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9
This, I am not too unaware to realize, is a claim. Me, dressed in nothing but the tartan of Rory’s school. And that word —desecrate? I swallow. It sounds heavy and serious. The other chiefs watch him in silence, but Rory only has eyes for me. His gaze caresses me from across the room, dropping from eyes to lips to bare breasts before sliding slowly back up. The effect is so strong that he may as well have grabbed me, and I realize as he breaks our gaze that my chest has started to heave rapidly.
“Fin,” Rory drawls, sinking back into the pillows on the bed opposite us, lounging against the headboard with an arm slung behind his neck. “Decorate her.”
I lick my lips nervously, staring at Finlay and the hand wrapped around the silver nozzle of the piping bag. Maybe that’s what Rory had said initially and I misheard him.Decorate, notdesecrate.
Finlay stands. He doesn’t look back at Rory, but there’s a reluctance in his stance that makes me think he wants to do exactly that — that he craves Rory’s reassurance for what he’s about to do.
Danny and Luke help position me on the bed. I’m lying flat, staring up at all three of them. True to his word, Danny hasn’t left my lower half, and Luke sprawls beside my breasts, his hand occasionally reaching out to toy with a nipple. But it’s Finlay who spreads my legs open, widening them as far as my school skirt allows. He crawls into the gap between my thighs, his green eyes shining with the fervor of a willing volunteer, and holds the nozzle directly above my stomach.
Ropes of cold white frosting fall across the skin of my belly in long, smooth swirls. As it lands, the frosting is soft and squidgy, but gradually it hardens in the air and clings to my skin. I suck breath through my teeth at the ticklish sensations. Finlay raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t speak, instead choosing to follow his master’s orders and add yet more swirly decoration to my torso.
Finlay travels all over me, squirting cool white sugar across the blades of my shoulders and along the dip of my collarbone, trailing the nozzle languidly down my breastbone. He wears an expression of glee that he can’t even disguise, like this is a task he relishes. Sugar spirals around my belly button and curls up my breasts, peaking over my nipples like tiny little pyramids. Finlay’s careful about where he positions the frosting. Nothing ever goes near my skirt, as though it’s the one sacred place of my body.
I glance down at myself, expecting the worst — to resemble a human crossed with a baked Alaska. But that’s not the case. The lines are silk-smooth circles and undulating S-shapes. Finlay’s interspersed dots of frosting among the whorls. It looks like a beautifully intricate tribal pattern of some kind, a bright white full-body tattoo instead of lines upon lines of concentrated sugar.
For Finlay’s final flourish, he leans forward and positions the nozzle of the piping bag directly at my throat. This feels different, lethal almost, like a gun about to go off. I lock eyes with Finlay, counting down the seconds during this frozen moment of stillness, awaiting the instant that a jet of cool sticky wetness spatters me. He sprays a thick line of frosting straight across my neck before trailing it down in a loose zig-zag. I can’t help my needy little gasp. It should be vulgar. It should be shocking. It shouldn’t feel as hot and meaningful as it does, as drops of gloopy white frosting shower my skin from the spent nozzle, slipping down my sternum like pearl beads from a broken necklace.
My eyes are wide as I watch Finlay. His are victorious. Another claim within a claim:you may be his — but you are also mine.
Finlay’s smile is broad and indulgent as he gazes down at me, looking highly pleased with his efforts, the piping bag still in his hand.
“Tae yer satisfaction, I presume?” Finlay asks, turning around to look at Rory.
“She seems well-covered. How much icing is left?”
Finlay glances at the piping bag. “No’ much. Let’s put it this way, if yer wantin’ tae get fancy and squirt it on oor cocks, then I’d suggest giein’ it tae Danny would be a stretch.”
“No,” Rory says, sounding somewhat bemused, and though I can’t see beyond Finlay’s wild black hair, I sense Rory’s desire to nurse his temples. “I know you’re more insatiable than the saint at times, Fin, but no, that was never part of the plan. I have no intention to waste the icing sugar on Danny-boy’s girth especially.”
“Okay, can everyone stop objectifying me?” Danny asks in a snippy tone. “Thanks.”
Luke snorts. “Who knew having a big one would be such hardship?”
“Not you, anyway,” Danny sniffs, and Luke only laughs merrily once again.
I want to bash my head against the pillows. There is nothing more ridiculous than a bunch of men confronted by the existence of a giant swinging dick, I swear to God. Why don’t they just bow down and worship this chance totem of manly male virility?
“I am sitting here,” I remind them in a clipped, cool tone, “covered entirely in frosting.”
“Icin’. It’s called icin’ here.”
I shoot my deadliest glare in Finlay’s direction. “I don’t give a fuck for linguistic variation right now.You’rethe one who did this to me.”
“Ye say that like I should be ashamed.” Finlay’s eyes trace the curled sugar across my body, his gaze lingering on the frosted peaks coating my breasts. “Nah, I’m proud o’ my work. Ye look guid enough tae eat, sassenach — and I’m a vegan.”
It’s such a ridiculous statement, spoken with so much conviction, that I can’t help but burst out laughing. Finlay’s green eyes twinkle at me.
And then Rory says quietly behind Finlay, “So do it, then. Lick her.”
Wings flutter in my belly at his command. The bed had been filled with laughter and stupid boyishdick jokes but Rory’s refusing to play along. He’s above it. His voice is gravely serious — and for some reason that makes my stomach as swirly on the inside as the outside.
Finlay, Luke and Danny share a glance and then gaze down at my decorated, desecrated body. It’s Danny who moves first, taking up residence in the spot behind Finlay and nudging Finlay off to the side. Finlay clambers over my thighs, looking disgruntled as he’s usurped from the prime spot between my legs.
“Sorry, bro,” Danny says cheerfully. “Baggsied it long before you got here.” He slides his body down so that he’s nestled between me on his front, his rounded jaw directly above the waistband of my skirt. And then he reaches out for my hand, entwining his fingers around mine. “You okay?” he asks, his soft brown eyes gazing at me intently.
I nod, squeezing his warm, comforting hand. “More than.”
