Hot Scots Christmas Page 5

  I place my palms on the flat of his abs, unable to resist trailing them across the hardness of him. The man is so cut. So gorgeous. So mine.

  ‘We’ll hire tutors,’ he whispers into the soft skin of my neck, following up with a sharp bite of his teeth. I arch my back, crying out, sighing as his tongue soothes the sting. ‘Four,’ he growls, loosening the buttons of my blouse, his hips flattening me against the wall.

  ‘Someone’s gotten a little clucky after holding a screaming child.’

  ‘Feisty, wasn’t he?’ Dylan answers, mischief hiding in his smile. We’d visited with Fin and Rory yesterday. The pair is having a tough entrance into parenthood with a baby who seems to prefer crying to sleep.

  ‘Aye, he is. His poor parents look exhausted.’

  ‘And the happiest they’ve ever been.’ With a devilish grin, he stops wrestling with the tiny pearl buttons, ripping the rest of them open instead and tearing the fabric in the process.

  ‘Hey, that’s Donna Karen!’

  ‘I’ll buy you another,’ he rumbles, slipping the tattered garment and coat down my arms.

  ‘That’s not the point. It’s wasteful.’ I feel bad enough buying designer clothes. But I buy them anyway. Mainly because it makes Dylan happy to be able to provide for his family. But if I’m buying them, I want them to last.

  ‘I’ll donate a whole rail of Donna Karen to the charity of your choice. Just let me into your panties, little girl.’

  I laugh loudly at his wicked expression. ‘You’re really laying this on thick. I’ve told you before, you only have to ask nicely.’

  ‘Please,’ he purrs, bringing his hands together in supplication. ‘Please dearest darling wife, with your permission, I’d like to fuck you. Really, really hard.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so,’ I answer primly even as my insides begin to pulse. Hooking my thumbs into my pants, I continue, ‘You only had to ask.’

  ‘Ask nicely, she says. I can play nice.’ Hands on my hips, he turns me suddenly again, my heart beating in my throat as my palms hit the wall. ‘Only, she prefers my wicked side. Ci, Edera? ’ I grunt as his hand meets the cheeks of my bare bottom, arching my back and pushing into him.

  ‘I asked you a question.’ His voice rasps low and dangerous in my ear, causing a shiver to ripple across my skin. ‘What’s it to be, baby girl? Debauched in the hallway or sweet, sweet missionary in our bed?’

  I don’t answer, my tongue darting out to wet my parched lips, my breath then halting as his hands drift up my thighs and over my hips. Circling my waist, they trail up my sensitive sides, tantalisingly close to my breasts.

  ‘Four,’ he demands again, his breath blowing hot across my cheek.

  ‘When you can bear them or science learns to grow them in Easter eggs, sure.’ My words might be strong, but my tone is not, especially as Dylan’s fingers slip into the lace of my bra, teasing my nipples with achingly slow strokes.

  ‘Four is a reasonable number,’ he murmurs, his fingertips caressing my pebbled nipples deliciously.

  ‘As is two. I don’t want to drag a tribe of kids around the globe following you.’

  ‘I won’t always be in movies.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ This earns my arse another slap. ‘Oh, God,’ I moan, pushing my bottom again his crotch.

  ‘Are we going to argue or fuck?’

  ‘How about we argue and fuck. Sounds pretty hot to me.’

  ‘So bossy, baby girl.’

  ‘Someone has to keep you on your toes.’

  ‘Oh, you do that, babe.’ He chuckles before demanding, ‘Give me your mouth, Edera. And spread your legs.’ He doesn’t wait for me to move, pushing my feet wider with his own booted ones. ‘Mouth,’ he repeats, and as I turn my head, his green eyes glow with their power over me.

  ‘Aren’t you going to help me out of my pants?’ Pooled at my ankles, they restrict my spread.

  ‘Maybe. If you’ll agree to bear my children.’

  ‘You know I will. Just not yet. And not a football team of them.’

  Dylan smiles—a flash of white teeth—then it’s quickly hidden by a more serious face. ‘Three. And not real quick. Just . . . eventually.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I draw the word out. ‘Maybe . . . we can discuss this after we’ve fucked.’

  ‘No way,’ he says, laughing. ‘June and Natasha are due any minute. You’ll want to hang out with them and stay up all night. You’ll discuss romance books and movie gossip shit while the real hunk and hero of the day lies in bed. Alone. Pining for you.’ I shiver but not from his words. From the hand that snakes between my legs. ‘Then tomorrow we’ll be at Mac and Ella’s place, and you’ll have no time for me. In fact, I foresee my dick and I will be lonely this Christmas.’

  ‘That sounds like a song.’ My words come out sultry as his fingers find my clit. ‘Dylan,’ I grate out, his teasing tightening my insides lightning quick. ‘Just fuck me, please.’

  ‘Such demands.’

  The clink of a belt and the susurrus of a zipper. The nudge of satin over steel between my legs. His palm on the base of my spine. Each action, each nuance tightens my insides. I’m so turned on, so wet, my heart is racing and my breathing frantic. But most of all, I’m desperate for him.

  The blunt tip of his dick nudges me, his thrust swift and shocking, pushing an expletive from my mouth

  ‘Baby, that’s it. Let’s hear those dirty words.’

  I’m not a bad girl. I don’t swear, but when Dylan is between my legs, I could make a sailor blush.

  ‘Fuck. Fuck me. Harder,’ I cry as his hips pump and flex, deliberately keeping the pace slow and dirty. So dirty. I close my eyes and imagine him behind me. The slow undulation of his body, the power in his hips. With one palm braced against the wall, I slide the other between my legs; my thoughts no longer sentient, I’m desperate and animal as my fingers find my clit, achy and slick.

  ‘Looks like you’re cheating, dirty girl.’

  ‘Enough talking, Dylan, I need this. Please, give it to me.’

  ‘Three. Promise me three.’ Orgasms? Oh, kids!

  The words brook no argument slip into my head, so much so that I have to turn my face from him to hide my smile. Secrets. I’m no good at keeping them, save for that one time, but three has always seemed like the perfect number to me.

  ‘Maybe.’ The word is sharp, like a sudden snap of his hips.

  ‘We have a maybe, ladies and gentlemen,’ he all but hollers, his hands finding my hips as his warm lips fall to the back of my neck. The touch is so intimate, so sublime, as he draws back, driving forward with power once again.

  ‘Yes!’ I cry out. ‘That’s all it takes?’

  ‘It’s called compromise, baby.’

  ‘It’s called manipulation,’ I return, panting through a smile.

  ‘Whatever gets your rocks off.’ But I lose the train of conversation as he wraps his fingers in my long ponytail, yanking it hard as he slides into me again. The pain at the base of my scalp and the pleasure building between my legs makes me groan as our bodies connect once again. The air in the tiled hallway fills with the sounds of our breathing and of sex. Of whispered words, of endearments and curses. Of instructions and demands.

  Push your ass higher.

  Watching you touch your clit is so hot.

  I want to come inside you.

  I’m going to fuck you so deep.

  Plant my baby inside you.

  His movements are wild as he drives deeper and harder, making me feel like I can’t catch my breath. Hungry anticipation climbs through my insides, my need desperate, my fingers making fast and frantic work between my legs.

  ‘Dylan. Oh, Lord. I’m . . . ’

  ‘That’s it, Edera,’ he rasps. ‘Come for me. Come all over my cock.’ He continues to pound me, lost to everything but movement and sensation of where we meet. Pulling my head back by my ponytail again, he delivers wet, sucking kisses across my mouth and jaw. A beat later, the tone of his breathing changes, his movements j
erking and erratic, his climax spurring mine on. I grind against him, fingers flat against my clit, pushing and pressuring as we ride out our pleasures against the other.

  Am I foolish to think this moment is significant? Like I can almost feel the difference in this? I’d stopped taking the pill last week when we’d first begun to discuss expanding our family. But this, right now? Why do I feel like he might’ve achieved his goal a little early? I want to plant a baby inside you. Could it be that he already has?

  Ridiculous. Isn’t it? Maybe? I don’t know up from down right now, but what I do know is that this feels like something . Something special. Something life altering and beautiful. A Christmas gift.

  ‘What will we call our second born?’ Dylan presses his body against the length of me, his rasping breath a caress in my ear.

  ‘Jumping the gun a little, aren’t you?’ The words feel disingenuous, but I’m reluctant to voice my thoughts. My hopes?

  ‘Nah, it’ll happen quick. And it’ll be another little boy. I have a feeling.’ Turning me in his arms, he kisses me, all soft lips and teasing tongue. I still have my eyes closed when he speaks again. ‘So I say we prepare.’

  ‘You want to discuss baby names?’ I blink slowly, my brain on delay. ‘Here, in the hallway? With our coats on the floor and our pants around our feet?’

  ‘Would it make you feel better if I pulled them up?’ He cocks a brow, his gaze flicking down, but not to his ankles.

  ‘You’re what June would call a chancer.’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean,’ he says, leaning forward and resting his head against mine, ‘but I’ve never been happier for my second chance with you.’ Tears spring to my eyes at his declaration. Things could have gone so differently for us. ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers, brushing away my tears. ‘I love you, Ivy. Always have. Always will.’

  Chapter Six

  KIT

  THE EVE OF CHRISTMAS EVE

  ‘So,’ Bea says, resting her head against my chest, ‘I was thinking. Next time we’re at the club, we could call Ethan.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’ Stretching out beneath the warmth of her skin, I turn onto my side and pull her close, pressing my nose into her honeyed mane. She smells exquisite; a wild combination of her shampoo, her perfume, and us fucking.

  ‘Because you seemed to have fun with him last time.’

  ‘It wasn’t him, sweetheart, that had my cock rock hard. It was you. All you.’

  She shivers as I trail my hand down the length of her spine. She’s so responsive. And she’s everything to me. Everything I thought I’d never experience. Love. Acceptance. Family.

  As Bea takes my hand in hers and lifts them both into the air, the light catches the diamond on her left hand, colours dancing across the stone. And truthfully, I’m still surprised to see it there.

  Engaged to be married. Fucking trippy.

  ‘You have such exquisite taste,’ she says, noticing me staring at her engagement ring.

  ‘I know,’ my reply, my gaze falling to hers. ‘I chose you, didn’t I?’ That’s a lie. I didn’t choose her. There was no choice to make. It was have her or wither. Have her or never be the same again.

  ‘Maybe I chose you,’ she responds, her tone teasing.

  ‘I’m always down for whatever the lady chooses.’ Deepening my accent, I rasp the words into her neck.

  ‘So long as the lady isn’t bringing another woman into our bed?’ I find myself stilling at the air of something—of suggestion?—in her words.

  ‘Are you curious?’ I keep my voice soft as I sift the strands of gold though my fingertips when, palms on my chest, she pulls back to better look me in the eye. ‘Have you ever slept with two women before?’

  Two? Try three. Try four. But that’s not what she’s asking.

  ‘I thought we were never going to play that game.’

  ‘And was that for your benefit or mine?’ she asks, anger flashing in her gold gaze. She tries to move from my embrace, but fuck that noise as I wrap my arms around her, hooking her leg with mine to press her close—to prevent her escape.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m not going to deny who I am.’ Who I was. ‘But in answer to your question, I have. So let me ask you a question; is it really Ethan, or would you like to add someone a little more feminine to the mix?’

  ‘You like your men manly, not effeminate. Why is that, do you suppose?’

  ‘Why do some people like ice cream and others cake?’

  ‘What kind of freak chooses ice cream over cake?’

  ‘Why do some people like anal and others don’t?’

  ‘Where are these freaks you’re getting your information from?’ she says, giggling now. And just like that, the tense atmosphere dissipates. ‘Anal is awesome in the right circumstances,’ she asserts.

  ‘And what circumstances are those?’ I ask, hooking her knee over my thigh.

  ‘Oh, I like it when you dig out the dangerous purr. What I meant was, anal is awesome with you. And for the record, I’m only interested in it where you’re at the helm.’

  ‘Stern,’ I correct. ‘Strictly speaking, if we’re talking in boating analogies, your arse would be the stern.’

  ‘And here I was thinking I was the smart one, being a doctor and all.’

  ‘You, my darlin’, are most certainly the smartest. Except for that tiny lapse in judgment when you said yes to marrying me.’ I still can’t believe it. Dr Bea Zante, affianced to me. ‘But what the lady wants, the lady gets.’

  ‘But what the lady wants, the lady gets.’ Because I’m easy like that. And by that, I mean bisexual My temperament isn’t what you’d call easy, and I’m certainly faithful to the woman in my arms. From the moment I fell in love with her, she’s called the shots. I can and have been attracted to both men and women. I’m just lucky to have found love and acceptance in Bea.

  ‘Maybe the lady wants to see Ethan blowing you into next week,’ She answers airily.

  ‘Or is the lady really curious about pussy?’

  ‘No,’ she answers definitively. ‘It was just an idle thought. I’m all about the dick,’ she says, rubbing herself almost against mine. ‘And that includes watching yours slide into Ethan’s mouth.’

  ‘He does give an excellent blow job,’ I agree. ‘But he’s no match for these lips,’ I say, slanting my mouth over hers.

  ‘That’s the thing, though,’ Bea says, pulling away. ‘While I love being on the end of your dick, I don’t get to see your reactions. That’s what’s fun about watching someone else blow you.’

  ‘That and you get to fuck them later.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ she agrees, laughter colouring her words. ‘But it’s more than that. The biggest turn-on of inviting someone in for the night is watching you. It’s all about you,’ she says wistfully. But her words make me uncomfortable.

  ‘Sweetheart, I don’t want you to feel like I need this. So long as I have you, I don’t need anyone else.’

  Wrapping her long legs tighter, I allow her to push me onto my back, and the vision as she straddles me is pretty bloody fantastic. Tanned and toned skin, she’s all peaks and delicious valleys. Full breasts and rounded hips, an elegant neck and delicately freckled collarbones. I find myself touching the dappling of nature’s copper kisses before my hands caress the length of her arms, coming to hold both her hands in my own. Hands that mend broken bodies. And this rare creature chose me.

  ‘That first night we met.’ She pulls her hands from mine, sliding her hair behind her ears in a self-conscious motion. ‘You asked me something. Do you remember?’

  ‘Was this before or after I had my hands in your knickers in the hallway?’

  My question earns me a tweak of my nipple. I’m not afraid to admit I might squeal a bit.

  ‘If you have to ask, maybe you’ll never know.’ I’m not sure how, but her response is both mild and barbed.

  ‘You must terrify the nurses with that tone.’

  ‘I do not. Nurses are fantastic. The newly mint
ed doctor, however, not so much.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes,’ I respond with a chuckle. ‘And of course, I remember. I remember everything about that night. That tiny woollen dress you were wearing, the one that started the night as a sweater. Of how I longed to run my fingers up your fantastic legs.’

  ‘I seem to remember you did,’ Bea purrs as I do just that.

  ‘Fuck, just thinking about it makes me hard. I remember how you smelled. Which was intoxicating, by the way. You were so prickly,’ I add, unable to restrain my smile at the memory. ‘And I wanted you from the moment you stole food from my plate.’

  ‘That’s what you remember? Out of all things that happened that night.’

  ‘It’s not every day I share my plate with a stranger.’

  ‘You were finished! And I was so hungry.’

  ‘So was I,’ I answer, my grin turning wolfish. I buck my hips against her, and she falls forward, her hands on my shoulder. ‘Hungry for some honey.’

  ‘So you remember some things,’ she murmurs, flattening her palms on my chest and straightening. She slides her hands into her hair again, this time gathering it over one shoulder. Countermanding her attempts to remain serious, her breasts sway with the movement, her wet heat deliciously close to my hardening cock. I glance down the length of our bodies, the glint of metal at my cock head almost breaching her slick pink lips.

  ‘But do you remember what you said?’

  Stop looking. Concentrate on the words.

  ‘I asked who you were dancing for.’

  She’d put on a show, dancing alone on the crowded dance floor. Her hands sliding over her body, her hips made love to the music. While she watched me, watching her. There was no doubt she was dancing for me. It was a slow kind of torture.

  ‘That’s right,’ she whispers, touching the tiny honey bee tattooed on my chest over my heart. ‘I could feel your eyes on me like a caress, and while I thought I imagined your desire, your motives, I wanted to be watched.’

  ‘Because you’re my little exhibitionist.’