One Hot Scot

by Donna Alam

  She stumbles and I catch her by the elbows as I hastily stand.

  ‘Bossy. I like it,’ I say, sliding a hand behind my neck to pull off my shirt.

  My smile is as wide as my eagerness right now. Shirt abandoned to the floor somewhere, her eyes are greedy on my ink. At least, until I drop to my knees and push my thumbs into the elastic waistband by her hips. Her eyes turn heavenward as I peel the band slowly; placing gentle kisses against her skin.

  ‘No, I don’t ever think of fucking you in the hallway, or recall the taste of your sweet cunt.’

  She shivers and lets out a little moan; it’s a dirty word they all secretly love. Still, I shouldn’t overdo it; no good letting her know all the things I want to do to her, hence the tightening of my lips against her hip.

  ‘Tell me more.’ Her hands push into my hair, pulling the ends. My mouth comes away from her skin with a slight pop and I’m gratified to see a mark. ‘Tell me it’s not just me.’

  ‘Those fucking tights.’ I shake my head ruefully. My thumbs still under the waistband, I run them around to her back, pulling both leggings and knickers under her cheeks. ‘This arse. What I could do to this arse,’ I say, running my fingers against the crease. Parting her cheeks, her muscles tense.

  ‘M—more than last time?’

  I raise my head slowly. ‘You mean when I covered you in spunk?’ She rolls one corner of her lips inwards, though it doesn’t stop the sound.

  ‘Titch, what did I tell you last time about those noises?’ The noises that make my cock twitch and my balls heat.

  Her lashes almost caress her cheeks as she blinks slowly. ‘But I . . . didn’t say anything.’

  ‘If you want to hear more, you’ve got to stop interrupting.’

  ‘Stop interrupting or . . .’

  ‘Or else I’ve got a really good plan for your arse.’ My eyes fall to her leggings, more specifically, to the soft V between her legs. ‘Now, where was I?’ I say, trailing one hand up her side as I lick the skin just above her pubic bone, reaching up to simultaneously give her nipple a soft tweak.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘You’ve done it now.’ It’s impossible to keep the smile from my voice as I spin her from the waist, pushing her forwards into the soft down of the mattress. Quicker than you can say spunk monkey, I’m up on my feet and pulling off her wellies and dropping them to the floor. And a pair of cashmere socks. Whipping the leggings down and off her legs, I press my body over hers.

  ‘Has anyone ever spanked you, Fin?’ One of my tamer choices for this pert derrière. I brush the hair from her face as she twists her head over her shoulder, her objections stilling under the subtle pressure of my groin against her spine.

  ‘No?’ she replies a little breathlessly, her alarm melting into the mattress.

  Could this be any more perfect right now?

  ‘You don’t sound so sure.’

  ‘N—no. I’ve never been spanked.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ I say, trying not to sound too excited as my hands take stock of her hips, pulling them up from the bed. ‘I think you’ll enjoy it. I know I will.’

  The first slap is just to get her attention, her whole body jolting in my hands.

  The second, on the opposite cheek, carries a little more force and she gasps, her left cheek becoming a little pinker than the right. I raise my hand again, hesitating this time—a pause just to be sure. Is she into this? As she pushes backwards, arching her spine, I have my answer and bring my hand down again.

  ‘Rory, fuck!’

  Again and again; sharp taps and sharper stings, not so much that she’s sore, just mewling and flushed a glorious pink. Arms are stretched out above her head, the duvet is balled in her fists, but just as I think we’re almost done here, I notice the pale slice of skin where her wedding band once lived. I try to ignore it. And fail, raining down my hand once again.

  By about a dozen smacks, she’s wet. So wet her enjoyment begins to coat her thighs. I point it out to her as I run my fingers across her slick pink ribbon of flesh, whispering that she should touch herself while I watch. I grab a couple of condoms from my wallet and strip off the rest of my clothes, because when this fuck is over, we’re going nowhere.

  The sight of her fingers working frantically between her legs is fucking epic and I almost forget why I’m standing here in nothing but latex and my birthday suit. Rousing myself, I place one knee on the bed, spreading hers wider, and as I press the head of my cock against her, she gasps.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I slide back and forth against her slickness, making both our legs weak. Her cheek is pressed against the bed, her eyes open and the colour of polished lapis. Pushing forward, I watch as my cock disappears into her body; a sight like nothing else.

  ‘I wish you could see what I see, titch. Daytime fucking has its definite perks.’ Hands against her hips, I slam into her that last inch, pushing myself to the hilt. Her reaction makes me want to pound her harder, faster. Shame this isn’t what I have planned.

  ‘This. Now this is something I’ll be thinking about again and again.’

  As I pull out almost to the tip, Fin’s eyes roll closed and she lets out the best fucking moan; sweet and desperate, her muscles clenching again as though to stop my retreat. With a snap of my hips, I slam back in, shunting Fin a little way across the bed.

  ‘You’re gonna make me come.’ Quicker than I’d like if she keeps on with the noises and internal gymnastics. ‘Make me come before I’m good and ready.’ I curl my body around hers as I whisper into her ear, sliding my palm down the length of her as I pull back . . . and smack her arse one more time. She yelps and then moans as I immediately slam back inside. ‘And if you do, I won’t be happy.’

  Though, seriously, what man isn’t ecstatic blowing their load?

  I seal my threat with a sucking kiss to the top of her spine.

  Slide out slowly. Rotate. Repeat. One of the best things about doggy is definitely the visual, watching your cock disappear into someone, inch by slow inch. And before that thought is fully formed, I’m pounding into her, again and again, not able to get close enough, and no longer capable of restraint. My hands are so tight on her hips, no doubt there’ll be bruising, but beneath me, Fin’s body responds in time with my own. I can feel the moment it happens, the moment she reaches her peak, her hands almost bloodless amongst the twisted sheets, her body rigid, her arse grinding into me as her muscles taunt and tease.

  I slide my hands under her body for leverage, her nipples hard against my palms, and in that moment, my thoughts are no longer sentient as need hits me like the sudden whip of a lash. I want to devour every soft inch of her; possess her body and mark it as mine. My movements are wild and frantic as I push inside her—deeper, harder—her sharp gasps and writhing body only increasing my sense of desperation. Despite my earlier protestations, it’s like I can’t get there quick enough, everything blurs at the edges, my focus drowned out by one thing. This orgasm, now barrelling through me thick and fast.

  Fuck me.

  I place my head against her shoulder as the white noise retreats, the sense of satisfaction almost overwhelming as I feel her pulsing around me. Her breasts are still in my hands, rising and falling with her rapid breath, my heart beating against the skin of her back as I try to catch my own. If I stand, my legs will be a wee bit wobbly; I can admit to myself, at least.

  ‘It was not quite a marathon, but no’ quite a sprint.’ My words are murmured into the soft skin of her neck. ‘And not bad for starters, at least.’ Her answer, when she makes it, makes me grin.

  ‘I take it that’s a reprieve for my ass?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fin

  It’s early morning and still dark as I wake, struck by a strange sense of longing yet a hazy sense of fulfilment. I’m warm, snuggled up in a comfortable bed and feeling pleasantly tangled, both in the physical and mental sense. It’s another day, but as I stir awake, it feels different somehow. I can’t rec
all the last time I’ve woken feeling so . . . content. As I stretch out, the sleepy haze covering me clears and a sense of what the fuck prevails, because it’s not only the bedding that moves with me, but also an arm settles solidly around my waist. A moment later the arm hauls me—and there’s no other word for it—against a warm, solid chest.

  And I suddenly remember I’m not alone in this bed.

  Oh, fuck. I’m not even in my own bed; the comfort factor should’ve been my first clue.

  Rory. Hell’s bells. Do I have no restraint when it comes to this man?

  The man in question rolls us both, pulling me until almost the entirety of my body is either against his chest or between his legs. And I’m not the only one that’s rigid, though in my case, I literally can’t move. Shocked, yes, but I couldn’t move if I tried, squashed tightly against an expanse of muscle and rock hard morning wood. Then wrapped like a mummy in strong arms, though barely any sheet.

  Echoes of yesterday begin to flit through my mind. And in between my legs. In the kitchen of the big house; here in this bed. I’m surprised I’m not in bits. But the whole situation is disturbing in so many other ways.

  Firstly, I’ve slept right through the night. Something I’m still only managing with the aid of sedatives. And I’ve slept a whole night without registering his presence—and I’m the lightest of sleepers, usually. And third, I’m not a cuddler, so why is it I’m wrapped around him like a pastry blanket around a pig?

  God, the situation is so surreal.

  Yes, so the minute I saw him on the beach, it probably meant I was going to fuck him. Again. I hadn’t meant to. Okay, I probably had, but I hadn’t planned on staying, going as far as to plan my exit around the early morning tide times, even if this meant I’d sort of be leaving him in my place. Wouldn’t I?

  Stupid waking fail.

  Tentatively, I move my arms slowly, pushing up onto one palm and one forearm either side of his waist. The bed dips a little and I freeze. Not that I’m trying to creep out—I don’t think—especially as it looks like I’ll be seeing him again.

  Okay, so maybe I won’t be seeing as much of him as I am right now.

  What I mean is, I guess I’ll be seeing more of him fully clothed.

  Working.

  Not that seeing him right now isn’t good.

  In fact, there’s an awful lot of goodness to see.

  From my precarious position, my eyes track up his body, not quite reaching as far as planned. Blame his stomach, not mine; the fact that he’s all hard ridges and muscles, and that his chest is impossibly firm. I know I shouldn’t let my gaze venture further down . . .

  None of these observations are new, all being discovered by both sight and clutching fingertips, but seeing the splendour all over again is a bit like Christmas in July. A wonderfully abundant second chance.

  He has a total gym god bod. As well as the appropriate muscle mass, he has that light golden tan those gym worshippers all seem to sport, only his body has more colour by way of a tattoo gun. Black and red images swirl up both arms and one shoulder; a great deal of it Día de Muertos designs; skulls and luxurious haired women, swirling ribbon and flowers, from what I can tell. It’s sort of mad, yet beautiful at the same time.

  My original intention sidelined, my gaze makes a snail’s progression to his face as I take mental snapshots of this canvas, while delighting in sensory memories of last night. Of he and I.

  Cursive script curls around his neck and shoulder, winding around to his back. Even craning my neck, his position is such that I can’t quite tell what it says. Though I’m more than curious. His hair is dishevelled just enough for a photo shoot, his sharp jaw covered in a sandy stubble heavier than last night, and his cool grey eyes are open—open!

  ‘Oh, f—fudge.’

  He doesn’t look fully awake, now rubbing the back of one hand across his brow while his other grabs a handful of the ass that it’s resting on. That would be my ass. His mouth opens suddenly, flashing a set of white teeth as he makes a noise someplace between a growl and a yawn as his lower body pushes upwards against me.

  ‘Mornin’, titch.’ His voice, thick with sleep and disuse, rumbles against me; warm morning wood twitching against my skin. Maybe less like a pig in blanket and more like a baseball bat.

  And, holy shit, fully hard, I mean, awake now.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ I’m reminded of my position; I may be plastered against him, but I’m also in a sort of half push-up position. ‘Or are you thinking of getting on again?’

  ‘Getting it on again?’ I repeat, engaging in a brain-to-mouth function fail.

  ‘Getting on it.’ His gaze flicks down, my own following, my next words addressed to his dick.

  ‘I really don’t think I can.’ Regretful, much?

  ‘Aye?’ My gaze tracks back up his body to where one eyebrow quirks. ‘Why is that, then?’

  Is there a polite way of citing overuse? I open my mouth, think better of it, closing it again, opting instead to come down from my push up position, leaning awkwardly on my forearm instead. So, not intentional—no, really—but somehow I’ve ended up almost eye to, erm, eye with not-so-little-Rory.

  ‘Option three it is then?’

  ‘B—but you can’t possibly be hard?’ I stutter incredulously. We had a lot of sex last night. A loooot of sex. And though I have slept, prior to that revelation, it seemed as though only moments would pass before one of us would reach out to the other during our drowsing and the heat between us would flare again. How on earth can he be ready again?

  ‘Tell him that.’ My eyes follow the low path of Rory’s gaze and he exhales a sultry chuckle. My insides flip, as does the notion of being unable to go another round.

  ‘You couldn’t possibly.’ Could you? ‘I don’t think I even can.’ Even as I say this, my gaze flicks once more between his face and . . . well, you know . . .

  ‘No?’ he purrs, one finger lifting my chin, making me pink in the face. ‘I know he’s an eyeful, but pay attention.’ Again with the smirk! ‘How about . . . I make it nice. Real sweet.’

  Along with my resistance, I feel the marrow in my bones melt. It’s not that I think he really means it, because he hardly went easy all night, which suited me surprisingly well. What turns me to goo is that he wants me still. Even if it is just for my body and just for now. And just for the record, I’m also good with this. And that satin sleek length protruding between us? That’s because of me. And all for me. It’s just a case of channelling the little red engine, isn’t it? I think I can, therefore I’m good to go again?

  At this rate, my channel will end up a little red, anyway.

  I think my dignity must’ve gone on vacation overnight.

  ‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, sliding both hands under my arms to pull me upwards against him. Almost face to face now, my eyes flutter closed as I anticipate the feeling of his lips against mine, opening suddenly as he flips us both.

  ‘Oh!’

  Pushing me against the pillows, Rory begins sliding downwards; placing soft kisses against my skin.

  ‘Oh—don’t. I mean—’ Ohh, yesss. ‘But, no. I—’ Oh my God, if he’s heading where I think he is—surely not after last night. Marcus would only go . . . down if I’d recently showered and never after sex.

  ‘Shh,’ he whispers, taking my nipple between his lips and sucking softly before, sure enough, moving further south. As he settles himself between my legs, he holds his palms against my thighs, spreading my conflicted legs wider, his wicked gaze rolling up my body to meet my own. ‘I’ll kiss it all better.’ His tone is laced with husk and honey. ‘I promise.’

  ‘But I’m all—’

  My words halt immediately as the point of his tongue delicately grazes my clit. I’m down. Oh, I’m definitely down for that now.

  ‘What was that, darlin’?’

  I moan loudly as his tongue flicks out again; curling my fists under the pillow, I fight my body’s urge to push up into his face.

 
‘Yeah, I thought that’s what you’d said.’

  Even as my mind tells me that this surely can’t be pleasant for him, my hips rise of their own accord to meet the breath he blows across my centre.

  ‘Anybody ever tell you you’ve a very pretty pussy, Fin?’

  My heart pounds.

  At how he’s addressing that part of my anatomy.

  At the flash of memory those words bring.

  At the thoughts of the secrets I’m not sharing.

  But as his tongue flicks out, simultaneously sliding two long fingers inside, all my thoughts turn heavenwards.

  ‘Oh, my fucking god.’ Well, sort of.

  His broad, flat tongue presses harder, his lips fastening over my clit. The feeling is so intense against my sensitive flesh, my hips almost spring from the bed.

  ‘A very pretty pussy. Pink and gorgeous. And wet.’ His words are half growled against my slick flesh as his fingers work slowly in and out. ‘And do you know what this pussy tastes of?’ he asks, swiping the length of me with his tongue.

  ‘Unpleasantness,’ I mumble, folding the corner of the pillow over my face. I think it might have been a rhetorical question as he bites the soft flesh of my inner thigh. ‘Ow!’

  ‘No, this pussy tastes of you. And of me. Of last night. Of fucking.’

  I moan again at the rawness of his tone, the noise taking on an edge as his fingers slip away, replaced by the hot press of his mouth. He kisses me as he would my mouth; soft lips and sweeping tongue, interspersed with sucks and lengthy licks until there isn’t a thought left inside my head, let alone a protest. His actions are more intense than sweet but more pleasure than pain, and just about perfect. As he begins thrusting his fingers inside me again, my hips almost levitate off the mattress, his tongue working my clit with long licks.

  Fingers sliding and curling.

  Lips and tongue pressing and pulling—and the sounds.

  His growling and sucking.

  Wet fingers.