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“Think I just need a break. But we’re here for Luke… and Luke always insists on makin’ life complicated.”
“What d’you think MacKechnie’s doing? You trust him?”
“Aye,” Finlay says instantly. “He’s no’ Irons. He’s been wi’ that family for generations. He willnae try anythin’ — except get it intae Luke’s thick skull that I’m unworthy o’ him.” He sighs, rubbing his tired eyes. “I know it’s a protective measure but… I thought a’ this was over wi’.”
“He just hasn’t seen you for a while. And the last time he did see you — well, it was a lot different. I wouldn’t blame Luke for his head being scrambled.”
“No, I get that. I’m just fed-up bein’ the one everyone thinks it’s okay tae shit on. HeknowsI’ve had it in for him since the start. But… I love him, sassenach. I dae. He’s my pal. I’m against royalty as a principle, and I’ve telt him that and he still respected my opinion. Because friends — they dinnae lie tae each other, they dinnae delude, they dinnae deceive, they dinnae conceal. And so it’s taken a while for me tae get there andnotcrow about havin’ the upper hand, because upper hands are straightened out so suddenly when ye’re no’ payin’ attention, and I get it noo. Karma. I so very fuckin’ get karma.”
He takes a large swallow of whisky, his eye twitching as the burn slides down his throat. “Sorry. Ye didnae ask for late-night misery-dumps from wee morose sad-boys.”
“I like it,” I tell him, my feet stretching out along the sofa to rest comfortably between his legs. Finlay raises an eyebrow at me as he pours another drink.
“Oh, you like itthatmuch,” he says, indicating my toes as they play with the bulge beneath his kilt, and for a small blissful time, I laugh.
12
Darkness and danger follow me. A dagger shines. Familiar jewel-bright eyes pierce the shadows. Rain. Bullets of rain. I wake with a start, knocking an open-mouthed Finlay awake as I check the black, lightless corners of our bedroom. Dawn still hasn’t broken. My heart is hammering and my head is tightly bound fuzz.
“Whi’s’matter?” Finlay whispers sleepily from the dark, rubbing his eyes. “Ye really desperate no’ tae be skittery winter, is that it?”
I don’t know what this means. From Finlay’s wry tone, it sounds like a joke I won’t understand. I’m too busy trying to get my racing heart under control. Amber eyes.Amber eyes…
Finlay sits up, his warm naked body holding me securely from behind. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft, his messy hair brushing my nape. “It was just a dream. Just some bad, stupid dream.” He plants a delicate kiss on my neck. “We probably drank too much. Daft o’ me, really.”
“We need to be careful,” I murmur, shivering beneath Finlay’s warm mouth, my eyes still scanning the bedroom. “They could be spying on us right now. This house is too big, they could be inside already—”
“Naebody’s inside. MacKechnie set a million different alarms.”
“Alarms can be disabled.”
“Sassenach,” Finlay chides bluntly. His arms wrap around my waist and he draws me back down into the nest of soft pillows. “If ye think we’re doomed, we may as well just gie up. Come back tae sleep.”
I let his soft, sensible whispers wash over me. Dreams about Benji — they’re the worst, and they’ve certainly increased over the last few weeks. I stare blankly at the thick canopy stretched above us, willing the knot in my chest to ease, as Finlay kisses his way down to my belly.
My hands fall to his hair, caressing the velvet-soft strands. In the darkness, his mouth finds my left breast, and he sucks enthusiastically on my nipple. Soon, my heart is racing for an entirely different reason, as Finlay’s cock curves like warm silk against my thighs, and all thoughts of Benji vanish into the ether.
Mouths collide, messy and wet. When fingers trace my clit, spirals of pleasure burn into my soul. I find myself clutching Finlay’s shoulders with sharp, clamping fingers, grounded by the raw certainty of bones and bodies, the quality of the tangible that does not exist within dreams. Finlay’s cock slicks pre-cum along the skin of my inner thighs, as delectable as being bound by ribbon. He rocks into me, painting my lips with slow, deep kisses, claiming me as his as he chases my demons away.
I realize what he’s doing to me when his length slides between my thighs. When he grinds into me, against me, when he’s so enraptured by my body that he uses it to physically get off. I arch into his toying fingers as his taut cock plunges in and out of the space between my legs, as he pins me to the bed and whispers his love for me in the dark.
My mouth expresses desire while caressing his hair. Above me he curves like a bow, all lean male muscle and confidence, his hips thrusting into the gap between me. A flicker of wonder winds through my thoughts — have they ever done this together, Finlay and Rory? In the dark, in the dorm, pretending it doesn’t count when a cock slides instead of slots. Because there’s practice in the way Finlay moves, and sometimes the confines of darkness have a way of revealing instead of concealing.
Moans fill the space between our lips, until Finlay surges forward to claim them again. He catches my pleasure and eats it, devouring it like a giant above me, as my cunt quivers beneath unsteady fingers, as my legs embrace his cock. We’re a messy, hedonistic duo, chasing rapture and true release, until one of us is filled with enough greed to tip the scale, and it’s me, it’s me who’s crying into Finlay’s hungry mouth as he drinks me up, his tongue telling tales of love and longing as it meets mine. As I shudder into him, drained by the second, he spills into me with a wild soul-splitting groan, filling me up with the hot flood of his release. It scores my skin like devilry. Like I’m the sacrifice, like pentagrams are now scorched into my skin, lovingly branded.
He hangs above me, unseeable in the dark but suspended, his warm breath a ghost across my throat. I reach up to kiss him, and he returns the kiss soundly, collapsing onto his side as we roll together beneath the blankets.
In a gruff voice, Finlay says, “Sometimes I think whit I feel for ye is enough tae…”
He stops. I prod. “What?”
He indulges me with a small, almost shy laugh, his hand stroking up my bare side. “Rebirth the world. Build it in yer image. Because at this point, I’d dae anythin’ for ye. I’m obsessed. Ye know that, right?”
Benji, once, had tried to charm me with promises of remaking the world — but never in my image. It had been entirely in his, with me to stand by and offer silent, docile support, watching as he upturned democracy like a child hunting for a toy, and promoted the most mindless class of violence and violation as politics. He’d never have done anything for me, only himself. It should have been obvious from the start.
“We’re on the cusp of a new year,” I murmur, my fingers tracing Finlay’s full, eager lips. He suckles my fingertips, my nails nipped by teeth. Desperate optimism flecks my voice. Wrapped around Finlay, in the dawn-dark quiet of our room, I can’t help but believe in the sweet teasing brush of hope that a new year brings. “Maybe in time the world will be reborn.”
* * *
