Page 85 of Scotch on the Rocks

There was no slow build-up. No customary graze of noses before the tentative learning of lips.

Seizing my cheeks, Callum’s mouth enveloped mine, his fresh stubble scratching exquisitely over my skin. Wet skin slid together, my legs brushed his, lips parting to drag histongue into my mouth, sucking on it to savour the final remnants of his laughter.

“Fuck,” he murmured into my mouth, then dove in for another, kissing me as though he wanted to tattoo the taste of me onto his lips. “This isn’t why I brought you here.”

“No?”

“No.” He squeezed my waist. “I brought you to cheer you up.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Yeah?”Shit, if that smile wasn’t hopeful.

I nodded and his nose ran down the side of mine, ending in another toe-curling kiss, punctuated by his moan in my mouth. “I’ll never get enough of this.”

My arms wound around his neck, fingers fisting his hair as I said, “Good, I don’t want you to.” Beneath the water, his hands circled my thighs, hoisting them up and around his waist. And then we were moving, slicing through the water until my back met stone. A rushing sound filled my ears, and I had just enough of my senses left to register that he’d partially hidden us behind the waterfall, white foam rippling about our waists.

“Juniper.” He pulled back, eyes darting between my face and the slow, almost imperceptible roll of our hips. He shook his head, trying to snap himself free of the frenzy.

“Don’t stop,” I begged him, tugging on his hair, addicted to the sensation of his thick cock against my thigh.

A hand left my hip, reverently coasting over my stomach to settle beneath my breast. “So soft … I fucking love your skin, I’ve imagined telling you so many times.”

“Tell me now.”

He explored further, starting at the point of my chin, dragging down my throat to the little hollow there. “Your skin is perfect. Softer than silk. And you smell fuckingincredible, it’s all I can think about when I’m near you.” The words were half slurred as he fiddled with the little strap tied behind my neck.

“Undo it,” I begged, head falling back against the stone.

“Don’t fucking tempt me, not here.” He cursed into my neck, inhaling deeply then following it up with an open-mouth kiss, his thumb brushing my nipple over the fabric.

“Please.” The embarrassing plea tore from me as my hips snapped against his.

But it was his turn to moan, his forehead falling against mine. “Jesus … Is that what I think it is?” Too lost in the sensation, I had no idea what he was talking about until his nose brushed over the painfully tight bud. My breath caught and he slid the triangles to the side, exposing me completely.

Then he just stared at me. His expression somewhere between awed and tortured.

I knew what he was seeing. Two delicate gold bars pierced my nipples, a dainty little diamond on each end. “Fucking hell.” His free hand scrubbed over his jaw. “When?”

I knew what he meant. “A few months after I moved back to Skye.” I’d cut my hair short, but the transformation hadn’t felt like enough.

“Can I touch them?”

“You better.”

Air punched from my lungs as the rough pad of his finger traced one bar, then the next. His eyes – pupils swallowing the blue entirely – fixed on my face, utterly obsessed with my every breath and groan. “You’re so beautiful … I can barely stand it.” His hand trembled, thumb running along the crease where my breast met my ribs, where a string of flowers marked my skin. “And this?”

It took me a moment to answer, “That one is older …Six or seven years.” Alistair had accompanied me to the tattoo shop, wanting to hold my hand though I was an old pro at that point.

Callum exhaled, his expression was like nothing I’d ever seen on him. Serious. Filled with intent. And then his tongue was there, brushing over the raised peak in a burning sweep, pulling the bar into his mouth.

“Are they sensitive?” he husked against my skin.

“Yes.” My eyes squeezed shut.

“I swear to god, sweetheart, the hottest thing I’ve seen in my entire life. Can I put my fingers in you?”

I nodded frantically, hips rolling on their own volition. How did he always know the exact right thing to say? The exact way I was feeling? Men had told me I was hot before … in every variation a woman could think of. But not a single one had looked at me like Callum while saying it. Like I was a goddess worthy of worship. As though the words had lived on the tip of his tongue all these years and finally speaking them aloud was the ultimate relief.

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