The Debt

by Karina Halle

  I kiss her.

  Hard.

  Wet.

  Wild.

  It’s completely different from our first kiss. That was soft and tentative, our bodies getting to know each other, learning to read each other.

  This one is hunger.

  I am starved for her.

  I’ve been starved for her for the past week, since the moment her silken limbs left my flat.

  I’ve done nothing but dream about her, about all the things I wanted to do.

  Now she’s here, in my arms, and I’m slowly unraveling.

  I unleash myself on her neck, licking and sucking just the way she liked it before, until she’s starting to weaken at the knees, soft moans falling from her mouth. Music to my ears.

  I get undressed to my briefs in a flash, she’s ripping her shirt over her head and I drop to my knees to help her out of her skirt and underwear. I pull the skirt down first and peer up at her as my hands slowly work their way back up her thighs.

  She drops her cane, grabs a hold of my hair instead for balance.

  My fingers find her underwear, the silky material wet with her desire.

  “God, you’re so wet for me,” I whisper to her, my voice catching in my throat. “Can I make you wetter?” I move her panties to the side and slide my finger along her cunt, the sensation making me delirious with lust. She lets out a lengthy moan, her grip tighter in my hair. “I want my cock to slide into you, just like this.” I add an extra finger and move them in together. “In and out, in and out,” I whisper as my fingers go along. “You want it harder, deeper?”

  She groans and I look up to see her back arch, her breasts pointed forward, her sweet, pink nipples tight and hard.

  What a fucking sight.

  “Do you want my cock?” I ask softly. “My tongue? How would you like me to fuck you?”

  “Anything, anything,” she says through another moan as I drive my fingers even deeper.

  I press my face in, my tongue snaking out and licking up to her clit. “You taste so good,” I murmur into her and she shudders from the vibrations. “Like a woman, my woman. Are you my woman? If you say yes, I can make this really good for you.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m yours.” She’s practically whimpering.

  I suck her clit into my mouth, wet, warm, and she gives a sharp cry, calling out my name in such a way that it will be my undoing if she keeps this up.

  I pull away and stand up, grabbing her arm to prevent her from toppling over. Her eyes are half-closed, dazed, mouth open.

  Even though it’s just a few steps to the bed I pick her up and carry her over, laying her down on her stomach.

  “Just a second,” I murmur. I pull my briefs down and reach for my pants on the floor, grabbing a condom from my wallet and rolling it over my shaft, my cock hot and inflexible in my hands. “Can you move yourself up a bit?”

  She pulls herself forward so that she’s in the middle of the bed and I climb on top of her, my thighs on either side of hers, tanned skin against pale, straddling her just below her bottom.

  “Let me know if I’m hurting you, we’ll switch positions,” I tell her, running my finger down the crack of her arse. Her bottom is so perfectly toned and perky, that I instinctively give it a smack with my palm.

  I wait a moment, watching for her reaction. Her arse rises a little higher, wanting more.

  I smack it again, hard – crack – the sound filling the room. My handprint blooms on her pale skin like a rose.

  “You like that too?” I murmur and the moment she nods, I spank her again, this time getting both cheeks – smack, smack!

  “And this?” I ask, bringing my finger back to her arse and trailing it down the crack. I skirt over her rosebud, saving that for another day, and my forefinger settles into her cunt. She’s slippery, warm and we both let out little moans.

  I know new relationships are touch and and go when you first start sleeping together. I have a whole closet full of desires, some dirty, some kinky and taboo, that never got a chance to come out, because I’ve never been with the right woman long enough to try them. Never had their trust. I had a long-term girlfriend in my twenties but she wasn’t the type for anything other than vanilla.

  And that was okay. But now I have Jessica’s perfect arse, the tip of my cock rutting against the crack, her skin still red from my spankings, and I want to spend my days finding out what else we can do together.

  She wiggles her arse, trying to push my finger in deeper.

  “Patience,” I warn her but it’s futile. I grab my cock at the base and steadily push it in between her legs, into her cunt, deep as I can go.

  I groan as she envelops me, a tight velvet fist. The fact that her legs are closed together means I have the added friction from her thighs.

  Fuck. I should have jerked off this morning. I’m not going to last long.

  She grips me from the inside out and I push in further, my breath shuddering.

  I press my hand down on her shoulder for leverage, slowly pulling myself out, then back in, trying to find the rhythm without crushing her. My thighs are doing most of the work, shaking slightly, the muscles popping as I move faster and faster, my cock disappearing entirely inside her, the base shiny from her juices.

  My hips circle and I shorten my thrusts so I don’t slip out. She’s wet down to the middle of her thighs and I want to stay inside her deep like this, tightly packed. It’s such a fucking squeeze that a sweat is breaking out at my temples, my muscles wound too tight.

  Jessica is moaning something deep and desperate.

  “Do you want to come, little red?” I whisper hoarsely. “Will you come on my cock? Make my cock so fucking wet. You’ll make it so fucking wet.”

  She’s groaning, whimpering for something.

  “I’m going to make you come,” I say. Breathless. Rough. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard.”

  I move one hand down to her waist and grip her while the other squeezes in between her hips and the mattress until I reach her clit. It’s soaked and my finger slides over it with ease.

  That’s all it takes.

  Her body tenses and then starts to quake beneath me. She pulses around my cock, her clit throbbing under my finger. A sharp cry leaves her lips, then fades off into breathless little moans.

  I come immediately after. There’s a rush along my spine until something at the base of me explodes. I grunt like an animal, thrusting deeper and deeper, the bed shaking, while the cum shoots hard into the condom.

  I exhale loudly, my breath elsewhere, my heart thudding to a marching beat inside my head. I lean back on my thighs, absently run my hands over her bottom while I remember how to breathe. Then, when it doesn’t feel like I’m having a heart attack, when the sweat stops rolling off my brow, I gently pull out.

  Leaning forward, I put my lips to her ear. “Did you like that?”

  She turns her head, her eyes closed and makes a noise that I think means yes.

  I brush the hair off her face and kiss her cheek. Then place tiny, soft kisses on her neck, shoulder, down her spine, until I finally get off of her.

  After I dispose of the condom, I toss her shirt and skirt onto the bed.

  “Now that we’ve had the appetizer, let’s go get lunch.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Keir

  We have a long drive ahead of us this morning but even though I set my alarm to ring at 7 am, we both lie in bed for a few more hours. It doesn’t help that being in a bed with Jessica naturally lends itself to taking your time. We have sex twice, long and lazy sessions that border on sleep, before we finally drag ourselves downstairs for the breakfast served in the hotel’s tiny pub.

  While I’m still munching away on bacon, Jessica excuses herself, telling me she wants a quick shower before we leave.

  After I’ve stuffed myself silly – all the sex seems to have brought out the appetite in me and I know I’ll have to start running again to keep the weight off – I head upstairs t
o check on Jessica and get our bags in the car.

  To my surprise, she’s crumpled on the floor in the middle of the room, crying.

  “What happened?” I immediately drop to her side. She’s in just her underwear and a singlet, her hair wet from the shower. I try to touch her but she pushes me away, turning her head.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says quickly, sniffing.

  “What happened?’ I ask again. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  She closes her eyes as if in pain, her face scrunching up as she nods. “Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s stupid.” She wipes her nose and gives me a sad look. Her eyes are red. “It’s so stupid.”

  I coax her with my eyes.

  She sighs and stares down at her leg. Her splint isn’t on and it’s pale in the morning light that’s coming in through the windows. “I was trying to do yoga.”

  “Already?” I ask, though that explains why she’s on the ground in a heap.

  She nods. “I know. It’s dumb. I started with the upward dog, then locust pose. I thought I could do warrior three. You know, you balance on one leg. I was doing it too but I should have had my cane. I didn’t. My other leg started shake, I lost my balance and fell.”

  I smooth the hair on her head. “Where does it hurt?”

  “Nowhere,” she says with a heavy sigh. I can hear the sadness in it. “Just my pride. It’s so fucking simple and yet I couldn’t even hold it for more than ten seconds.”

  “You got shot, Jessica. I know yoga was your career, if not your life, but it’s going to take time. I wish it wouldn’t. I wish I could take all of this away for you but I can’t.”

  “I’m just frustrated.” She runs an angry hand down her face.

  “I know.” I get up and pull her up with me. “Come on. Let’s pretend this didn’t happen. You had two orgasms earlier, it was a great start to the morning. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Three orgasms,” she says with a small smile. “I got myself off in the shower, thinking of your cock.” She places her palm against my dick and presses in with devious eyes.

  Fuck, have I found a spitfire.

  Thankfully she seems to have come out of her downward spiral. After she finishes getting ready, we grab our bags and head to the car, ready for the next leg of the journey.

  The weather doesn’t seem to be cooperating today but at least the jag is purring around nicely. Rain hits our windows the moment the road starts winding toward the coast. It’s still brilliant though – rolling green hills to our left, sharp limestone cliffs that drop to a stretch of sea on our right – and I feel lucky to explore a part of my own country that I never have before.

  I feel even luckier that I’ve got this woman by my side.

  We’re heading up to the fishing town of Wick tonight but we make a few notable stops along the way. One is Dunbrobin castle which looks plucked from the valleys of medieval France. Unfortunately, we get there when the deluge hits and though we take refuge within the castle walls, we’re told off by a woman for using our camera to take photos of the paintings in the hall upstairs (even with no flash, but hey). We spend the rest of the time outside in the rain, hiding under a giant oak tree while we watch the daily falconry show.

  With Jessica curled up under my arm, the two of us partly-shielded from the downpour by the high canopy, the leaves already turned orange and red, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

  I watch her closely as the show goes on, her eyes drawn to the trained hunting birds with childlike wonder. At one point an old owl called Bonzo swoops in close to her and she lets out a giggling yelp before burying her face into my chest.

  I’m a fucking goner. This woman with so many sides to her, tender and loving, brash and bold, shy and sweet, wild and sexual…I can barely catch up.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Our next stop after that doesn’t even have any signage. If it wasn’t for Jessica looking up her Lonely Planet on her mobile, we would have gone right past it.

  The Achavanich Stones have reportedly been around since the Bronze Age. I’ve never been much of a history buff and my own knowledge about the history of Scotland is limited to the clan wars. Even so, the stones are more than interesting. Anything man-made that’s been around for that long has an air of chilling reverence.

  We park the car and get out. There are no signs to even tell us that we’re here, but you can clearly see you are. The stones are literally on the side of the road – just look through the tall spires of thistle and you’ll see them.

  We’re in the middle of the moors. The rain has let up just enough to let shafts of light through the clouds which hug the hill tops, shining down on the dark blue water of Loch Stemster. The low hills of the moor are a blend of moss green, purple and tan and in the middle of it all is a semi-circle of weathered stones.

  “Wow,” Jessica says as she walks toward them, as if in a daze.

  Up close, the weathered stones are covered with yellow and white lichen, a testament to how long they’ve been here. Some of them come up to your knee, others are nearly at my head. Tufts of high golden grass flank the outside of the circle, while the inside is golf course green, as if someone comes here every month and mows it, though I know it’s not the case.

  Neither of us say much while we’re here. It’s the kind of place that demands your respect, your silence. A heavy, almost supernatural feeling hangs in the air, as if you could look closely enough and glimpse right into the past. No one knows why the stones were arranged in this matter, just as Stonehenge is still a mystery. Could have been aliens, could have been the Pictish people creating a calendar, could have been someone who fashioned the early versions of garden gnomes. Who knows.

  Jessica stops by a waist-high one, choosing to lean on it instead of her cane as her gaze goes out to the deep blue of the nearby loch. She looks lost in thought, her hair gently dancing around her face as a breeze, a chilled mix of grass, dirt and mountain streams, comes blowing over us. We both inhale deeply at the same time. It might be the purest air I’ve ever breathed.

  I let her be in her trance for a few minutes, sorting out whatever she needs to sort out and hoping that the big open spaces are cleansing her spirit.

  Then I ask, “If you were around back when the stones were put here, what kind of person would you be?”

  She turns her head toward me, frowning. “What?”

  “Imagine you are back then, the Bronze Age, thousands of years ago…who would you be? Would you still be you?”

  She gives me a faint smile. “Aren’t we getting a little deep for our road trip? I don’t know.” She shrugs, looks back to the horizon and takes in another deep breath. “It’s easier to imagine them being here than us being there. Doesn’t it feel like we’re surrounded by ghosts?”

  Always.

  She runs her fingers over the top of the marker, caressing it as if a lover. “I’m not sure who I’d be. How much of who we are is genetics or the product of our time in the world? How much is the way we were raised? Nature vs nurture. Maybe I’d be a witch, maybe I’d be fleeing my family in the middle of the night on the back of a dark horse. Who knows what trouble I would have gotten in to.”

  “Once a troublemaker always a troublemaker?” I ask.

  “I suppose.”

  “And would I be there?”

  She laughs lightly, as if the sound might disturb the dead. “I could only hope so.” She looks down, chewing on her lip for a moment. “As silly as this sounds…I think you would have been. I think I’ve known you for lifetimes.”

  Bloody hell. What is this woman doing to me?

  I can barely swallow, her admission having a volatile effect on my heart. For the third time today, I’ve found myself falling deeper for her than I was already.

  “I feel the same way too,” I manage to say. Fuck. I sound more like an adolescent boy than anything else.

  I shrug it off and come over to her, holding out my hand. “Come on, we don’t want to miss the di
nner at the hotel.”

  She takes it and we cross the grass toward the car, the stones on either side of us. “Where are we going anyway?” she asks.

  I haven’t told her. I wanted it to be a surprise.

  The town of Wick itself isn’t very interesting. It’s got a down-at-its-heels charm and an attractive waterfront but it’s a shadow of its former self, back in the herring industry heyday. The motorway takes us through the town but our destination is slightly outside of it.

  A few miles past, I take a right turn for Ackergill Castle, heading down a narrow dirt lane flanked by gold and red-leaved trees.

  “Another castle?” she asks, peering out the window.

  I only grin at her.

  The road comes to a giant loop, a sheep-speckled field in the middle. At the head of the loop, sitting on the shore of the North Sea, is the Ackergill Castle. It’s not as impressive, least not from first glance, as Dunrobin Castle was. This castle is comparatively small, with a nice tall central tower with battlements. But the difference is that this is a castle you can stay overnight in.

  “This is our hotel for the night,” I tell her, parking the car beside a row of Land Rovers with the castle’s logo on them.

  “You’re kidding,” she says, wide-eyed as she stares up at the castle. “People can stay here?”

  “We are, little red. Come on, let’s check in.”

  We leave our bags in the jag and enter the massive fortified doors of the castle. Inside the décor is anything but medieval, in fact it resembles a Scottish lodge on a grander scale. It’s all tartan rugs, dark wood railings, paintings of deer and grouse and crests. Every section is covered with something interesting, whether it’s taxidermy of wild birds in flights (or a fanged deer behind glass), Highland cattle horns or ornate model ships. When we finally hunt down the reception area through the twisty rooms on the main floor, we’re shown up to our room.

  There are no lifts in this hotel (it was built in the 15th century, after all) so it takes a while for us to finally get to our room, which is up several grand staircases. It’s worth it, though.

  “This is the blue room,” the young blonde receptionist says, putting a skeleton key in the door and opening it. “It used to be a nursery.”