’

  Handsome and dressed almost identical to Will. White shirt, pale pants, a pale pink tie, and a waistcoat vest. And pink because Paisley said Sorcha should choose the accents.

  What is it about weddings that makes everyone cry? Sadie’s eyes are glistening and I’m fighting the same effect.

  ‘You did good,’ she tells me. ‘The venue is perfect, Sorcha is on cloud nine, and your bride . . . ’ her words trail off as her eyes begin to further well. ‘She’s beautiful, on the inside as well as out.’

  ‘Like me you mean,’ interjects Will.

  ‘Yes, but not quite so modest,’ Sadie replies, giggling as Will wraps her in his arms. Pulling her back to his chest, he places his hands wide on the slight swelling under her dress.

  What’s in front of me is exactly what I’ve found in Paisley. Love. Acceptance. A place to call home.

  ‘What are you smiling about now?’ Will asks, his tone tinged with humour. ‘You know, they lock people up for grinning into empty space.’

  ‘You’re meant to smile on your wedding day,’ Sadie responds, digging him with her elbow.

  ‘Oh, yes. I forgot. The misery and nagging doesn’t come until much later.’ He makes a yakking motion with his hand, his expression one of extreme mischievousness.

  ‘You know, for a complete dick,’ I tell him, ‘I can’t tell you what it means to have you here.’

  Paisley doesn’t have any family, just Chastity, so she
says. And I’d always considered Sorcha and Agnes as mine, but I’ve come to realise my family is bigger than that and they’ve always been there for me. My family is Mac and Will, and by extension, Sadie, Ella, and their kids. Current and future.

  And my family holds me up and challenges me. Tells me when I’m wrong. Looks out for me when times are tough. And tells me what being invited to my wedding means to them.

  ‘Thanks for the free holiday.’ His chin balanced on his wife’s head, Will shoots me a wink.

  ‘I’d like to say you’re welcome, but I won’t. But thanks for helping us out with the immigration thing.’ Will and his envoy, aka Flynn, have been liaising with the immigration people to try to smooth the issue with Paisley’s currently sticky visa status.

  ‘It’s my pleasure. I think I might need to get myself an assistant as smooth talking as Flynn.’

  ‘Try to poach him and I’ll cut off your balls,’ I retort.

  Because Flynn is invaluable. While I’ve been sunning myself and relaxing for the first time in years, he’s started the ball rolling on our several pronged legal attacks. Firstly, I’m suing Robin Reed and his team for slander—and anything else I can think of. Second, I’m going after a couple of the tabloids. They’re already saying they’ll print a retraction along with an apology for blackening both our names. Time will tell. Third, I’m taking Joe to the cleaners for ruining my deal with the convent. Seems he took them news of my debauched nature himself. He might be laughing now but we’ll see if he’s still happy when I tie him and his deal in legal knots.

  But I’m not thinking about business today.

  ‘Will couldn’t afford to keep him—he certainly couldn’t afford to treat him to vacations in the Seychelles!’ Sadie laughs as she teases Will. ‘Besides, Paisley’s friend—the one with the accent like the queen?’

  ‘Chastity?’

  ‘Yes, that’s her. She might make him unavailable to you both. She’s got this very dangerous looking parasol which she’s already threatened to part Flynn from a certain part of his anatomy. I doubt Will would like to add himself to the castration list. Oh, before I forget.’ She says, stepping free from Will’s embrace, she pushes a cream envelope into my hands.

  ‘How many applications for immigration have been supported by members of the aristocracy?’ I wonder aloud, assuming that’s what she handed me. Before leaving for the Seychelles I’d tasked Flynn and Will with helping me keep Paisley in the country. ‘It must pay to have friends in high places.’

  ‘In high places with low minds,’ Sadie corrects.

  ‘Well,’ I reply, tapping my palm with the envelope. ‘My thanks to the eighty-ninth Lord Travers, then.’

  ‘There haven’t been eighty-nine Lord Travers,’ Will pipes up, slinging his arm around Sadie.

  ‘Just as well,’ Sadie replies. ‘The world couldn’t take that many. Come on, Doctor P,’ she adds, which is a name that makes no sense to me—and I know better than to ask. ‘You go and protect Flynn from the perils of an angry lady with a pointy umbrella, while I get cuddles from Louis and Juno.’

  As the pair walk away, I open the envelope in my hand, expecting to find some affidavit or paperwork relating to Paisley’s visa. Instead, I find a note in a feminine hand. It’s not a penmanship I recognise, but one I know, given time, I will. There’s much we don’t know about each other, but we’ve a lifetime to learn it all. And I look forward to every moment of it.

  Darling Kier,

  If you were a woman, they’d say you are a nurturer. And I suppose my love would make me a lesbian. (lol jks) I just wanted to say, thank you for taking me into your stable of nurturing. I see you and I see what you do for those you love.

  I just wanted to say that this marriage means I get to cherish you, too.

  And in case I forget to tell you later, thank you for loving me, and thank you for taking me into your family.

  All my love, Paisley.

  P.S. I’ll be the one in the knock-out white dress . . . the white dress I can’t wait for you to peel me out of later.

  ‘Fuck me, trouble,’ I whisper to the empty space. ‘You bring me to my fuckin’ knees.’

  After a few deep breaths, and a swift shot of rum, I make my way down to the private beach where we’ve chosen to hold the ceremony. Our friends and family are already there, seated on lace tied chairs. Our aisle is sand and rose petals, our altar a white flower festooned pagoda.

  I take my place beside the smiling celebrant, his hibiscus pink shirt pulled tight across his barrel of a stomach. The sun is setting, bleeding gold into the horizon as the strains of a guitar nearby begins to accompany the soft susurrus of the waves. As I turn, it suddenly occurs to me we haven’t asked anyone to walk my bride to me.

  As Paisley steps onto the beach, I realise I don’t have to worry as she’s holding the hand of my daughter. The two halves of my whole heart.

  White dresses with a simple Grecian air, bare feet and pink painted toenails, matching milkmaid braided hairstyles, woven with tiny white flowers. With each step the golden pair take, my heart swells. Can a heart grow to accommodate more? To adapt? These are questions I’ve asked myself. The answer is in how I feel when I look at her. When I look at my family.

  And then they’re here, standing before me. Everything I’ll ever need but didn’t understand I wanted. I kiss my daughter’s head as she places my bride’s hand in mine. We’re so close, Paisley and I, almost sharing breath. With the proximity, I can’t resist the temptation, so slide my lips against hers in a glancing touch. Because I will never be as full as I am right now.

  New love. New life. New beginning.

  The End

  Thanks so much for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed Keir and Paisley’s story. If you have, and you’d like to check out other characters in the same world, look out for Will and Sadie in the Amazon top 22 performing Easy, or Will and Ella in Single Daddy Scot.

  You can also check out the original Hot Scots crew in One Hot Scot, (Rory & Fin) Two Wrongs, (Dylan & Ivy – Mac’s sister) One Dirty Scot (Kit & Bea) or all three books can be found in a the Hot Scot’s Boxed Set, which also features a wee peek into Natasha’s story, coming up later this year.

  And all books are available in Kindle Unlimited!

  Thanks once again so VERY VERY MUCH for taking the chance on my stories. I’ve you’d care to leave a quick review, that’d be fab <3

  A wee Scots Dictionary

  Auld – “Old” it is often used to refer to old people, such as “ye auld bastard”.

  Aye – Yes

  Bam – Uneducated delinquent

  Bampot – An idiot

  Bairn – A child

  Beasties - Bugs

  Blether – Conversation, often long. “She was bletherin’ on and on”.

  Bide – Where you live. “I bide in Edinburgh.” Can also mean stay, ‘‘bide awhile’’.

  Bonnie – Beautiful, “She’s a bonnie lass”/Excellent. “He’s a bonny striker!”

  Braw – Good

  Burn – A stream

  Boabie – Penis

  Baw/ Baw bag – testicle/testes. A great insult!

  Baw-claws – A man fond of fondling himself. Or another insult!

  Bawheid – Balls + head . . . you do the math!

  Boagin/Boafin/Minging – Dirty/smelly

  Cannae/can’nae – Can’t. “You cannae make it to the pub for pint?”

  Clipe – tell-tale. “You’re a wee clipe, so you are!”

  Crabbit – miserable/bad tempered

  Deid – Dead

  Driech – Wet/miserable weather

  Eejit – Idiot

  Greetin’ - crying

  Hogmanay – New Years Eve.

  Haud yer whest – Be quiet

  Havering – To talk a nonsense.

  Lass - Girl

  Peely-wally – To be pale in colour

  Radge – Crazy.

  Messages – Shopping. Get the messages in = go shopping

  Stoater
– A great thing, as in cool.

  Sweetie-wife – Gossip

  Wee – Small.

  Ye – You.

  Sayings:

  What’s fur ye will no’ pass you by – What’s meant to be will be.

  D’ye think ma heid’s buttoned up the back? – Do you think I’m stupid?

  Givin’ it laldy – To do something with gusto or enthusiasm.

  Go take a running fuck at a donut – Go fuck yourself

  Get tae fuck – Fuck off

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my family. And I did hear you—honest! And keep sending the dick jokes.

  To Natasha Harvey, the Queen of OCD, thanks for listening, OCD-ing, keeping me right, and listening to me panic and flap.*

  To Aimee Bowyer, henceforth to be known as Aimee Boo-yaah! For spotting ALL the holes and not-so-desirable character traits. **

  To hubby, thanks for not getting killed this year. That would’ve been problematic. And to my fuzzy mutt, Mr Sweep, for not snuffing it, too. Twice.

  Seriously, the pair of you need to get a grip. You’re not making my job very easy!

  Thanks to the Lambs for bearing with me, reading, and all that good stuff.

  * Must procure Natasha a crown.

  **Ensure Aimee has a super hero cape.

  About the Author

  Hailing from the North East of England, Donna is a bit of a Bedouin at heart, moving houses and continents more times than she cares to recall.

  When not bashing away at a keyboard, Donna can usually be found with a good book in her hand, hiding from her family and responsibilities.

  She likes her wine and humour dry, her mojitos sweet, and her language salty.