Scottish Swag

by Cristina Grenier

  “Oh my God,” Savannah groaned, torn as to whether she should flinch away or arch flush against his wicked, talented mouth. “Torran…” She rose onto her toes in a vain attempt to get away from him, only to have him tug her back to the flats of her feet by his grip on her thighs. The motion drove his tongue deep - deeper than Savannah thought possible - and she found her entire body suffused with almost violent trembles as she came.

  The orgasm washed over her suddenly - completely unexpectedly. It was one of the very few Savannah hadn’t given herself in her life, and, by far, the most all-encompassing. She shook so hard she was sure her legs would give out, and she was vaguely aware of the strangled cry that escaped her.

  If Torran hadn’t been holding her, she might have ended up on the floor. Instead, the man merely lifted her quaking form to deposit her on the bed before he settled himself between her still quivering thighs. Savannah’s mind was still so hazy from her orgasm that she barely noticed he was still touching her. His fingertips slid over her body leisurely, lingering on the tips of her breasts, rubbing almost reverently over her stomach and finally raising to her parted lips. Savannah could taste herself on those lithe digits and she didn’t think she’d ever been so hot in her life.

  “This is what I need, Savannah…” Leaning down, Torran kissed her brusquely, his tongue tangling with hers before he growled against her lips. “You under me, screaming my name...loving the way I touch you…” He raised one of her legs to situate her ankle on a broad shoulder. When his stubble scraped across the tender skin of her calf as he kissed her there, a low moan escaped her.

  With his opposite hand, the man reached down to undo the front of his jeans and reveal the turgid, thick length of his erection. Savannah flushed at the sight of it - but not because she was embarrassed. Her prudishness had long deserted her. When Torran’s searing blue eyes met hers as he stroked over her stomach, she struggled to think straight. “If you don’t want this, Savannah, this is your last chance. Once I’m in you, it’ll take a bloody cataclysm to get me to stop fucking you.”

  God, no one should get away with talking like that, but for Torran, it seemed completely natural. The statement was enough to make her womb clench in anticipation of having the man inside her. Instead of pushing him away, Savannah merely reached for his hips, doing her best to urge him forward.

  Her new lover approved, to say the least. When she clutched at him, a low groan escaped him and the tip of his erection slid enticingly over the cleft of her. “Fuck yes…” Bending at the waist, Torran wrapped his lips around a straining, distended nipple as he slid into her - inch by torturous inch.

  Savannah squirmed, she whimpered and she moaned. There was no question or comparison - he was, without a doubt, the biggest man she’d ever had. But it felt so good….pleasure hedging on the slightest bit of pain as he slid deeper and then deeper still. By the time he was fully buried within her, the young woman was panting, a thin sheen of sweat standing out on her body as she bit her lip raw.

  She was all but bent in half, completely full of Torran Maloney, and she wished the moment would never end. When he drew out of her, a low whine escaped her and he had the gall to chuckle - chuckle - a moment before he slammed back into her, making her cry out sharply. Savannah arched against him desperately, clinging to every part of him she could reach as he started a slow, torturous rhythm within her that quickly threatened to steal her sanity. Her eyes fluttered shut and she writhed against Torran almost frantically, relishing every deep thrust - every time she felt him kiss her womb.

  “Yes...yes….” He was growling into her ear, every thrust more and more frantic. “That’s what I want. That’s what I need...come for me, baby. Let me see you…”

  She had to be hurting him. Her nails were raking wildly over his back and shoulders, his name spilling from her lips incoherently as pleasure blossomed through her like fire. When Torran reached between them, one thumb finding the swollen, aching nub of her clit to rub in swift, devastating circles, Savannah flew apart. A scream tore from her lips as a second, more powerful orgasm wracked her body. The pleasure seemed to go on and on and on, draining her of everything she had.

  Torran’s increasingly erratic thrusts sent little aftershocks of pleasure through her - but not for long. Within minutes, he was groaning, shudders suffusing his massive form as he found his own peak. The feel of him emptying himself inside her was enough to draw another hoarse moan from her as Savannah lie beneath him, clutching him as if her life depended on it.

  It took a good long while for her to come back to her senses in the silence of the room, but Savannah did - bit by bit.

  Torran was still inside her, his breath falling deliciously against her neck, his warm, heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. The prudish part of her bristled in the back of her mind, shocked, mortified and everything in between. She’d let him have her - all but begged for it. She’d screamed herself hoarse as he took her!

  And now...now she just wanted to stay like this. To pretend that the world outside didn’t exist - that there wouldn’t be repercussions for sleeping with her first real client.

  If only.

  Savannah fully expected the man atop her to simply pass out - or to demand that she leave in the wake of what they’d done. Instead, he shifted his weight onto his arms and off of her, raising his head to look down at her. Savannah’s brain might still have been scrambled from what he’d done to her, but she could swear he looked almost worried about her. “You alright?”

  She could feel her cheeks burning at the question. She might be smaller than him, but she was far from frail. “I’m fine.” When her voice tremored, she swallowed thickly, trying to force her pulse to slow. “I’m….perfectly fine.”

  To her surprise, Torran’s earlier fury seemed to have abated. He chuckled at her profession, shifting so that Savannah felt the half-hard erection still inside her acutely. “That you are. Lovely and fine and fucking delicious…” He whispered the last word in her ear before biting at her neck and she shivered in renewed arousal. Savannah wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her to go again so soon, but Torran was a man different from any she had ever encountered.

  “Torran please…” She gasped, pressing a hand against his chest - though only half in protest.

  “Please what?” He drawled lazily against her neck, withdrawing to press inside her again so her entire body quivered at the pleasure that ripped through her. “Please stop? Please make you come again? Be specific, Savvy…” But Savannah didn’t think she could have spoken coherently at that point if her life depended on it. All thoughts of escape and repercussions had evaporated, and now, all she wanted - all she needed - was for Torran to stay inside of her for the foreseeable future.

  And he certainly didn’t mind obliging.

  **

  It was the first time in a long time that Torran woke up without feeling groggy or hungover. In fact, he felt so good that it took him a moment to remember what had happened the previous night.

  His title match.

  The call he’d received - and his humiliating fucking defeat.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so goddamned empty inside. Knowing he’d been manipulated and there was nothing he could do about it. That he’d fucked up his career, and worse, that he’d fucked up Savannah’s career.

  Savannah.

  Ignoring the pain of his bruised ribs, Torran rolled onto his back to glance over his shoulder: and there she was.

  For a good two minutes, all he could do was stare. In the time he had known her he must have imagined the woman in his bed hundreds of times. Wanked himself to the image of her naked until his wrist was sore.

  But none of that compared to actually having her beside him.

  He was an idiot, he knew. An unredeemable arse. Considering the way he’d handled her last night, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d run. Slapped him and put a fucking restraining order on him. But, instead, she’d given him exact
ly what he needed. Let him hold her, touch her, fuck her until he couldn’t think of anything else.

  Until nothing else mattered.

  And then, she’d fallen asleep in his arms as if she belonged there.

  He needed to get the hell away from her. He had no damn business being so happy - not in light of recent events. If he knew what was good for him, he would fire her, take this hit, and continue running the company with his head down.

  But could he really do that?

  His expression somber, the fighter reached out to caress the line of Savannah’s jaw, lax in sleep. She was so goddamned beautiful like this. Naked, wrapped in sheets, hair mussed over his pillows. If he had his way, he would shut her away from the world and keep her to himself.

  Putting her in terrible danger.

  Fuck.

  Running a hand through his mussed hair, Torran groaned. How the hell was he supposed to salvage this? If he couldn’t think of a way, then they were both through - regardless of how they felt about each other.

  Chapter 10: Fighting Back

  Torran stared at the computer screen in front of him, completely flummoxed. Of course, in the week since the fight, the media had gone crazy. Everyone wanted interviews with him and sport commentators the world over were all wondering just one thing: What had happened? He was the favorite to win the match, and his upset was the fighting news of the decade.

  But he couldn’t say a word. Not only because he had his own secrets to keep, but because of the counsel Savannah had given him. Torran fully expected her to walk out on him when he wouldn’t explain how he lost. He couldn’t even remember the lame excuse he’d given her now, but it was far from the truth.

  And as long as Savannah didn’t know the truth, she wasn’t in danger.

  Christ, he was going soft. Two months ago he cared about little save for getting in her pants, but now that Torran actually had, everything had changed.

  “Torran?” To start with, she didn’t bloody knock when she came into his office any more. Savannah all but barged in with no warning, gracing him with her uptight and, frankly, engrossing presence. It was one thing to imagine how those lips tasted, how her tits would feel in his hands and how she’d moan when he was inside her...but now that he knew, his life was pure torture.

  That was, torture aside from the fact that his MMA career was circling the drain. “Torran, are you busy? There are some things we need to discuss.” Today she was wearing a light blue sweater that showed off a fair amount of cleavage and a black pencil skirt that made her arse look amazing. He would have preferred heels, but flats worked just as well… “Torran.” At her sharp tone, he snapped to attention.

  She always tried to rein him in, but these days, she couldn’t keep her cheeks from burning when he met her gaze. “Are you listening? I said we need to talk.”

  He couldn’t help but smile - lazy and indulgent. Once he’d realized that Savannah wasn’t going anywhere - that she was stubborn enough to try and save his career though there was little she could do - he couldn’t help but take advantage of their new...situation. She snarled and growled and threatened to throttle him if he didn’t let her help him manage the fallout from the fight, and, funnily enough, he promised to behave.

  As long as she let him have his way.

  Certainly, he could worry about the shitty detour his life could taken all day, but he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasures in life while he still had them. “I’d listen better if you were on my lap.” He patted his muscular thigh obtrusively, making the gorgeous young woman in front of him scowl.

  “This is serious business. We have to start trying to fix this if we want-”

  “I can’t hear you from way over there.” He cut her off succinctly, gesturing to his lap once more with no small amount of smugness. “Come closer.”

  She knew the drill. His good behavior for her willingness to be close to him. As close as he needed. With a long suffering sigh, Savannah stalked across the room, tossing a stack of papers on his desk before she reluctantly settled on his thigh. Her behind was a warm, welcome weight against him and she smelled heavenly.

  The truth was, his concentration was probably suffering with her so close, but she didn’t need to know that. “Now, Torran,” she took up her papers again starting to leaf through them. “I think now is an opportune time for us to start doing interviews. I’ve already started speaking to some smaller networks and what the hell is this?” All at once, Savannah’s voice turned incredulous and she dropped her papers in her lap to stare, thunderstruck, at his computer screen.

  Fuck. He hadn’t even thought to close the window. “Torran, what is this?” She repeated, her eyes widening as she read over the e-mail before her. “Rezzla quit?”

  He scowled, remembering why his day had been going so fucking awfully. Martin Rezzla was his trainer - former heavyweight champion of the MMA world and one mean motherfucker. It was his guidance that had helped shape Torran into the fighter he was.

  And the man had walked away from him.

  Torran didn’t have to play dumb. He knew Rezzla was pissed. Any trained fighter could see that he had thrown the match on purpose; and as he himself hadn’t made an appearance to explain why, let alone contacted his trainer, the man was offended as hell. Torran had disrespected his tutelage. He’d smeared his name. In losing his title fight, he’d all but spat on the man - so, Rezzla responded in kind.

  His e-mail detailed how he was moving on to work with another fighter. The Italian didn’t even try to sugar-coat things. There was venom in every word on the page.

  Pissed was an understatement.

  And now, Torran was less his coach and ridiculously skilled trainer. Definitely not the greatest day.

  “I’m sure you can imagine what he thinks of my losing after all the work he put in.” At his comment, however, Savannah merely scowled deeply.

  “You’re still not going to tell me what happened, are you?” Her voice was low and surprisingly gentle, considering all that was riding on his answer. Torran could only guess how torn up he’d looked the night she came to him that she wasn’t busting his balls over it.

  “I choked.” He lied flawlessly. “Pressure.”

  Savannah merely exhaled a long breath, drawing a hand over her face before she shifted her weight on his lap. Despite the somber nature of the moment, Torran struggled to keep from getting aroused. “So you don’t have a trainer now.”

  “No.” He replied, reaching around her to delete the e-mail abruptly, some of his anger returning.

  “And there’s no one you could take on? No one who owes you a favor?” Instead of tossing his laptop across the room in irritation, Torran merely leaned forward to nip at the base of Savannah’s neck sharply, making her yelp in surprised pain before she glared at him.

  “Don’t need a trainer. I lost remember?”

  The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got a better memory than you’d think, Torran. More than enough to recall that losing one fight does not ruin a fighter’s career.”

  It did when they were forced to lose as humiliatingly as he did - when so fucking much was on the line. “You need someone else.”

  A snort of disbelief escaped him. “I’m sure you have a long list of volunteers. Taking on a loser sounds promising as hell.”

  To his surprise, however, Savannah didn’t look deterred. In fact, she merely fixed him with a distinctly triumphant smile that made him more than a little bit nervous. “Actually, I might know a guy. It’s just getting him to agree to take you on.”

  It didn’t take long for Torran to fully understand Savannah’s frustration when she couldn’t get him to cooperate. She wouldn’t tell him anything about his potential trainer, instead merely demanding that she take a car with him to Long Island. Their destination was a good hour or so from the city, and by the time they arrived, Torran was torn halfway between irritation and curiosity.

  Where the hell was she taking him? He prided himself on knowing most o
f the fighters in the northeast, and where exactly they worked out. There was no one close that he knew of.

  Nonetheless, the young woman led him into a large gym tucked away in a small hamlet of the island. It was the last and hugest building on the tiny town street. In the entryway, Savannah smiled at an aging, dark-skinned woman behind the reception desk. “Morning, Janet.”

  “Morning, baby.” It seemed she and the receptionist were old friends. Was this where Savannah herself worked out? When the older woman noticed him, she arched a brow in surprise. “Well, this is interesting.”

  Torran looked from her to Savannah’s grinning form and then back again. All this subterfuge was driving him insane. “Where the hell are we?” He demanded in a low growl. “I hope you’re aware that no country boy will have any idea what I need-”