One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  Kai turns as I hesitate.

  ‘Wait.’ I hold up my hand at an additional, risen thought. ‘What is it you actually do?’ His brows pull together, his eyes intent on mine, slipping to my mouth and back again super quick. ‘For work, I mean. Are you . . . do you work at the school?’

  His eyes light with understanding. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ he answers without missing a beat. ‘Corporate. I didn’t like to correct you in front of your friend the other day.’

  Breathing again, I follow him in.

  He drops the key-card to a nearby table, shrugging off his jacket as I wander into the room. I wonder if there’s a protocol I should be following, rather than feeling like the late-comer to an aerobics class, a beat behind where I should be and blundering through the steps. I’m drawn to the doors leading to a terrace, the expanse of glass framing a view of the Burj al Arab as it shines in the distance like a garish sail in the night sky.

  I wrap my arms around my torso for support, or maybe to stop myself from reaching out.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘The view, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he agrees lowering himself into a chair. ‘Stunning.’ But it’s me he’s staring at, eyes burning with an intensity that somehow echoes my dream. I touch my lip, recalling how I’d bitten it and wonder if he can hear the beat of my heart. God, I want him. Want to throw myself at him, kiss his pillow-soft lips. Instead, I force myself to turn back to the view.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Just a touch of déjà vu.’ I address the pane of glass, afraid he might see the erotic slideshow playing in my head. With a deep inhale, I turn to face him, smiling in what I hope is an enigmatic way. Who am I kidding? I’m probably drooling like a loon.

  ‘I’m sure I would have remembered if you’d been here before.’ His words are low and loaded as he almost lounges in the chair. One foot propped on the opposite knee, he radiates a kind of dark-eyed confidence. With a sudden disconcertion, I begin to wonder at which point I became an obvious lay. In the classroom? Outside just now? I can’t imagine he gets many rejections.

  He stands with a languid sort of grace, holding out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

  A tiny jolt of panic bursts in my chest and I begin to stammer some kind of justification for no.

  ‘You really don’t think much of me, do you?’ Amusement colours his face as surely as embarrassment shades mine. ‘Shall we . . . have that drink?’ He laughs quietly, indicating an oriental looking chest set against the wall, cluttered with bottles.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I say with a casual shrug, though I’m kidding no one. Skin burning, I push my hair behind my ears and follow behind, glad that the soft lighting will hide the depth of my blush.

  ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer coffee? You know, you’re no good to me absolutely drunk.’

  I stop in my tracks, hand suspended mid-air.

  ‘I’m joking,’ he says with a soft chuckle, his hands now warm on my shoulders. He stares down at me, eyes twinkling with mirth, even as his mouth maintains a serious line. ‘Wine, definitely. Drink certainly makes you more . . . cooperative.’

  ‘Is that your seduction plan?’ My voice sounds quite strangled as his hands burn my shoulders. Maybe he’s going to kiss me. Instead, his hands slide away as he turns to the chest holding the drinks.

  ‘Do you think I need one?’ His tone is even as he lifts a wine bottle in question.

  I nod my head to the drink. The first question goes unanswered, but I think we both know. Any more questions like these and I’ll snap the bottle from his hand and chug it from the neck.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I counter, playing dumb.

  ‘Do you need seducing?’

  ‘Are you always this direct?’ I use my serious teacher’s voice, not that it seems to have any effect as he addresses the bottles.

  ‘Usually. And in the quest for full disclosure, I have a confession to make.’ He pours the blood red liquid into the bowl of a glass. ‘I am a lawyer, but it’s not quite that simple.’ His face is unreadable as he places the glass in my hand.

  ‘Oh,’ I reply, disconcerted for the second time in as many minutes. I’m an assuming ass. Awesome. Of course, I have an idea where this is leading and my stomach tightens unpleasantly.

  ‘The school, Al Mishael, belongs to my family, more specifically my mother. It’s named for her. I was on my way to a meeting with the principal on her behalf when I saw you in your classroom. Quite an event in an otherwise dull day.’ The corner of his mouth quirks, rendering him further all kinds of sexy.

  But, crap. I am in my boss’s hotel suite. Casting couch, anyone? We each raise a glass to our lips, Kai pausing. Naturally, I take a large gulp.

  ‘Strictly speaking, you shouldn’t be here on so many levels. But I’m glad that you are. You and that ladder . . . ’ With a small shake of his head, he fixes his gaze on the glass as he turns the stem. ‘Drink. Please,’ he says, eyes returning to mine. ‘Then maybe say something.’

  I take another sip, then raise the glass again for a larger swallow, trying to arrange my thoughts and features behind the bowl.

  ‘My being here could get you into trouble?’ It wasn’t something that had occurred to me, more the other way around.

  ‘It could be complicated for me, certainly. I’m on the board and you are an employee, a new employee.’ Placing his barely touched drink back on the cabinet, he steps toward me, taking the glass from my passive hand. ‘There are other things to consider, but as for trouble, it’s a little too late now.’

  Heat fills his gaze as he brushes a wayward lock of hair from my face. My breath hitches and for a moment I forget to exhale. When my breath finally hits the air, I know I won’t weigh up the consequences of what’s to follow. I’ll allow myself this moment. For once in my life, I’m going to do what I want, do who I desperately want. I’ll leave sensible Kate in the distance and regrets for tomorrow morning. When I roll out of his bed.

  ‘Thank fuck for wobbling ladders.’ Kai’s voice is low and throaty as he slides one hand into my hair, eyes briefly resting on my mouth. My lips are parched and tingling and my tongue darts out to wet the bottom one, wordlessly willing him to close the space. As his thumb barely brushes the moisture away, I almost levitate closer.

  ‘Though, if I remember rightly,’ he murmurs, pinning me with his dark, dilated gaze, ‘all I really wanted to do was place my teeth here.’

  His free hand glides past the side of my breast without really touching, nipples tightening instinctively. He cups my behind, pulling me in and my body rocks into him, desperate to feel the length of him against me, the drag of his lips.

  ‘You’re so very pretty,’ he whispers, pressing his mouth against mine in invitation. I take it, leaning into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His lips are soft and unfamiliar and amazing as he opens wider, deepening the kiss, the taste of wine registering on my tongue. Both touch and taste are so unravelling, I tighten my arms, almost curling into him.

  Small, exploratory kisses become deeper and wetter. I moan into his mouth. Everything becomes frantic for a moment—teeth and lips dragging until he moves me backwards, resting me against a high-backed sofa. My breathing is ragged as he runs his hands down my arms, pressing his body against mine once more.

  ‘Let’s slow down.’ His words are whispered into the skin of my neck, their echo and following tongue starting fires everywhere—intimate places, suddenly burning with need. How about getting me there faster instead, the need screams

  But then his mouth moves over my neck, alternating between kisses, flicking tongue and grazing teeth. I curl my hands against the sofa edge, holding onto the moment, pursing my lips to silence a trembling moan as his mouth finds mine again. He kisses my bottom lip, taking it into his own and holding it.

  If the frontal cortex is responsible for decision making, maybe my bottom lip is its cut off switch. I can’t process what he’s doing or how silly this might lo
ok as he bites, gently at first, testing my reactions, increasing the pressure with synchronicity to my sighs. The pressure resonates lower—I’m turned on and shocked, my breath now a small, quivering thing. As he releases my lip, the blood rushes back into the flesh with a subtle sting. I don’t have a chance to reflect on his action— my reactions—as his full, flat tongue then licks it.

  ‘So fucking pretty,’ he growls.

  It’s almost as though the growl resonates between my legs.

  One hand comes to rest beneath my dress, fingers resting just above my knee. He watches my face with an expression so serious, almost as though waiting for interruption, trailing them upwards to the triangle of fabric between my thighs. I offer no objections as his finger brushes lightly, pressing a damp crease in the fabric. Closing my eyes, my body begins to tremble as his finger moves slow and rhythmically.

  ‘Relax,’ he whispers, moving to loosen the buttons of my dress. His fingers work quickly from bottom to top until it hangs open, his hands spanning my waist. I stand half exposed, dress hanging open at my sides, thinking I could melt under his gaze, be reduced to a puddle of need at his feet. With a devilish smile, he slides the dress from my shoulders where it pools, forgotten, on the floor. ‘I knew you weren’t so conservative.’

  Blinking heavily, I glance down at my underwear: my black lace push up bra and undies are sheer and almost transparent. I send a silent thanks to the knicker-drawer fairy for ensuring decent, if not matching, underwear were at the top of the pile this morning. Because, really, it could’ve been much worse. Never mind about clean knickers in the case of an accident. I’ll never wear old nana knickers again.

  ‘Little secret for you,’ he whispers. ‘Your shoes were your tell.’ His mouth curls between small, nipping kisses, his hands still circling my waist. ‘They scream sex.’

  I thought they screamed short, but that works for me. I’m hardly covered, barely touched, and absolutely on edge, but the fact that he’s mentioned shoes again, doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Pulling back, his mouth is wet and a little swollen, and if my lips are any indication, I expect tingling, too. His eyes travel the length of my body, linger on my feet and slide back up my legs.

  ‘I think I’m going to leave them on, but otherwise strip you.’ His hand suddenly cups between my thighs, his gaze back on my face. ‘Then I’m going to fuck you. Tell me you want that, too.’

  Oh, god, yes. I’m hot, my every nerve ending tingling in anticipation. I ache to be filled. Leaning forward to kiss him my answer, he stills me with a finger at my chest before my lips have the chance to meet his.

  ‘I want to hear.’ An eyebrow rises to match his intonation and while he doesn’t smile, it’s there, hovering in suggestion. How is it he senses my discomfort? And no one asks this sort of thing outside of books and maybe, movies. Hasn’t anyone ever told him that? All of a sudden, I can’t for the life of me think why as I raise my eyes to his. Burning, flecked with amber and gold, they demand say it and I dare you and tell me you want to fuck.

  I don’t so much answer as sigh, the flush of arousal and discomfort branding my chest. ‘I want,’ I whisper, taking his hand and pressing it harder between my legs, ‘you . . . here.’

  His nonsmile widens and my hand falls away, my eyes rolling closed as I melt into his fingers, my words echoing in my ears. All too quickly, he moves, turning me until I’m facing the sofa. What? I’ll admit I’m a little shocked, my spine stiffening. Is this how the cool kids do it these days? The straps of my bra move down my arms, his lips at my shoulder. At this point, I lose all train of thought.

  Fingertips brush my ribs, his hands slipping around to my breasts, the hard press of him behind as startling as his teeth on my neck. I make a small sound, just a whimper, and hear it deepen into a libidinous moan as his teeth bear down into a tantalising bite. The sensation echoes a lower ache as I raise a hand to the back of his head pulling him toward me, desperate to repeat the feeling, almost bucking against him in need. His low chuckle reverberates through my insides, hands now on my waist as he turns me to face him once again. I don’t mind admitting, my relief is immediate. If I’m going to do this, I want to look at him.

  Placing my hands against the back of the sofa, he murmurs, ‘Don’t let go.’

  Three words, commanding and caressing in equal measure, desire spiking in my veins.

  His thumbs stroke my peaked nipples before he bends to run the point of his tongue across each in turn. It’s so hot seeing him lick me, his body bent in an elegant arch, accentuating our size differences, making me feel incredibly fragile. Dainty. Through thick lashes, his gaze crawls up my chest to my own. I close my eyes and I whimper as his tongue continues to swirl.

  ‘Keep them open, I like that you’ll watch.’

  Oh, god . . .

  Fingers touch and tease where his mouth is lacking, hurting almost, and heightening the need between my legs. Fevered sensations swell through my skin; I want to reach out, run my nails across his spine, share the perfect agony, but somehow his words and manner keep me in place. Not that I’m quiet as he increases his focus, his mouth hungry against such a sensitive place.

  ‘Please!’ I cry out.

  In one fluid motion, he drops to his knees.

  Panting, I become aware, as I stare down at him, that he’s still fully clothed while I am wearing nothing but knickers and heels. Not the usual show me yours followed by a reciprocation. I’m almost naked in front of a hot man. On his knees.

  His ravenous gaze makes me feel wanton, provocative, and brave. I part my legs a little as he hooks his fingers into the elastic at my hips, pulling my underwear down to my knees. Sitting back on his heels, he appraises me through hooded eyes and long, dark lashes, his breath a soft caress. It all feels so good—his eyes, his breath, his watching me.

  I close my eyes and let the sensations flow through my body . . . then I remember my hiatus from waxing. How mortifying; my nether regions haven’t felt the tear of wax in months. Wasn’t Barbie-bare the new thing? Though trimmed, I probably look like a cavewoman in comparison and begin to stammer, attempting to close my legs.

  ‘Shh,’ he murmurs, hands firmly on my hips. ‘It’s a little retro, but so very . . . blonde. What begins as a teasing admonishment sounds more like appreciation, almost a groan.

  My embarrassing train of thought is no more.

  As he leans forward, brushing his nose against me, I’m surprised my legs are still supporting me at all. I’m bound by my underwear, my arms have slid across the sofa and my chest is thrust out. Shackled by my own longing, feelings coalesce and consume: I feel vulnerable, erotic, indecent . . . a confusing mixture of thrill and disgrace. I fight the deep-seated instinct to squirm under his gaze as he deftly pulls the scrap of cloth the rest of the way down my legs. Catching one foot, he widens my stance and I whimper as he parts me, stroking a finger along my slick ribbon of flesh. Barely a touch, his finger moves backwards and forwards, igniting every nerve ending. My legs tremble and I close my eyes again, pressing my lips together in some pretence of control, gasping as he bares my clit. I cry out and arch my back at the sudden invasion, his fingers lowering before pushing inside.

  ‘Wet,’ I think he says, though the sound is more of a masculine groan. It’s almost as though the evidence of my arousal is some source of awe. His fingers drive in deeper, repeating again and again as his eyes watch my face, moving to where his fingers work me and back again. ‘Such sweet lips. I don’t know which I want to kiss most.’

  My brain breaks right there. Misfiring synapses interrupting service. His words are so arousing. Aural sex; unfamiliar but so very effective, vindicated by the pulsing between my legs. Driven by instinct, and an increasing need, my body moves in rhythm with his fingers, hips thrusting and matching his pace.

  As he places both hands against my hips, I actually groan—unhappily—before making a whole series of different noises when his hands slide around to my arse, pulling me toward him. Toward his face
. His tongue strokes my swollen flesh, opening me. Licking and sucking. Devouring.

  He moans, and as I’d imagined, the sound reverberates through my insides, pushing tiny noises from my throat. With a hand behind my knee, he lifts it over his shoulder. My fingers tighten on the sofa back, something hot and sleek rushing through me, his tongue merciless in its assault, flicking and driving circles around and around my swollen clit. I writhe and moan, the sensation explosive as he brushes the inflamed bud with his lightly stubbled chin.

  ‘Oh, please, Kai!’ I rasp, meaning both please stop and don’t you fucking dare as he takes the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sucking and grazing it exquisitely with his teeth.

  The noises I make are raw and needy, my body stiffening, driven over the edge into climax. Imploding, exploding, I arch with my hands at his head, struggling for freedom from his mouth; the feeling is so intense, I almost can’t take it. But Kai doesn’t give me the choice as he continues to hold me, pressuring me with his mouth and coaxing my orgasm further. My flesh is electrified, every nerve ending screaming for release. It seems impossible that I can feel more, but I do as he groans into the very core of me, drawing my orgasm out. I’m frayed. Whimpering. Supported by the back of the sofa and held in place by the man between my legs, I’m torn between it all being too much, and somehow, just right.

  With a last tormenting flick of his tongue, he releases my over-sensitized flesh, sitting back on his heels and lowering my leg.

  ‘The ladder,’ he rasps, his tongue briefly tasting his bottom lip. ‘I’ve been imagining what you’d sound like when you come.’

  I close my eyes, hiding from my wetness glistening on his chin. I’m panting, all jellied legs and heaving chest. The only reply I have is a further series of mewls of pleasure and, I think, lament. I’ve never really listened to myself come and I’m not about to start now. Of course, I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that he’s mentioned it, or thrilled.

  A wet kiss at my navel startles me, his hands cupping my butt as he moves to stand. I’m too blissed out to protest as he lifts me. I cling to him compliantly, though I’m mindful of the sharp point of my heels that I realise I’m still wearing. The only thing I’m wearing.