Page 113 of The Devil Wears Tartan

Equals who still really like to mess with each other sometimes.

“You suuure we’re gonna have time to fix our hair?” I drawl as I inch my fingers up under the edge of her t-shirt. “I won’t gloat if you want to just go ahead and admit I’m faster than you.”

She scoffs, and before I can brace to retaliate, she flips us over in one fluid motion and lands with her legs straddling my thighs. She straightens up to balance on her knees, and I have a moment to appreciate the sight of her towering over me as she reaches up to push back a few wisps of hair that have already escaped her bun.

The motion makes her tits strain against her white shirt and lifts the edge enough for me to see a sliver of her lily white stomach.

My throat goes dry, and my hands twitch with the need to touch her.

She’s got her personalized Murray School of Highland Dance windbreaker hanging open on top, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The little embroidered swath of Murray tartan above the jacket’s front pocket makes the whole ensemble even sexier; I love seeing her in my family’s colours.

Kenzie took all of last summer to decide whether or not she wanted to accept the teaching job my mum offered her for the fall. At first I was frustrated with her taking so long, but I came around and realized it was a way smarter decision to think it through.

We needed time to build a foundation for things between us before we intertwined our lives that much, and Kenzie needed time to make peace with the changes in her own life.

I think part of her might have spent the summer holding out hope Catherine would soften. In a way, she did—she voided Kenzie’s non-compete clause so she could keep teaching highland somewhere else, which, coming from Catherine, was an act of extreme reconciliation in and of itself—but the two of them weren’t able to salvage any of the good parts of a relationship that still causes Kenzie pain to this day.

Things have mellowed a little over the course of the year. Catherine doesn’t shoot constant daggers at us at SDOO events, and Kenzie doesn’t lose as much sleep about the way things ended. They even nod at each other from across the room at competitions sometimes.

Maybe one day Catherine really will accept the invitation to talk things over that Kenzie left her with. For both their sakes, I hope she does, but in the meantime, I’m proud my girlfriend is putting herself first.

“You always gloat.” Kenzie leans back down and brings her lips to my ear. The throaty sound of her murmur pulls me back into the present, and when she traces the shell of my ear with her tongue, I shiver and close my eyes.

“You do too,” I argue, my voice too breathy to have any bite to it.

She retaliates with another kiss. This one is scorching, burning through my veins like wildfire that has me clawing at her clothes and writhing under her body. She cups my jaw with one hand, tilting my head back to take full control of my mouth.

I moan when her thumb slides down to brush over my throat.

“Moira, Moira, Moira,” she whispers against my lips, her mocking tone somehow so sexy it makes my thighs tense. “You’d give me anything, wouldn’t you?”

I arch my neck in answer. There’s no point denying what we both know is true.

Her thumb works its way down to trace my collarbones and the hollow at the base of my throat. I shiver. Kenzie chuckles against my mouth and then dips her whole hand under the neck of my shirt and into one of the cups of my bra, finding my hard nipple.

“Come on, Moira,” she taunts. “Don’t make this too easy.”

It’s just enough of a dare to pull me out of my daze and make me bat my eyes open. I find her smirking at me, and before she can brace for it, I push on her shoulders and raise us both up so I can settle myself in her lap with my legs wrapped around her waist.

I don’t worry about being too big or too heavy. I know she loves my body, and I know she loves the way I love my body too.

We kiss with our chests pressed together, our hands seeking any bare skin they can find. She clasps hers around the back of my neck and pulls me even closer before sliding her fingers up to dig them into my pinned up hair.

I’m so caught up in what her tongue’s doing inside my mouth it takes me a few seconds to realize what her hands are up to.

“Hey!” I yelp after pulling my head back. “You’re messing it up on purpose!”

She shrugs and gives me a grin that can only be described as devilish.

“We didn’t establish any rules for this competition,” she says, “and besides, you look super hot with your hair all messed up.”

She tugs on a lock that’s fallen loose at the back of my head, and the sharp spike of the sensation makes me pull my lip between my teeth.

“Well, so do you,” I counter before kissing her with a fury and burying my fingers in her hair too.

We can only keep it up for a few seconds before we both burst out laughing.

“God, we’re ridiculous,” I pant, leaning over to rest my forehead on her shoulder.

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