by Virna DePaul
“You’re so wet,” he mumbled as he licked her pussy through the soaked material of her panties.
He was done with slow.
He drew his hands up to squeeze her thighs, making her groan. He focused on her clit, his tongue alternating between circling it and pulsing against it, and it was her turn to dig her fingernails into the soft moss. Her legs started to quiver outside of her control. Soft whimpers escaped her lips as his tongue moved faster. He paused to nip at her sensitive skin, and her arms almost gave out from holding herself up. She felt his hands claw at the flesh of her thighs and wanted him to claw at her everywhere, all along her entire body.
The image of him taking his turn to dominate her, to claim her, along with the relentless punishment of his tongue and the raw beauty of the forest, had her racing towards an orgasm that shook her whole frame and brought a soundless scream to her lips.
Beneath her, Callum groaned and lapped at her wet pussy before moving his hands to her waist and flipping her onto her back.
In the blink of an eye, he was looming over her and she was hazily staring up at him, still shuddering from the last waves of intense pleasure. He tore away his kilt, his cock springing free. He forced her knees apart and ripped her thong down the center, his biceps quaking. He didn’t waste a single second before thrusting deep into her, making her gasp with ecstasy.
His chest, muddy and sweaty, rubbed against hers. Placing a protective hand on either side of her face, he twisted her ribboned braid around his finger. She stared up into his eyes, those gorgeous green eyes. He fucked her hard and fast and greedily, but in his eyes was a softness, in the movement of his thumb along her cheek there was a sweetness, in the quiver of his lips against hers there was a vulnerability as her eyes fluttered closed.
His pace began to slow, and she opened her eyes.
“Is everything all right?” she whispered.
“I just want to watch you a little longer.” His voice was so quiet, like a secret he didn’t want the ancient trees to hear.
His arms shook, his biceps and forearms and shoulders twitching. Heaving in and out, he held himself back as he slowly, slowly pushed again inside her. The sound from his lips was strained and beads of sweat trailed down the sides of his face. She felt the quiver in his strong thighs against her spread legs. As he held himself deep inside of her, every part of his body was engaged in a fight against the driving pleasure of release. His body was fighting, but in his eyes, there was nothing but peace.
Those were the eyes Molly saw when Callum had raised his head to see her for the first time. What she’d chased after, longed to see again, was now staring down at her. The only darkness in the bright green came from the shadow of his long eyelashes.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. And she believed him.
Callum’s cock throbbed against her tightness, and she knew he must be feeling more pain than pleasure, but he didn’t move, he didn’t tear his eyes away from her.
But he obviously couldn’t bear it any longer.
He squeezed his eyes shut, moaned, low and long and loud, and lost himself entirely in her body. His nails clawed at her tits and his teeth sank into the sensitive skin of her neck and his cock drove again and again like a dagger into her pussy. His savagery in that forest awoke something equally wild in Molly. She matched his desperation with fingers wrenching at his hair, hips rocking against him, legs squeezing his ass tighter and tighter. Closer, closer, more, more.
His voice was raspy. “I’m, fuck, I’m–”
She panted, dragging her nails down his back. “No, no, not yet. I’m almost there.”
His grip on her breast made her hiss in pain, and she bucked her hips faster.
“Molly,” he groaned.
Every muscle along his body was tight like a coiled spring, but she was so close, and the need drove her. He bit down hard on her earlobe to keep himself from coming and she yanked at his hair.
“I—”
“No. Not yet.”
“Please.”
His voice, needy and pleading, struck something inside her, and a wave of pleasure coursed through her.
“Beg me,” she said, her voice as strained as his.
He fucked her with rough thrusts, his eyes flashing towards her. He lowered himself down to her chest, elbows on either side of her head. His lips grazed hers.
“Please let me come,” he begged.
“More,” she gasped, feeling her thighs clench.
“You’re so tight, so hot, so wet. I can’t stop myself. I can’t wait any longer.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and her hips stuttered against his.
“You’re torturing me,” he whispered against her lips.
His finger had found its way to her soaked clit, and he only had to circle it twice before she came.
“Yes!” she screamed. “Yes, yes.”
She felt him release inside her as their bodies shook against one another. He collapsed onto her and lay there, gasping for breath, his hips still twitching. She hazily stared up at the trees swaying in the breeze, seeing only a blur of greens. The circles of branches and leaves became fuzzy and dreamlike, mixed with the eyes of the man on top of her.
“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, right?” Callum said.
She blinked lethargically, trying to pull herself back to focus. Her body felt weightless, like she could float up towards the dancing canopy. Turning her head, she found Callum watching her with hooded eyes. He circled his finger over the warm, smooth swell of her breast.
“If you told me to find a pair of chains and put them on,” he continued, “I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t hesitate.”
She grinned and rested her head against the soft pillow of fallen leaves, sighing as he kissed softly at her nipple, those lips that moments ago had sucked bruises along her neck.
“You’ve placed a spell on me.” His breath chilled the wet heat from his kiss, making her shiver. “There is no other explanation.”
She raked her fingers through the damp hair at the base of his neck. If the ancient roots beneath her emerged from the soil and bound them where they lay, she’d spend the remainder of her days with him in her arms, perfectly content.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “I can’t stop dreaming about you. I can’t stop seeing you in everything. The blue of your eyes, the curves of your hips, the wrinkle of your nose when you smile. I just can’t stop.”
She smiled and shifted so she could place a finger against his lips. “You’re just high right now. You don’t what you’re saying.”
Despite the mud smeared over it from digging her nails into the forest floor, he kissed the tip of her finger. “That’s the problem,” he said with a small, knowing laugh. He caught her eyes and didn’t let go. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”
Chapter Twelve
Callum
Like a true gentleman, Callum spread out his kilt for Molly to lie on. She grinned as he swept his arm over the makeshift blanket.
“Miss Lane.”
Her knees bent in a sweet little bow and she settled herself on the warm wool of his stretched-out kilt. “Your Grace.”
She nestled the back of her head in her hands and closed her eyes with a contented sigh. Callum wanted to remember her just like this. Naked except for her mud-covered Wellies, chest and cheeks still flushed pink, twigs and leaves caught up in the wild and tangled blonde hair around her angelic face.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Diana, goddess of the hunt, had descended to Earth to lie before him, haloed by the mist rising from the wet forest floor.
There was no shame or shyness in the rise and fall of her round breasts, the gentle curve of her waist to her hipbone, the relaxed sigh that escaped her lips, still red from his mouth. Everything about her body, her mind, her soul, was completely open to him. Unafraid.
She was at the same moment vulnerable and strong. The soft lines of her body brought to mind e
verything sweet and bright in the world and at the same time the passion with which she fucked could be described as nothing less than wild, dark, and dangerous. Nothing was hidden from him. Admiring the calm display of her naked body, Callum wondered if he could do the same for her. Could he reveal his true self? Could he lie as she was lying now, exposed? Exposed not just in body, but in everything—his hopes, his fears, his past, his mistakes and regrets and deepest joys. Could he stand before her, hiding nothing?
Like her, was he strong enough?
When she realized he hadn’t lain down next to her, Molly peeked open an eye and looked up at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she patted the section of kilt next to her. “I can move over.”
“No, no,” he insisted. “If I had my way, you’d never move from that spot.”
She watched with bright eyes as he eased himself down and nestled up close to her. Without a word, she moved her body so she was as tightly pressed against him as possible. Her head rested on his chest and her fingers intertwined with his, his arm wrapped around her petite shoulders. She draped her leg over his, claiming him as hers.
“I was wrong before.” He waited for her to glance up with those open and honest blue eyes. “If I had my way, you’d never move from this spot right here.”
She smiled at his words, pressed a tender kiss to his chest, and closed her eyes in what seemed to be nothing short of complete peace. He couldn’t remember a time of such simple contentedness.
He stared up at the natural tapestry of branches woven into a canopy. Above the green leaves, the sky was churning angry and dark. Would Molly want him to pull back the cover of the forest to reveal the storm? Would she want to see it all, the lightning and thunder, the pouring rain and pelting hail? Or would she run from it? Find cover elsewhere, tucked in some other guy’s arms?
“I used to…” He had to clear his throat and begin again. “I used to love the Highland Games. I looked forward to them every year. We both did, my brother and me.”
Her breathing paused, and he sensed her surprise. But she remained quiet and calm, as if she was afraid to spook him. Since she met him, he knew she wanted him to open up, throw off his pretenses and reveal his true self. And so, she waited patiently, giving him space to do so.
If he were being honest, he felt like a wild animal, the adrenaline of fight or flight coursing through his veins. His heart beat frantically in his chest, and every muscle urged him to keep quiet. He focused on Molly’s soft hair against his cheek, her calm breathing on his skin, her steady heartbeat that he could feel through her back.
“We were always competitive with each other,” he continued.
He selected each and every one of his words after careful consideration.
“Ever since we were kids, we loved the Games. We’d run along the side of the field as our father competed. We’d practice log tosses with firewood we stole from the ballroom, despite how our mother yelled about the soot on our clothes.”
He felt her lips move against his chest and knew she was smiling. He found himself with a smile on his face too.
“Being out there with him on that field were some of the happiest moments of my life,” he admitted.
He didn’t fear he wouldn’t find that happiness again. One couldn’t fear what one knew with the utmost certainty. It was a fact. And he’d accepted it.
“Jamie was a couple of years older than me, and I thought he was untouchable, unbreakable, the strongest and bravest.”
Molly’s smile was fading. Surely she could sense what was coming. He only wished he’d known it was coming, back then. Maybe it wouldn’t have shattered him.
“Jamie was to be Duke. He had the responsibility of that inevitable future. He always had that weight on his shoulders, because he knew it would be him to take over. And he was ready. Every quality you desired in a leader, Jamie had. Every quality I’m lacking.”
Molly rubbed her palm in soothing circles around his chest, but she didn’t interrupt. He wished she would. If she’d said No, that’s not true or You’re a wonderful Duke. Come now, don’t say that he could have stopped. The train heading right for the cliff would be diverted to safety. But she merely held him tighter, traced her fingers over his skin, and listened.
“With no expectations for me, I was everything a future duke was not. Always in trouble, always receiving that disappointed look from my father. Jamie covered for me more times than I could count. And that night, it was no different.”
His voice failed him for a moment. Above him, the leaves blurred, and he squeezed his nails into his palm until he could again make out each distinct green outline.
“That night…it was my fault.”
He’d had practice saying that, so his voice didn’t falter. He’d repeated it again to his mother and father. He’d heard it whispered from the sea of black clothes that stayed far away from him that rainy day at the church. Since that day, every night he’d lain down to sleep, he’d run the words over and over again in his mind.
“The day it happened, there was an important official event the next day. Hell, I still can’t remember exactly what it was. Some appearance or meeting. I didn’t care. It was a Friday and I was going out. No one was going to stop me. No one could stop me.”
He’d wanted to stop this wretched story from the very first word that had slipped from his lips. He was doing this for Molly and for Molly alone. He’d made it this far, but he wasn’t at the end. Not even close.
Against his side, he sensed she was regulating each breath, the same way a child does to convince her parents she’s asleep. Her hand moved in steady, calm circles. Nothing sudden. It was clear she didn’t want to scare him. Yet her efforts did little to stop the thundering in his chest. He cleared his throat of the emotion climbing up from his heart.
“Jamie came to get me when my father discovered I had snuck out again,” he explained. “It happened all the time. Jamie coming to bring me home, I mean. He’d smack me on the back of the head for being stupid, shake his head, roll his eyes. But he was never really mad. He knew I couldn’t help myself.”
He remembered all those times in the pub. Way past buzzed. In those moments, he’d open up to his brother. His fears. His dreams. His failures. It happened all the time. But that night was different.
“Jamie came into The Badger as he always did and I insisted on just one more beer. I didn’t want to go. Just one, I said. You can stay for just one. Maybe if I’d left when he asked me to…”
His voice trailed off. Molly moved a little, and he looked down to find her eyes watching him. It seemed she was trying to lend him strength, and that her only intention was to help. But seeing her eyes, he pulled back.
This was a mistake. Those pure, innocent eyes wouldn’t understand. She’d see him for who he was, not for what she believed him to be.
It would all be ruined.
The bricks he’d yanked down from his wall needed to be set again in place. He needed to retreat again behind his gray suits, his steady scowl, his high-held chin. He’d slid down this slope a bit, but it wasn’t too far. He could turn around and climb back up.
Then, a quiet voice shattered any hopes he had of drawing back in to himself.
“Callum.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in deeply the scent of her hair mixed with the mossy soil, and focused on the contact of her body with his. He met her eyes with his, and did what he was sure he couldn’t do. He opened up.
“Our car was struck by a truck just three miles from home. He died instantly and I walked away without a scratch.” Tears pricked his eyes. “I waited with him as the emergency services came. I had to see him like that. And there was nothing I could do.”
He closed his eyes once again and scraped his hands over them, willing back the tears he’d felt forming.
“It’s okay to cry,” Molly said. “It’s okay to show what you’re feeling.”
He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t give in t
o her words and let his tears fall. He couldn’t, for he feared once he did they’d never stop. Instead, he simply pulled Molly in tighter and he felt her tears on his chest. She said nothing, but she held him and cried for him and didn’t run. She didn’t run.
After his brother’s death, Callum had committed to being Jamie. He’d been determined to be the kind of man his brother had been, to be the kind of leader Jamie should have gotten the chance to be. He had given up his own personality and everything that went along with it, even his passion for life. He had let himself go.
But in those quiet moments, he realized Molly wasn’t holding a fake Jamie, an imitation Jamie, a ghost of Jamie. Molly was holding Callum. She wrapped him up in her touch and was unwilling to let go of his passion for life. She was holding him.
After some time, she pointed up above them. “Look, a cardinal. Like you painted at the school.”
Amidst the greens and browns, the bird was like a bold flash of red. Up on a high branch, it looked entirely out of place and yet, with its breast puffed up and wings comfortably at its side, it also looked exactly at home.
Callum smiled and glanced over at Molly, who was watching the cardinal. He hadn’t realized she could see what he’d actually been painting that day, that she could make out the cardinal in the mess of red strokes on that gray wall.
No one could have made out a wing from a beak from a tail.
But she had.
She saw it.
She saw him.
Chapter Thirteen
Molly
At long last, Molly knew who she was painting.
It had taken time and poking and prodding, and it had also taken more of herself than she’d wanted to give, but she’d found those eyes once again. She’d found Callum’s heart.
In the forest, every time he’d paused, she’d wanted to beg him to stop. It had been abundantly clear what he was saying was causing him pain, and she’d wanted nothing more than to not cause him pain. But he’d continued, and she’d felt his pain with him.
