One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  Kai’s hand slides to my butt cheeks. And I push back. And back.

  ‘Breathe,’ he coaxes. ‘Exhale.’

  I do, my spine dipping in the action, my contracted muscles relaxing as he guides me backwards, right onto his wide crown.

  Tantric bum sex this is not. It pinches. It’s not comfortable at all. I resist the temptation to move forward, to exit the . . . exit only . . . entrance. Instead, I push further back as I catch a glimpse of Kai’s reflection, a look so profound; a mixture of agony and ecstasy and quite something else.

  ‘Breathe,’ he rasps again. ‘Fuck, Kate. That’s . . . that’s it.’

  As his lids roll closed I recognise the intensity; the agony, the ecstasy, the awe.

  The discomfort eases as I breach his head. And we still once again.

  I watch his reflection swallow, the sound powerful and restrained. ‘Again, okay?’

  I exhale, and bear down, pushing back further, and a little further still, undone by the catch in his throat. God, I want to do this. Want his fingers to tattoo his desire into my flesh, want his guttural exhales to shake the walls of this room.

  I shudder, reaching the part of me where I feel I can take him no more.

  ‘Okay?’

  I nod a wordless yes, adding, ‘I can’t—can’t anymore.’

  But it seems I can, as he pulls my hips back onto him with a raspy exhale. ‘So fucking amazing.’ I think that’s what he says, this masculine growl of awe as I cry out from the pressure, pressing my nails into my palms. And so much for putting me in charge . . .

  But then it’s over. The sting has gone, replaced by . . . the sensation of fullness. Of being filled. Still and unspeaking, the sound of our breath fills the room, but my heart almost stops as he places his large palm against the base of my spine as he begins to withdraw. The slow drag is more erotic than pain or punishment. Sensual and controlled, almost, unlike the tremble in my legs. He pushes forward again. Same dance, different disco? Each drag is a little longer, each thrust a little deeper still, and as the heel of his palm finds my clitoris, the waves of intensity begin to build.

  I try not to writhe beneath him as I plead to false gods for release, whisper incantations for this feeling of connectedness to never end. Kai’s breathing becomes erratic, his movements a little more rough as he rubs my swollen clit, his fingers now slippery, his words less polished, and for the first time ever, making little sense. Harder now, he fucks me with something like anger or revenge, and perhaps it’s foolish to be part of this, but it’s hard to be anything other than his right now.

  Possession. I’m a means to his end, as I take my pleasure from his.

  Kai’s thoughts are hidden by the black half-moons of his lashes, his jaw is clenched tight. I lift my head and watch our reflections pressed together in this wave as it comes crashing over us, knocking us both around, and almost taking the legs out from under him.

  Kai rights his stance, our gaze now connected in the mirror, our bodies joined by the live wires of electricity pulsing through us in jolts.

  Panting, sweating and sore in more places than just my wrists, I’m conscious of further discomfort as Kai pulls out.

  The sound of the condom being removed from skin, then soft feet padding from the room and quickly returning. I don’t watch—I can barely lift my head.

  ‘You’re always so beautiful. Inti amar.’ Whispered words, kisses in my hair, his body pressed up against mine as he loosens my bonds. He kisses the notches in my spine, sliding his arms around me as he helps me stand. Wordlessly, he wraps me in his arms, and tumbles us both to the bed.

  He lays like a starfish, blinking up into the semi-darkness, the lights from the city below casting shadows across his unreadable face. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, if we’re going to be okay, when he shakes his head as though shaking off flies, a smile bursting across his face.

  Men and anal—seems the rumours are right.

  I want to ask him lots of things, but don’t want this moment to end. Instead, I wrap my arms around him to stop myself from drifting, but sink into sleep anyway

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I sit bolt upright in the bed, the room like a bad dream I’m trying to escape from.

  ‘That’s what I like about you,’ says a familiar voice from deeper in the room. ‘The way you look when you wake.’

  I narrow my eyes in the direction of the voice, trying to get the damn things to focus as I simultaneously sweep the hair from my face and grope for the sheet. The damn thing is out of reach, of course, because Kai’s here. Kai’s here, yay! Giving up, I pull a pillow from behind me and hug it to my chest.

  ‘Don’t tell me, I’ve rendered you mute at last.’

  I hold up one finger, and shake my head, taking the opportunity to look at him. Framed by the bathroom doorway, his seal wet, black hair is pushed back from his face. Caramel skin covers the taut muscles of his arms, chest and back, his face covered in several days’ stubble.

  ‘Not mute,’ I answer. ‘Not awake yet.’

  Securing the towel around his waist, he leans one shoulder against the door architrave. ‘The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak?’

  ‘The flesh is . . . sort of sore.’ His posture stiffens, the smile slipping from his face, and I quickly add, ‘Nothing massive. Just like any other time, really.’ Any other time with Kai, that is. ‘A good sort of ouch. Sort of satisfying.’ His expression changes to sceptical. ‘What? Come on, like you would know. You wouldn’t would, you?’ I can’t imagine Kai being anyone’s bottom. Literally.

  And now he’s back to laughing again. ‘Curiosity killed the cat, habibti.’

  ‘And that’s a very rubbishy non-answer.’ My heart rate picks up, lust or fear? I can’t imagine my heartbreakingly handsome man being anyone’s toy. Despite the fact that I am. Already. Imagining it. ‘Fuck a duck, I’m turning into a massive perv. What the hell will come next?’

  ‘You do know you just said that out loud. Well, sort of mumbling and behind the pillow, perfectly audible still.’

  My eyes narrow at his non-answer again.

  ‘Obviously, I have hitherto unknown depths.’ His sarcasm rings around the room as he leaves the door, stalking into the room. Like a big cat. And I’m the flighty gazelle. I certainly feel flighty. Jittery and all kinds of nervous as he sits on the edge of the bed, one knee curled. ‘And I am absolutely depraved, especially when it comes to you.’ My cheeks heat immediately as Kai leans forward to touch his fingers to my cheek, traveling the path of my blush. ‘God, to see your colours flying.’ His tone borders on enthralled. ‘Glad to see I still have that effect on you, despite your having become a massive perv.’

  ‘Takes one to know one.’

  ‘From little acorns.’ He touches a finger to my nose.

  ‘Big freaks grow.’

  ‘Such words.’ His tone arches to match his brow. ‘Haven’t we already been through this?’

  ‘I know. I remember, don’t confuse the how we, you know . . .’ I pull a face, absolutely resisting the urge to whistle.

  ‘Fuck?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Pink cheek alert. ‘Not confuse the how with the why.’

  ‘And why do we fuck, habibti?’

  ‘I dunno, Confucius. Maybe because we’re damned good at it.’

  ‘Well, there is that,’ he says pushing me flat. ‘But also because we’re madly in love.’ Christ on a bike, not only does the man have all the moves, but he also has all the words. ‘And no amount of interference or photographs or threats will change that.’

  Oh shit, I’d almost forgotten about that.

  ‘How did you get it—the photograph?’ I’m certain Rashid told him about seeing Essam, but the picture itself?

  ‘From him. He sent it to me.’

  ‘An accident?’ Or why else bother with the blackmail threats. Kai shrugs, unconcerned. ‘But what if he—’

  ‘He won’t be doing anything. Essam has gone into rehab this morning.’

&nbs
p; ‘What?’ My exclamation is little more than a puff of air. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘Let’s call it an intervention. I’ve also arranged to have his house and offices swept for electronics. Hard drives, devices—everything. By this afternoon, there will be no trace of any photographs, either here or with your Australian friend.’

  Shane. ‘He’s no friend of mine. I wouldn’t pee on him if he was on fire.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘But, did you arrange to have him kidnapped or something?’ Whatever the fuck! I don’t like Essam—scratch that—what I have for him is more than contempt, but to, to . . .

  ‘Such a vivid imagination. The man’s an addict. In my experience, they make little sense.’

  ‘A coke head?’ I thought I saw a bit of booger sugar on his face the day of his drive by.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s gone a little further than that.’

  ‘But when he gets out—’

  ‘He’s gone to a clinic in Arizona, one that looks like a spa, I might add, not Alcatraz. And when he comes home, let’s just hope he’s a little more reasonable. Failing that, there’s always special projects,’ he adds in a meaningful tone.

  ‘Such as?’

  Kai seems to consider the option for a moment before answering. ‘I’d probably send him so far away he wouldn’t be able to cause any kind of trouble.’

  ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ I tilt my head up, rewarded by a small kiss.

  ‘And I you.’ His hands on my shoulders restrain me from deepening the kiss. Morning breath, maybe? ‘You should shower. We need to get back to your parents.’

  ‘Christ, the olds!’ How could I forget them? ‘What are we going to look like, rolling in in yesterday’s creased clothes!’

  ‘Well, we are adults. And married, so perhaps those shouldn’t be your primary concerns,’ he says in a voice that sounds oh so reasonable.

  ‘Oh. Yeah.’ I frown, my gaze quick to move back to him. ‘I told you they make me regress to a stroppy teen.’

  ‘You did,’ he replies wryly.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just let you answer all their nosey bloody questions.’ One brow rises like a question mark. ‘You wouldn’t!’ I scoff.

  ‘One look at us, and I’m sure we wouldn’t need any words.’

  ‘Because I look rode hard and put away wet?’

  ‘Sounds like your perfect evening.’ He stretches back against the pillows, bringing me with him. ‘But for now, clothes.’

  He points to a large gilt-inlaid chest at the far side of the room, filled with bags from a local sports shop.

  ‘Are we going to the gym? Because I really don’t think I’ll be up for that visit you talked about.’ The one where he promised to show me how to use the sit-up bench for other things.

  ‘No,’ he says, pulling me further into his chest. ‘I’ve missed you, strange girl.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I think, though not so much in that tone.

  ‘We’re going home looking like we’ve been to the gym. Or personal trainer. Or a run, whatever you think best protects your modesty.’

  And after a few more cuddles, and a shower, and a quick fumble in the shower, and a quick pashing session, we head home.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘Where did you say you were from, Geoff?’

  I think whoever thought a pre-wedding-cum-engagement-cocktail party as a sensible idea needs to be shot. We’re at Mishael’s house, the day after making up from Essam’s attempt at breaking us up, and it’s filled to the brim with people. A small orchestra plays on the patio, the soft strains of Cole Porter drifting in through the open doors, as unobtrusive catering staff in starched white shirts serve tiny morsels from silver platters, from a kitchen holding enough food to feed the population of Luxembourg.

  I barely know anyone here; this is the Khalfan machine in action. Oh, the schmooze! I know Phillippe, the wedding co-ordinator, who’s currently taking a break from fluttering around the room like a butterfly; I know Niamh and Rob, or as I’ve taken to calling them, the dark mistress and her subpar-sub. Who nearly chokes on a pair of knickers, for feck’s sake? And my parents, of course. And Kai. Mishael. Oh, and supposedly Faris, who’s been called to work last minute, apparently. My arse. I haven’t seen the man at all since we returned from Australia.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Sorry. Did you say something?’ Geoff’s meaty neck flushes pink from collar to cheek as Phillippe leans in between us.

  ‘No, silly.’ He’s all fluttery lashes as he touches his fingers to Geoff’s hand. ‘I did.’

  Phillippe, as camp as Christmas and playing up to the stereotype, has singled poor Geoff out as virgin meat to torment. From his uncomfortably fastened tie, to the way the chilli crab has made him sweat like a fat kid in a bakery, he is seriously out of his element. And as well as being seriously straight—kinky or not—he’s also extremely straight-laced. On the surface, anyway. I’m not going there. Stop. Stop. Brain must not go there. Straight-laced and exuding hetro, the obvious choice to provide Phillippe with the most fun.

  ‘We live in Brisbane, but Geoff’s from Victoria originally.’ Mum supplies this from across the table, where she and Mishael are talking roses, oblivious to Geoff’s flushed skin.

  ‘The last time I was in Victoria was years ago.’ Phillippe’s reply is airy as he reaches for his glass. ‘I don’t think I’ve entered another woman since. I can’t think why,’ he adds with a wink.

  One warning glance from Mishael, and it doesn’t take him long to move onto other masculine quarry, namely Rob, Niamh’s date for the night. Despite being teeteringly tall in these killer shoes; black, pointed toes, needle-like heels, Rob has so far this evening refused to look me in the eye. I think it’s embarrassment, rather than a sub thing. Can’t imagine Niamh’s told him he’s not allowed to look at me. Not even she’s that cruel.

  I straighten the black shantung silk over my thighs, wondering if I should’ve dug out spanx. I’m channelling Holly Golightly tonight, my dress erring just on the right side of indecent in terms of décolletage, and my messy up-do more along the lines of Holly after a rough night.

  ‘I see the master and madam Cyn are in top form tonight.’ The dark mistress herself sidles up beside me as I move from the table, stage whispering in my ear. She slides a glass into my hand.

  ‘Don’t say that. Someone might hear you,’ I hiss.

  ‘Glad to have himself back?’ She tilts her own glass to Kai, now chatting to an older man across the room.

  ‘So freakin’ glad.’ I try, and fail, to hide my smile, flashes of earlier filling my mind. Kai’s kisses and torment as I’d tried to dress; remembering the teasing bite marks he left against tender flesh.

  ‘I can see. You’re all glowy and stuff. Somebody’s been gettin’ some,’ she whisper-sings.

  ‘See, some of us don’t have to tie a man to her bedpost to get him to stay.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t have to tie him, Kitty.’ She smiles like the cat that got the cream. And licked that bowl clean. ‘I just have to tell him to stay, and he does . . . if he knows what’s good for him.’ Her gaze slides to Rob, and as though sensing its weight, he looks up. All one hundred plus kilos of the man starts to blush.

  ‘Wipe the smile off your face, you dirty whore.’

  ‘Takes one to know one.’ She moves her smile and attention back. ‘You gettin’ plenty cranberry?’ she asks with one curled brow.

  ‘Is that what we’re calling it now? Yeah, sure, plenty cranberry, thanks.’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  ‘It’s these heels!’

  Honestly, her and her assumptions of my odd gait. Yes, Kai happens to be packing, but it’s these shoes, I tell you!

  At the mention of her cure for sex with the well-endowed, my gaze slides again to Kai. His long fingers wrap around the rim of his whiskey glass as he brings it to his mouth, smiling politely at something being discussed. I watch him longer than is strictly necessary, or polite, but
I can’t seem to move my gaze away. He’s just so handsome; all lean angles and elegantly posed as he stands there. I love seeing him in suits, almost as much as I like stripping him out of them. Who knew suit porn was an actual thing.

  ‘Yes, I get it. Everyone in the room does—you licked it, so it’s yours.’ Niamh waves her hand in front of my face. ‘He put a ring on it, or you put your ring on it.’

  The glass I’ve just raised to my lips almost clashes with my teeth.

  ‘Ow! Nee-ve!’ I draw out her name in reprimand, even if it is a bit of a ploy. Good job she doesn’t know how true that is. Ring, hah!

  ‘Whatever. Stop looking at the bloke like you wanna hump his leg, especially his middle one.’

  ‘Hmm?’ I don’t really hear as Kai’s gaze lifts and he sends me a sly smile, almost as though he can read my thoughts, because I totally was imagining humping his middle leg. My gaze drops to his feet, unable to hold his any longer, not without risking throwing myself at him, at least.

  ‘Earth to Kitty. Leave the man alone for five feckin’ minutes, would ‘ya!’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind five minutes. ‘Scuse me.’ I reach into the top of my dress, pulling my vibrating phone from my bra. ‘What? Can you see a pocket in this dress?’

  ‘I can see just about everything else.’ Niamh snorts.

  ‘Can’t. I’ve already done the jiggle dance. Kai said I’m good.’

  ‘I don’t even have words for that,’ she says, mouth now pursed like a cat’s bum.

  Ignoring her expression, I swipe my phone.

  Those shoes. Don’t take them off when we get home, reads my text.

  I’m so getting some!

  Any particular reason, oh husband of mine? I type back.

  Kai response comes in a series of rapid texts:

  Wear come fuck me heels.

  And you will.

  Come

  As I fuck you.

  To be more precise, I’m going to bend you over the table in the hall. Fuck you solidly.

  The shoes help with our height difference.

  ‘Honestly, I might as well be talking to my arse as having a conversation with you.’ Niamh adds a strong harrumph for emphasis.