Page 58 of Highland Games
Her heart skittered out of control. He exuded raw, unfettered masculinity. She pulled him to her, spreading her legs, angling her hips up to meet him. He settled between them, cradling her head, teasing open her mouth with his tongue. He gently nudged at her opening, pushing against her tightness.
He was so big, she involuntarily tensed, not knowing how she could take him in. He held her hips still with one hand, taking the other to stroke along the line of her jaw, soothing her, his tongue caressing her mouth. She sighed, and let him ease her into relaxation, the hot tip of his tongue trailing fire across her lips as he slowly inched his cock into her. With every lick, he pressed deeper, her muscles prickling with the sweet invasion.
He moved so slowly, so tenderly, as he filled her completely. She trailed her fingers down his back, feeling the movement of his hips, each thrust sending a tingling deep inside as she adjusted to his size. She let his kisses soften her, his breadth stretching her until she was completely wrapped around him. She clasped him to her and he stilled, his cock buried deep, his tongue in her mouth, his body on hers. She felt a fullness, a unity, an all-encompassing love.
She tensed her muscles around him and he tore his lips from hers, panting into her hair. ‘Fuck! Zoe, Jesus!’
She could feel his body vibrating with the effort of holding back. He drew shallow breaths into her neck, fisting his hands into her curls, as he began a slow rhythm; withdrawing slowly, then plunging deep within her.
Zoe cried out, clawing at his back, wanting, needing more. Each thrust sent a shower of sparks through her, igniting a fire that throbbed and burned. She brought her legs over his, tucking her feet under his thighs, and raked her nails into his hair and down his spine, holding onto the rock-solid muscles of his bottom, pushing him deeper. He growled into her neck, nipping at it and thrusting harder as she brought her hips up to meet him.
She felt his restraint but wanted more, clenching as he withdrew, dragging her pelvic floor against him. Each time he sank his cock deep, she gasped, light tearing up through her body. Another release unfurled within her, flames licking down her inner thighs and up into her abdomen. She reached between them to touch herself. She saw him watching, as her fingers circled her wet clitoris.
‘Fuck, Zoe! I can’t, I can’t hold on,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.
But she was gone, crying his name, bucking her hips up to him, her muscles spasming, her body imploding around him.
He let go, thrusting into her, roaring her name. She clutched at him, his orgasm pumping deep within her. He collapsed on top of her, fighting for breath, shaking in her arms.
He tried to move his weight from her but she clutched at him with a fierce strength, wanting to keep him inside for as long as possible. His face was buried in her neck, his hair lying like a blanket over her face. He flicked it off her and she kissed him. He stared at her as if she was the dawn of creation, the Holy Grail, nirvana. She smiled and he blinked, as if trying to reassure himself she was still there and not a figment of his imagination.
Zoe tried to speak but his weight was too much. He immediately shifted, withdrawing from her and lying on his side, head propped up on his hand. He traced from freckle to freckle down her body. She ran her fingers over the hard ridges of his abdomen, and her toes through the hairs on his legs.
She stared at him, the breath stopping in her throat. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, the most desirable human on the planet. Even dipping him in chocolate couldn’t increase his appeal any further. That thought sent a reminder from her stomach to her brain she hadn’t eaten for a while.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Always,’ he replied, taking her nipple in his mouth, licking it with languid strokes, his free hand rubbing the tip of the other. It hardened under his touch.
‘No, I, I mean, I mean food. Do you want— Ah!’ She broke off as he gently squeezed her nipple, rolling it as she writhed beneath him.
He blew a steady stream of cool air across the wet tip. ‘Oh, I want to eat all right,’ he promised, and reached for the box of condoms on the bed, taking out another. He took the used condom off his hard cock, tied a knot in the end and dropped it over the side of the bed onto the floor.
Zoe was confused. ‘What? Again?’
Rory kissed down the centre line of her abdomen, swirling his tongue in her belly button, then kissing into her curls. He gave her a devilish smile. ‘Oh yes. Only this time there’ll be a bit more finesse.’
The next morningZoe sat at her chair in the library, a dopey smile on her face. It hadn’t been a dream. They’d had sex. A lot of sex. Universe-shattering sex. They had continued to make love as the cabin darkened into night, all thought of food abandoned. Rory promised he would make it up to her with a meal the next night, and when he’d finally left to get back to Bandit, she had flopped back onto the bed and passed out in a blissful haze.
Now, back at the library, she mixed work and pleasure by editing the photos from the photoshoot. They went into three folders: one for the generic castle shots, one for the photos of Rory, and one for the pictures Fiona had taken of the two of them. She decided to come to the wedding album last.
The pictures of him in his kilt made her shift about on the plastic chair, her heart beating faster. In the library, the least erotic space in Kinloch, she was feeling extremely hot and bothered. She tried to look objectively at the photos, imagining different people finding the website. What would they see?
She knew in her heart of hearts what they would see. They would see a male in his prime, a fantasy, no matter if you were young or old, gay or straight. For many, it would be a purely sexual one, as they took in his perfect form, his virility, his eyes staring out at you from the screen. For some it would be a fantasy about how they wished they looked, what would happen if they woke up one day in his body instead of their own. For others it would be a historical fantasy, a reimagining of the past, when the world was shaped by warriors, not politicians.
To her, he was everything. Strong, funny, caring, and hot as hell. She couldn’t stop flicking through the photos. In the end, the homepage was entirely made up of the one of him on the battlements, sword in one hand, flag in the other. She used the one with his shirt on, but you could still see his muscular chest underneath. The main text read ‘Discover the Power of Kinloch Castle’. She added more text in a block underneath, then went to the other pages she had written, adding more photos and playing about with the layout.
Finally, she came to the photos of her and Rory together. They seemed like a couple in love, a couple who saw only each other. She didn’t know if she could ever use them on the castle’s website. There was a rawness, an intimacy about them. Should she send Sam a photo of her and Rory in their wedding outfits? Title it ‘Thanks for the condoms, look what we did today!’
She sniggered to herself. The thought of her reaction was almost enough for her to do it, but then Sam would ring her parents, they would raise their freak-out level to DEFCON two, drop whatever they were doing and drive up. So, she resisted the temptation and instead went back to the website. Rory had texted her his email address, the descriptive ‘[email protected]’, and she emailed him a long list of questions about the history of the castle she hoped he would be able to answer. She then went online to do a more thorough search for information.
Ten minutes later she found a few references to the estate on the Highland council website. She opened the one with the most recent date on it and flicked over the text. It was a planning application for a spa and retreat centre. She scanned the details, seeing the name Stuart MacGinley, then the map of the site. It couldn’t be right? The area was by the loch, and her land was right in the middle of it.
As her brain processed the information, she fell apart. Her heart stopped with a shooting pain, and her stomach rolled, trying to empty its contents. She gripped the edge of the desk, her head swimming, reading and re-reading. Trying to find a way to convince herself what she was looking at was incorrect, that she was wrong, that it was all wrong. She was falling out of a heavenly dream into a living hell, as she tried to control the mouse to print out the web page.
She stuffed her things into her bag, desperately trying not to cry, grabbed the sheet from the printer and dashed out the building. She had to get back to the cabin.
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