JAMES
I look up and jolt to find Mia watching me from the other side of the worksurface, thank god for small mercies. Fresh-faced from her shower, rosy and sweet, her hair in a ponytail, she’s a dream. I imagine all that silk released and wrapped over my fist. Just right for tugging—gently but firm enough to make her gasp.
That slouchy sweater and figure-hugging leggings. Her feet are clad just in socks. They’re red with white snowflakes and altogether she looks so cute I want to… I don’t know. I have no place in my life for cuteness like her.
Which is why I adjust my painfully erect cock, subtly, as I pull the cranachan from the fridge.
“Sure, that’s a good idea.” Perhaps in the lounge I’ll stop imagining clearing the table with one sweep of my arm, then setting her on it and dining on her pussy, her thighs over my shoulders, until she screams, then screams again as I make her come time after time on my tongue until she’s as melted as butter on a summer’s day.
I direct her through to the smallest of the sitting rooms and busy myself lighting a fire, even though it’s easily warm enough. In alternating moans of pleasure and contented chatter, she identifies the ingredients of the Scottish dessert I made for her. Cream, raspberries, oats, whisky, honey.
And when I join her on the sofa—she has taken up camp right in the middle because she clearly has no idea how tempting her proximity is—I can’t help but look at her.
“What is it?” she asks when she notices. “Have I got cream around my mouth? On my nose?” She touches the corresponding parts of her face as if I might be in doubt about what she means.
“Yes.” I dip my finger into the cream of my dessert and dab it onto her nose and she squirms away, laughing.
That breaks a bit of the tension that has been building between us. Or my fantasies, anyway. My erection doesn’t go down, but I can think clearly enough to keep her at a distance. We talk all evening. Recalling good times, but about plans for the future, too. Opinions of the antiques in the room and what she’d want in a house. What she likes—kids and animals. She’s been thinking about studying to be a veterinarian but isn’t sure about the commitment. And if she notices my jaw tightening when she says she’d love to have babies, she doesn’t let on. With the right person, she adds, glancing at me under lowered lashes.
When the fire has died to red embers, she yawns and I realise I’m an arsehole. It’s been an insane day of escape for her, and she’s been awake forever.
“You should go to bed, mo chridhe.” I stand and gather our bowls.
“I’ll do that.” She’s at my side instantly, trying to lift them from my hands.
Her fingers are a hot vice as they touch mine: I can’t ignore it, I can’t think about anything else.
“No,” I grunt. I take care ofher. That’s how this works.
“Let me do something! I haven’t lifted a finger all evening.”
“It was my pleasure.” I jerk the bowls from her as she tries to wrest them from me. And I don’t know how it happens but the next moment the empty china is bouncing off the carpet and Mia has her hands on my shoulders and is kissing me.
It’s so unexpected it should make me freeze. But my body knows exactly what to do with this situation even as my mind protests.
I take control and for a glorious few seconds we’re standing in front of the heat of the fire, our mouths giving and taking in a slide against each other. Her kiss is all inexperienced ardour. Her sweet curves are pressed to my front, my head is bowed to reach her and she’s on tiptoes.
Her whimper of need has my grip tightening on her waist and finally wakes me to what I’m about. I absolutely cannot do anything more than kiss her, and if we don’t stop now I’ll have her naked and be making her come with my mouth within three minutes.
It takes all my strength to peel her arms from around my neck, but before I can step away, she grabs me, tiny and furious.
“Don’t you dare deny me, James. Don’t you dare.”
You don’t take advantage of a lass tipsy on whisky-laced desserts, who are snowed in.
She said she wants freedom. She’s your best friend’s daughter.
The lucid and logical part of my mind is an uptight prick, and I hate him.
“I shouldn’t,” I protest but Mia must know. She must hear how weak I am for her, because she says that one word designed to undo me.
“Please.”
With a groan, I tug Mia back into my arms and fall onto the sofa. She scrambles to sit across my lap and get our lips together again.
“Just a kiss,” I tell her.
She makes a sound that could mean anything fromyestonotothat feels goodtoshut up and kiss me. Functionally, it means that last one, as her mouth lands on mine with infectious enthusiasm.
