“Are ye cold?” He pulls the blanket up over us both, and I shake my head.
“I’m not cold. . .I’m. . .”
“Nervous,” he finishes for me.
And I whisper, “Yes.”
“I am, too.” He leans in to kiss my fingers that are folded in his, and my stomach bottoms out. He’s being so friggin’ sweet.
Lachlan shuffles the closest we can get, and his dick pokes my stomach. I chuckle, and he curses as he tries to push it down. “I’m sorry aboot that.”
“You can tuck it in your waistband.” I’ve dated many men who do this when they’re hard; it keeps it from poking out.
“I cannae do that.” He nuzzles our hands.
Anxiously, I gulp, before stammering, “Why. . .why not?”
“Cause ye’ll be able tae see it then,” he notes as if it’s the most normal thing to say, while I’m over here screaming in my head, ‘It’s that big?!’
“Goodnight, my leannan. Sweet dreams.” He tenderly kisses my fingers.
“Good. . .goodnight, Lachlan.”
Thank you, Lord, for bringing this beautifully broken man into my life, but please grant me the patience and control not to do something naughty in my sleep. Amen.
“Lachlan, no more oatmeal. This tastes like a dung beetle's butt.” I take a drink of my morning lemonade, leering at the congealed oatmeal that Lachlan promised me is good for my health and a great energy booster before a workout. I call it a load of bull honky.
He chuckles, and that warms me as it rinses the bad taste out of my mouth. “How do ye know what a dung beetle’s arse tastes like, my leannan?” He grins challengingly from across the table, crossing those massive arms over his chest while he leans back in his chair. His eyes are alight with humor. I love that look on him. It’s a look I’d like to keep there forever.
I shrug. “I dunno, but if I had to guess. . .That,” I point to my bowl, “is what it might taste like.”
He takes a sip of his morning coffee. “I eat oatmeal every morning before I workout.”
“Then you must like the taste of bug bootie more than I do.” I crack a closed mouth smile. “And. . .I don’t think I want to look like you.”
“Ye dinnae?”
“No. Your arms are the size of my legs.” I look down at my legs, which are clothed in a pair of tight, black yoga pants.
Last night, I’d slept the best I have in forever, and when I woke up, Lachlan was drinking his morning coffee in the kitchen. I was kind of surprised he wasn’t out in the barn working those muscles, or, you know. . .that other horrific thing that we’ve still not fixed.
As soon as I had greeted him, he’d told me that Bonez had called to check in, and when doing so, informed Lachlan that he thought I should start working out to help my leg and overall health. I don’t like the idea for reasons I’ve explained before. Jiggling. . .need I say more?
After a ten minute tug of war, Goliath vs Tiny Female style, I surrendered to two weeks of Lachlan torture. If, in those two weeks, I don’t feel better or like the results, I’m allowed to go back to living a delightful, no workout life. I can’t wait for the two weeks to be over with. Although, I can’t deny that spending more time with Lachlan does sound appealing, even if I am doing it heaving for breath as I sweat my butt off. Not that losing a few inches on my behind would be a bad thing. I’ve got plenty to spare.
“I dinnae want ye tae look like me either.” He leaves the table to put his own bowl and cup in the sink. Then he stops next to me. “Ye done?” He grabs my bowl before I reply, removing the grossness from my sight.
I change the subject. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“All right after my problem went down.”
“You mean your erection?” I tease, and he grumbles, not liking me speaking it aloud.
Bridget opens the basement door, entering the kitchen with a huge smile. “Hey, you two.”
Lachlan kisses her forehead, and she gives him a hug before she moves to me and we hug, too. “Morning.” I pat her back before releasing her. “You sleep well?”
She goes to the fridge and steals the milk. “Yeah. Cas and some chick crashed at Whisky’s last night, so I came home about five.”
“Why does it matter if Cas crashes at Whisky’s? You can still stay there,” I comment.
Bridget walks over to the basement door, milk jug in hand. “I’ll bring this back later.” She descends the stairs, not even bothering to answer my question. I dart my eyes to Lachlan, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter, fixing his post workout shake like he does every day.
“What was that all about?” I ask, thumb pointing to the door.
“Aboot the milk? Or Cas?” He shakes the container, sloshing the liquid and powder inside.
“Cas.”
“Pip used tae be close with Cas’s daughter. Then his daughter started runnin’ in the wrong crowd. Pip kinda lost her best friend, and her connection with Cas at the same time. Like ye know, she’s a caretaker and his daughter’s always been the wild child, kinda like him. So when Pip would stay there, she’d take care of things. Help him with his leg if he needed, do house shit, basically bein’ a part of their family. Then that got blown tae shit and Pip got sad. That’s when Whisky started bringin’ her in tae help more at the bakery.”
That’s sad, and how did I not know this before? Bridget and I talk all the time about her life, yet this was never mentioned.
“How come I know about Tommy, the boy who flirts with her in class, yet, I don’t know about this?” I quirk a brow at Lachlan, and he shrugs, setting his shake in the fridge.
“I dinnae think she wants tae stir old feelings.” He pulls out my chair and grabs my hand, bringing me to my feet. “It’s time tae get ye sweaty.”
It’s not lost on me when Lachlan’s fingers wrap around mine as he escorts me outside, but not before he grabs two bottles of water and tucks them under his arm for our impending workout.
Oh, joy.
“I don’t feel good or numb. Rob Zombie is lying,” I whine as my legs object, burning like hell itself, as I try to get through this final set. Then I’m going to murder Lachlan for bringing me out here and turning me into a sweaty, grunting, jiggly pig.
Lachlan chuckles, grinning as he does bicep curls with giant dumbbells. “Ye’re almost done. Ye’re doin’ great, my leannan,” he coaches, and I desperately want to flip him off, but my hands are tucked under my bottom, flat on the mat so I don’t use them as leverage to do these leg kicks.
“Don’t you, my. . .whatever me. I’m dying here,” I pant loudly, trying to prove my point, and he just grins, knowing he’s won.
“Ten minutes ago yer leg was stiff; now it’s workin’ better and ye’re buildin’ muscle,” he explains like a true gym rat. I sneer at him and shake my head so the sweat beading on my forehead rolls to the sides and into my damp hair. Everywhere on me is damp, so I don’t know why it even matters.
“If I can’t walk tomorrow, I’m telling Cas what you did, right after I tattle on you to Bonez,” I threaten; half seriously, half not. I’m dying here. I know I’m out of shape, except maybe my arms, but my leg is killing me. It hurts so much I want to cry. The muscles on one side have atrophied so much, it’s pathetic.
“That’s fine. Tattle all ye bloody want as long as ye listen tae me, and flip over onto yer stomach, place yer hands above yer head, and stretch while pointin’ yer toes.”
I do all of that, and I groan in satisfaction as the burning in my leg wanes some and the cramp in my back subsides completely.
“Bonez told me how tae work ye.” He’s suddenly kneeling over me, his butt grazing my back as he faces my feet. He lifts my bad leg, stretching it at the hips and moving downward.
“Ah,” I protest when his fingers knead into the soreness. “That hurts.”
“I think we’re done for the day.” Gently, he lays my leg down and helps me up. His shirtless body is glistening with sweat. It’s distracting.
We�
�ve been out here for close to an hour, and he’s been working his upper body since we started. He’s only stopped when he needed to instruct me on how to work my legs. I’ve gotten preoccupied twice watching him move fluidly like he was made to work his muscles that way. Unlike me, who looks ridiculous.
I dust myself off as Lachlan shuts down the music and hands me a bottle of water. Throwing his arm over my shoulder, he kisses my temple, and I peer at him in wonderment.
“Did you just kiss me?”
“Aye.” Quickly, he does it again with a smirk.
“On my sweat?” I make a gross face.
“It’s salty.” He licks his bottom lip, and I stare at his mouth, wanting him to do more than lick there. He notices and adjusts the front of his shorts before escorting me back to the house with his arm still slung over my shoulder, my body bumping his.
Pirate darts outside when Lachlan opens the front door, and I duck out from under his arm. He snatches the back of my shirt, spinning me around. My bottled water drops to the floor as I banish a startled squeak.
“Ye need a shower.” He grips the hem of my shirt and tugs it over my head, throwing it on the floor. I cover my chest with my hands, and he bats them away.
“Wh—what are you doing?” I sputter, trying to back away, as he stalks me like a predator across the living room and into the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, locking it. “Lachlan?” I murmur, bursting with anxiety. He ignores me.
Moving around me, he flips on the water and tests it before turning around and pinning me against the wall. My eyes fly wide, and he grins devilishly before dipping his head and lavishing my neck with his tongue. I groan as he grabs my leg, hooking it around his hip, and his dick pokes me through his shorts.
Dear. . .Oh. . .
His teeth nibble my jaw before his fingers tug my pants and panties down at the same time. My leg drops from his hip as he gently kisses and nibbles his way between my covered breasts and over my stomach. He glances up at me to see me shocked and trembling, wondering if this is a fantasy or real life. Without pause, he drops my bottoms until they’re pooling around my ankles, then he lifts my feet to pull them and my shoes and socks off.
My body catches fire.
“Lachlan.” I find my voice, though it’s husky with need. “What’re you doing?”
“What the bloody hell does it look like I’m doin’? I’m helpin’ ye take a shower,” he admonishes playfully, standing up and reaching around my back to unclasp my bra, which he works in expert time. It falls away to be discarded with the rest of my clothes, leaving me bare once more. I try to cover myself, to gain some dignity. It doesn’t work; he smacks my hands away, again.
“Na,” he commands and takes my hand, leading me to the shower. Where he stops to remove his shoes, then climbs in behind me wearing only his shorts. Shutting the curtain, he then flips the spray. It coats me with a temporary blast of icy water, making me yip, and Lachlan wraps his arms around my naked body, holding me flush to him. Melding us as one.
Resting my chin on his chest, I meet his downcast eyes that are laden with longing. My belly flutters. “You’re taking a shower with shorts on,” I comment.
“And ye’re takin’ a shower naked.” He kisses my forehead.
I playfully smack his bulging chest. “I know that, silly. And you didn’t drink your shake either.”
“I’ll drink it when I’m done washin’ ye.”
He reaches for my coconut body wash and squirts some in his hand, before running it down my back and kneading along the way. I relish in the attention. When he reaches my butt, I blush, but he doesn’t notice when he kneads the soap in there, too, before spreading my cheeks and running a finger between my pussy lips. Wrapping my arms tightly around him, my nails bite into his back as I throttle a moan by pressing my mouth to his chest and biting my cheek.
Brazenly, he touches that magic bundle of nerves and my legs nearly give out.
“Does this feel good?” he breathes heavily, his own excitement bouncing against my stomach.
“Yes.” I struggle to catch my breath and his dick twitches.
Doing something I know I shouldn’t do, but want to share in the pleasure, I reach between our bodies and grasp him over his shorts. With a startled roar, he flings me off, throwing me into the shower wall and breaking our connection. My head slams hard, and Lachlan’s eyes widen, shining with fear and regret. He reaches out to help me, and I brush him off. I can’t believe he’d react like that. I know it’s my fault, but still.
“I think you need to leave.” I point to the curtain, rubbing the back of my head and trying not to cry at the emotional ache eating me up inside.
Holding his hand up in surrender, his face remains stuck in anguish. It breaks my heart to see. “Mags, my leannan, I’m so sorry. Please, let me fix this. . .Are ye okay? Can I look at yer head? Please.”
I shake my head, still pointing, still trying not to fall apart and go to him. Damn, he looks so lost. What happened to my scary, broody man? He’s showing so much of himself now. So much it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time. “I think you need to go, Lachlan. I need some time to myself.”
“Dinnae touch,” he mutters, lowering his hands.
“Don’t touch wha—” My words abruptly stop when Lachlan drops his shorts to the tub floor, revealing himself to me, stripped bare. He screws his eyes shut as mine fall to the source of his biggest insecurity, that’s now half-mast and shrinking as the moments pass by. Holding his breath, he remains frozen stock-still.
It’s long, thick, uncut, and dripping pre-come. It makes my mouth water just standing here. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s perfect.
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s beautiful, Lachlan.”
He doesn’t open his eyes or move when he grumbles through gritted teeth, “It’s not.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I kneel, but stay as far away as I can to give him space as I look at it.
His entire body has begun to tremble and his hands are fidgeting. He shakes them out then lifts his dick, revealing the underside that has light brown patches of discolored skin. I also get a better view of his sack, and it’s tight, large, and dusted in light red hair. It’s absolutely perfect. Just like the rest of him.
“Are you trying to show me the coloration?” I whisper, wanting to reach out and run my finger over the three large spots that look like a large birthmark.
“Aye. . .and I’m. . .” he falters.
“Uncut,” I finish for him.
“Aye, and I make a mess.” He runs his finger over the head of his dick, and it glistens with pre-come. I want to suck it clean, and I’ve never wanted to do that before in my life.
Pushing off my knees, I stand, and the water pelts my back. “I don’t care what you think, or whatever your ex thought. I happen to think it’s perfect. You’re not cut, which I find sexy. You pre-come a lot, and I also find that sexy.”
“And the. . .” he prompts, obviously needing to hear this.
“And the marks, Lachlan, are probably from birth. They’re a part of you, and it makes your manhood more unique than most. Which I also find to be sexy.”
Normally, spouting all of this about a man’s dick would make me feel weird, blush, or be shy. But I am the one who has to be strong for him, to show him whatever it is that’s messing with his head is wrong. He was perfect when I first met him, and he’s even more perfect now, with his uniquely sexy parts. And no, when I say he’s perfect, I don’t mean he’s truly perfect. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel perfect to me.
Bending down, he slides the wet shorts back into place then opens his eyes.
“You didn’t have to show me, but thank you for trusting me to see it.” I hand Lachlan his Zest body wash before lathering my hair with my shampoo.
We finish our washing routines in awkward silence, and I do my best to keep my eyes to myself. Not wanting to ogle him more than I already do.
I leave the ba
throom wrapped in a towel before he exits the shower. In my room, I throw on some lounge clothes and plop down on my bed next to Pirate. Bridget must have let him back in. Scratching his ears, I grab my book from the nightstand to drown in some fiction for a while, so I can keep my mind off a certain Scot.
Come to mama, Kristen Ashley.
“Mags, what are we having for dinner?” Bridget knocks once on my bedroom door before opening it to find me snuggled in bed. I’ve spent the last eight hours in here cooped up, finishing a book and starting a new one. Reading is the perfect getaway.
Sitting up, I lay my book in my lap—or in this case, my cell phone because I’m all out of paperbacks so I’m reading on my Kindle app. What did the world ever do without digital content? It’s ingenious.
“I dunno. Why?” I shrug, running my fingers between a sleeping Pirate’s ears as they twitch in contentment.
“You’re not cooking?” I’m not sure if she’s sad or happy about me cooking or not. She’s acting strange.
“Honestly? I haven’t even thought about food since that congealed stuff your dad calls sustenance made me gag this morning.” I will never attempt to eat oatmeal again. Oatmeal cookies? Fine and dandy. The cooked, wet stuff? Yuck.
Giggling at me, Bridget claps her hands together and bounces on her feet. “Perrffeectt,” she singsongs. “Get dressed and I’ll meet you out back in ten.”
Before I’m able to ask why, Bridget shuts the door and I’m left to get dressed. Rifling through my dresser, I throw on a pink t-shirt and a pair of my unstained coveralls before I meet her out back in five. The sight before me is definitely not what I expected.
Coming to the edge of the grass, my feet meeting the rocks, I stop dead in my tracks. A tent is set up in the furthest part of the backyard, and there’s a campfire burning in front of it. Lachlan turns something over the flames and raises a tentative hand in hello. I do the same, cautiously walking his way.
“What’s this?” I sweep my hand to the checkered blanket in the grass, which has a brown picnic basket in one corner. Yes, just like the baskets Yogi used to snatch. That’s one cartoon even I watched as a kid. I haven’t seen one of these baskets since my grams was alive. She always took hers to the farmers market and came home with it overflowing.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 32
