Kiltless In Carolina

by Ashantay Peters

  He threw her a look she couldn’t decipher. “Jessie, I’ve got some friends I think you’d like to meet.”

  She winked at Isla. “I can take a hint without the hammer, Graeme,” Jessie said. “I won’t hold you to your agreement with Liam, but I will take you up on your offer to meet your friends. At least one is young, male and single, right?”

  His dimple flashed. “Yep, and they won’t know what hit them.”

  He made short work of introducing Jessie to several musicians closer to her own age. Then he grabbed his pipes and Isla’s hand, pulling her at a fast walk to his car. He stowed his kit in the trunk. His arms caged her against the warm metal. His lips hovered over her mouth.

  “How do you feel about backseat sex?”

  She shivered and hoped he hadn’t noticed her immediate reaction. Better to keep playing it cool.

  “You took my room,” she said, “later promised me a night of hot sex in said hotel room with an implied shower, and now you’re reneging? I don’t think so.”

  He positioned his mouth at her ear. She felt the moist heat of his tongue against her earlobe. She fought her urge to tremble under his touch. His breath stirred her hair.

  “Hell, no. I thought a quickie would be smart. The ride might take too long.” He nibbled on her jaw. “You’ve been on my mind all night.”

  She inhaled sharply. Her chest felt constricted. Sweet words, whispered in a husky voice, but should she believe them? “Anticipation is the mother of invention.”

  He started, the corners of his mouth sloped up. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I can’t think clearly when you’re close.” Shit. She shouldn’t have admitted her weakness.

  Their gazes locked. She licked her lips. His attention switched to her mouth then back to her eyes. His grey orbs darkened.

  “Then prepare to be screwed up the rest of the night. Screwed being the most important word in that sentence.” He licked her ear lobe and nuzzled the nape of her neck. “On second thought, make that screwed the remainder of the weekend.”

  He touched her smile with his thumb. His eyes glittered with amusement, or maybe that look came from a reflected parking lot light. Isla wasn’t sure. She forgot to breathe when he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His palm covered her bare neck. Then he opened his mouth over hers, capturing her tongue in one swoop.

  She arched her hips against him. Looked like imminent back seat sex after all.

  He was paying her wet, bottom lip special attention when loud voices jarred her attention.

  “Lookie-here,” a slurred voice yelled. “Looks like action happenin’.”

  Four young men the worse for wear from drink seemed on a collision course with them. “Hey, now,” the largest of the drunks shouted, “I wanna ride a body like hers.”

  “Yeah,” another yelled, “C’mere, sweet stuff. I got somethin’ for ya.”

  The group fell against each other laughing like a pack of African carnivores.

  Graeme’s expression sobered. “Dickwads. Let’s get out of here.”

  Unlocking the door behind her, he helped her into the vehicle then slid in on his side. Once he had the car started and in gear, he laced her fingers with his, resting their joined hands on his muscled thigh. Isla enjoyed the way they fit together, relaxing into the heat and implicit promise.

  They entered the hotel through the side door closest to his room. She skipped to keep up with his hurried pace, catching up as he keyed and opened his door. With a flourish, he waved her in first.

  The door shut behind him with a quiet snick. He carefully placed his pipes set on the luggage rack and rubbed his jaw. “Where were we?”

  She sashayed toward him. “I think you planned on showing me a few new moves.”

  He canted his head. “Really?” His brow wrinkled. “Huh. And here I thought you’d want a shower.” He moved closer. “Getting naked is okay by me. Top down is preferable.”

  She slapped her forehead with her palm. “I almost forgot Gran’s pin is somewhere in this room. Do you mind if we search first?”

  He slung his arm over her shoulders and led her toward the bed. “We know your pin is in this room, right?” His lips slid over hers, nibbling and tasting then gently running along the seam of her mouth.

  She caught her breath and answered, “Right.” Her pulse kicked up. “What’s your point?”

  “I haven’t had near enough of you.” He ran the ball of his thumb against her lower lip. “I think we should slake our hunger first and look for the pin second.”

  Graeme sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thighs. “Or you can sit on my lap and look for your pin. Might have gotten caught on my sporran.”

  “You wore a different one this morning, but your idea rocks.” Isla tapped her fingers against her lips. “But you know what? I’m seeing way too many clothes.” She splayed her fingers against her throat. “I’m warm. Mind if I lose the costume?”

  “Poor baby. Having to wear all those layers on a hot July day.”

  “You look overheated, too. Want me to help you when I’m done?”

  “I won’t say no.”

  She took a deep breath and hoped she wouldn’t look like a clueless idiot when she stripped. She’d practiced the routine, hoping to interest her ex, but never used the steps.

  First she kicked off her shoes, placing one leg on the edge of the bed. She rolled her stocking down, easing it off with a slow flourish. She tossed it to the side and repeated the action with her other leg.

  He grinned. “Nice burlesque improv action.”

  “I’m just getting started,” she said with a low, sultry voice. She drew the sash from her shoulder. Holding it by her fingertips, she raised her eyebrows. “I’ll put this aside unless you think you might get cold?”

  “Oh, I won’t get cold, but it does give me ideas.” His raspy voice settled in her gut and traveled south. “You may want to leave the sash close by.” She smiled and draped the material across his lap.

  Holding his gaze, she unlaced her vest, drawing the strings out with a languorous wrist movement.

  He licked his lips. Encouraged, her fingers loosening the blouse cord at her neck. She opened her garment but left it on, hoping the peek at her boobs would up the ante.

  She turned away, loosened her skirt and gave a shimmy. The cotton clothing dropped to the floor. Beside the blouse, all she had on were high-cut red silk panties. An item, she knew, showcasing what Graeme professed to like best.

  She looked over her shoulder to check the effect, and he snarled deep in his throat, rose in one fluid motion and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nipping her shoulder.

  “Shit, I kinda hoped I’d get under your skirt,” he said. “Not that you’re moving too fast for me.”

  “You want me to put it back on?” Given his hard rod impressing against her back, she figured she knew the answer. Still, teasing him held appeal.

  “Hell no.” He buried his nose in her hair. She felt his chest rise in a deep inhalation. “But you know your earlier offer? To help me undress?”

  “Yes?” She spun out the word, her intonation rising at the end.

  “Another time.” His sporran dropped to the floor followed by his kilt.

  She turned. Her mouth went dry. His cock pointed erect and proud. He removed his shirt and slung it toward the chair, then donned a condom.

  “You’re leaving your boots on? Isn’t that a cowboy move?”

  His hands clenched at his sides. “They’ll take too long. Come here.”

  Isla’s belly heated at his look. She skimmed her palms over his solid shoulders. Her finger found his nipples within the light sprinkling of hair on his upper chest. He gave a low groan as she teased them into arousal. Brushing her lips over his pecs, she took first one then the other nipple into her mouth.

  She licked the ridge of his ribs.

  His abs flexed.

  She nipped at his jutting hipbone.

 
; A guttural sound filled the room.

  Her chest loosened. She hadn’t looked silly, not given the sweat beaded on his upper lip or his darkened cheeks as clues. She wasn’t hopeless in bed. Thank the heavens. This time she intended they’d savor their coupling. Wasn’t too much to ask, right?

  Apparently Graeme had other intentions. Without breaking their tongue-kiss, he eased her onto the bed. Then he rolled onto his back, manipulating her so she rested above him, torsos molded together.

  “I’m feeling lazy. Ride me?”

  “Sure, Cowboy.” She hesitated, unsure how to explain her lack of knowledge. “It’s…I’m not sure how to—”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “The bastard preferred being on top every time, right?”

  “Well…yeah. Plus I don’t want to break anything important.”

  “Straddle me. Kneel on the bed with your knees outside my hips.”

  His pupils darkened and his leg muscles tensed, but his voice remained soft. Her stomach knotted with anticipation as his fingers lightly caressed her arms then teased her breasts with one hand while his other played with her curls.

  She sucked in a breath when his fingers entered her.

  “Damn, you’re wet and I’ve barely touched you,” he murmured.

  Isla’s face was hot. She cast for something to say but her thoughts were centered on the sensory signals overloading her brain.

  “I like you this way.” His deep, rumble made her muscles clench. “Hot. Ready for me.”

  Gripping her hips, Graeme lifted her over his erection. As she slid onto his cock, he filled her in a way she’d never experienced before. She came alive, vital, firing on all cylinders. Mostly she felt in charge. Powerful.

  Obeying her instincts, she rotated her hips, her hands kneading his chest. She gently plucked his nipples. Graeme moaned. His eyes rolled back in his head. She smiled.

  Picking up the pace, she rose until his crown remained inside her then she quickly ground down and against him, swiveling her hips. His upward surge told her she’d done the right thing so she repeated the action.

  His thumbs rubbed small circles on her hips, and he half sat to engulf one of her nipples with his mouth. A jolt ran to her inner core, and she bent forward, placing her hands palm down next to his shoulders.

  “Good move, baby. Keep it up. You’re driving me crazy.”

  The new position changed the angle of penetration. Again acting on instinct, she levered her thighs against his waist, adding pressure to her most sensitive spots along her body.

  Their pants and moans echoed in her ears, as did the sound of two bodies slapping together. Her body grew hot; sweat pooled between her boobs and behind her knees. She feared their combined heat would set off the sprinkler system.

  Graeme tunneled his fingers into her hair. His mouth grazed her skin. Heart thundering, her body swayed and bucked.

  His hips thrust upward again and again and she countered his moves, driving his cock deep. Her inner muscles tensed then her consciousness hurtled into a space filled with overwhelming sensitivity. As her pussy contracted, she had no distinct thoughts. She collapsed onto his chest, panting. His heart pounded under her ear, matching her beating organ thump for rat-a-tat-thump.

  “I think you took a blue ribbon for this steeplechase,” he said. His chest heaved.

  Isla licked sweat from his sternum. He caught his breath.

  She grinned, burying her face against his clavicle, unable to restrain her joy. If she’d known riding a stallion could provide so many thrills, she’d have taken it up long ago.

  Chapter Eight

  Jesus H. Graeme couldn’t believe a woman with an outward appearance so unlike his normal preference could do him in so thoroughly. His body was wrung out. He couldn’t stir, not even to peel off the condom.

  Enervation didn’t stop his brain from replaying the recent highlights and thinking of untried positions to use next.

  She snuggled closer, throwing her arm over his chest, her fingers tracing his dragon tattoo. With Cait, he’d always felt the posture was more proprietary than relaxed. Isla reminded him of a kitten or puppy seeking the comfort of a warm place to nap.

  He brushed her hair from her cheek, appreciating the contrast between her black hair and fair skin, and then caught his thoughts short. They’d agreed to a weekend, no more. She wasn’t sexually experienced, but her willingness to try new things more than made up for her artlessness.

  Or perhaps he was a debauched asshole. He smoothed her hair and considered the idea. Nah. A couple of different positions but basically vanilla sex. Though her tartan held promising opportunities.

  They’d enjoy each other for the weekend then separate. Better to remain casual and walk away on Sunday. He’d deal later with wanting her more every minute.

  She brushed her fingers over his nipples. Her rosy cheeks enhanced a dark green, wide-eyed gaze. “Sorry, I can’t seem to keep my hands from wandering.” She stilled.

  Graeme pinned her hands in place. “Don’t let me stop you.” He caught her eye. “You aren’t sore? I thought you said you hadn’t been with a man for a while.”

  She ducked her head, mumbling under her breath. He lifted her chin. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Shit. His words made him sound as if he cared. “We’ll have to cut our weekend short if we pound away too often. Pacing is important.”

  Her pupils contracted and her fingers cramped, the sole outward signs telling him he’d been right to shut down any hopes she harbored. Ignoring the burning in his chest and her woebegone air, he swung his legs off the bed. He unbuckled his boots and toed them off.

  “Be right back.” He padded to the bathroom, disposed of the condom, and washed his hands. Grabbing the towel Isla had sat on, he rubbed his face in her scent. He tossed the towel on the counter and faced his reflection in the mirror.

  “You really are a bloody, sodding, fecking, whoring arsehole.”

  His intellect reminded him that he hadn’t made promises. He hadn’t suggested extending their time past Sunday. If she didn’t like the arrangement, she was free to leave. So why did remembering her hurt appearance make his stomach acid churn like he’d eaten a bad meal?

  He picked up the towel and inhaled her aroma again. This weekend was all he had for getting enough of her to last. No more wasting time.

  He flicked off the light and exited the bathroom, unsure of what he’d find.

  She lay on her stomach, her dark hair tumbling around her in a mass he wanted to spear with his fingers. With his entrance, she went up on an elbow, her head crooked in his direction. Her plumped breasts and delicious ass on full display.

  His fingers itched. His breath caught. Mouth dry, he licked his lips.

  Who was he kidding? One weekend would never hold enough time.

  ****

  What had she been thinking? That she could seduce this man once more before finding her pin and returning to camp?

  Even though she’d told her family she hoped to spend the night with a friend, she remained uneasy. Losing the pin—the very day she’d gotten it—had bothered her more than she’d let on. She was determined to fulfill her family obligations, even though it meant another night on the ground.

  His hot stare generated heat throughout her body. Her determination flagged.

  Against all odds, she trusted this man. She had a long-standing fantasy, gained from sporadic girl talk. Being in this hotel room with him was a dream interlude. Now or never, girl. One more night with Graeme wouldn’t hurt. She’d find the pin and leave in the morning.

  “I was hoping you’d help me with something,” she said in a voice raspy to her ears.

  His eyes glittered with a hungry look. “I’m here to assist.”

  She continued, ignoring the scared voice telling her to stop while she was ahead. “I have this fantasy.”

  A slow, easy smile lit his face. He walked toward her. “Fantasies are good.”

  “I’m hoping I can trust you. This…wha
t I want requires trust.”

  His step faltered. He stood next to the bed looking down at her. “You’d better tell me before I make a promise I can’t keep.”

  She swallowed. “I’d like you to tie me up.” She barely heard herself speak, but given his hot gaze on her face, her words had gotten through. “Not too tight. And not if you don’t feel comfortable with my request.”

  He crawled across the bed. His fingers slid up her spine to her nape, his thumb stroking the soft spot behind her ear.

  She shivered. His touch was enough to get her off. Had she asked too much? Would she survive more? Could she walk away without regrets?

  He hovered, his mouth a breath away from her ear. “I’m flattered you’ve asked. And actually, I had the same idea when I saw your plaid.”

  “No! That was my gran’s. I thought you could use my stockings?” She closed her eyes. Could she sound more idiotic?

  “Not to worry. We’ll work through this together. I was an outdoor boy. My dad taught me about boats. Fishing line. Tying lures.”

  The idea of combining a feathered fishing lure—without the hook—and an erotic act made her giggle. Graeme paused in his search for her stockings. He raised his eyebrows.

  “What, you think I don’t know knots?” He swung one of her stockings over his head like a lasso. “Bowline.” He performed a hip grind. “Slip knot.” He slapped his ass. “Tumble hitch.”

  “Talk dirty to me.” She rolled onto her back, laughter overtaking her in what she suspected was a nervous reaction.

  He covered her with his body. She gasped with the contact. He pinned her wrists against the mattress. His mouth brushed her bottom lip before he flicked his tongue there.

  She tasted his pliant lips, reveling in the shape and firm texture. Sighs escaped her when he shifted his weight and settled between her legs. Sighs turned to moans when he left a teasing caress at the hollow of her throat. He laved her ear lobe.

  “Are you ready?”

  She swallowed her fear and nodded, sure he was the right man to fulfill her wants.

  He arranged her arms above her head. “The headboard is plain and solid, so there’s no way to do more than tie your hands together.” He caught her eye. “You promise not to move unless I direct you?” His voice demanded obedience.