I amnotan inanimate object as she uses me. I’m telling her she’s hot and sweet and listening to her soft whimpers. I’m telling her how good she is and how amazing she feels. I’m tensing the muscles in my thigh so I’m harder for her, more solid to rub against to get her off more strongly. I’m smoothing my hands down her back and over the curve of her arse.
“Mo chridhe. My love,” I whisper into her hair, but I swear she hears by osmosis because the next second she’s juddering on my thigh. Then she cries out and shakes uncontrollably, head buried in my shoulder. That’s a good thing, because if I watched her face as she came she’d see my terrifying possessiveness of all her beauty.
I hold her to me and make circles on her back, murmuring more words of praise and reassurance like she’s completed a marathon rather than made herself come. But with the angle and the friction, I bet her legs are burning with the effort required to keep up that frantic pace.
As she stills, I gently press her forwards and she utterly collapses onto me, head nestled into my shoulder.
I don’t say anything. My cock is so hard I could use it as a hammer. But the desire for her isn’t what fills my brain, or even my whole body. A tendril of her soft hair tickles my nose and I leave it. She’s the best thing I’ve ever held in my arms and there’s a feeling in my chest, swelling and pushing on my ribs. Deep affection. The sort that rises from some dark part of your soul. A pinprick setting off a chain reaction and building into a star, a burning fire of heat that consumes all matter and radiates light.
Love. We have all this history together, her father had my respect and friendship, and she’s gorgeous and brave and smart. My grip on her tightens and I have to force myself not to squash her to me.
I have an inferno of love for my best friend’s daughter. I want everything from her. Marriage and babies and to be at her side, helping her achieve anything she wants in this life.
And I cannot do anything about it.
Nothing.
When she puts her soft cheek onto mine, it’s tentative. Questioning. I hold myself back from devouring her, instead meeting her lips with a kiss that conceals my savage desires, and gives, like before, only a contained part of myself as I replace our clothing. After her orgasm she’s pliable and lets me care for her.
“Time for you to sleep.” Because much as I’m dying to have her in my bed, my conscience is right. But my words sound tender and affectionate in a way I didn’t intend, but do mean.
I’ll remember this sweet, whisky-laced moment. I can already feel how my skin has absorbed it. My heart has tucked away the memory safe between the pulmonary artery and the right atrium.
“Yeah.” She folds her arms and the look of hurt on her face almost breaks me. “Sorry about that.”
Much as I want to reassure her, I don’t.
It ought to be awkward as we walk upstairs together, but although she’s not talking, I sense that she has realised why anything more would have been disastrous. I guide her to her room when she hesitates on the landing, and open her door for her.
I attempt a smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. She does too, but it’s as sad as mine.
“Goodnight, mo chridhe.”
I don’t wait to hear her reply. I head down the corridor to my own room. Alone.
5
MIA
It’s still snowing in the morning and the tension in my chest eases. I have a little more time here. With my dad’s best friend.
I lay in bed last night and thought about James and what he meant to me in the past, and what he means to me now. I thought about all the ways he was everything I wanted. Safe and strong and hot af.
Downstairs, James is in the kitchen, staring out at the snow. When he looks up he smiles and my heart goes wild. Is he too thankful that the storm hasn’t abated?
He doesn’t mention what happened last night, and neither do I. When I see his thighs encased in perfectly fitted denim though, as he comes out from behind the kitchen island to give me coffee and sit at a safe distance across the table, I actually salivate.
My wet pussy was pressed to him. Right to his skin. And I felt his erection, undeniable proof that he wanted me.
I’m so busy with his thighs, I don’t ascertain if he’s hard again this morning before he takes a seat.
Despite my protests that I don’t need anything special, he makes a full English breakfast, complete with black pudding, rolling his eyes when I protest.
It’s… honestly not as bad as I expected? Like strong-tasting sausage, which with soft white bread feels perfect for this weather and the bleak Scottish landscape. Pretty tasty when I add lashings of his homemade tomato ketchup that has a spicy kick.
“What would you like to do?” he asks as he clears up our plates.
A multitude of replies tear through my mind and nearly come out of my mouth.Lose my virginity to you. Be your lass forevermore. Get pregnant so I’ll have a part of you with me even if you won’t allow me to stay. Suck your cock.
