Page 65 of Curvy Love

“Goddamn it, Dimples.” I stand and find a shirt in my drawer and throw it on. “Tell me how you made yourself come.”

“I have a toy.”

“Like a vibrator?”

“Yes.”

“Does it go inside or just on your clit?”

“Just on my clit.”

“Fuck. Take off your panties, Willow, get your toy ready. Do not turn it on or touch yourself yet. I’ll know if you break the rules and then you’ll have to get punished.”

She sucks in a breath.

I smile. Yeah, my girl likes it like this. I grab my keys. “Text me your address,mo ghaol.”

chaptertwenty-seven

Willow

I am a horny mess of emotions.

I’ve never had a man speak to me like that. I’ve heard my sisters talk quietly about their husbands and the dirty talk, but I guess I didn’t really believe it was a thing. And maybe I’m building up what Abbott said into something more.

Still I find myself following his instructions. I brush my teeth, then I change into a skirt and take off my panties. I’m already so aroused that the slickness between my thighs feels embarrassingly wet.

I grab my vibrator which looks more like a little penguin than a sex toy and I’ve just set it on one of the end tables in my living room when the doorbell rings.

“Holy cow.” I take a couple of deep breaths. Am I about to have some hot sex with a ridiculously sexy professional soccer player? Yes, yes, I am.

I open the door and offer him a smile. He looks different than he did the other night. No kilt or button-down shirt. Instead, he’s casual in athletic shorts and a grey t-shirt that says, “I kick balls!”

His striking blue eyes roam over my face and then my body. There’s no denying the heat or lust in his eyes. I don’t understand why he wants me, but I’m not going to question it. And why should I? No, I don’t fit society’s conventional definition of beauty. But it doesn’t mean this sexy beast can’t find me attractive.

“Invite me in, Dimples,” he says.

“That accent of yours gets me in trouble,” I admit. I step aside to let him come into my home. It was once upon a time our family home, then it belonged to the three McLeod sisters and now, it is mine alone.

Somedays I find that fact sad and lonely. At this particular moment I am very thankful to have this house to my myself.

He comes forward and wraps me in a hug. His strong, powerful arms feel perfect around my body.

“You feel perfect in my arms,mo ghaol,” he says.

“What does that mean, mo gill?” I ask, trying to repeat his words, but Gaelic is not an easy language to pronounce if you’re not a native speaker.

“My love,” he says. Then he picks me up and slams the door closed with this foot. He walks us over to the couch and sits down, with me on his lap. “Kiss me, Dimples.”

I do, slanting my lips across his and completely ignoring all then questions running through my head. ‘My love’ as in love-love or just like darling or honey? I don’t know enough about his culture. I mean of course he’s not in love with me, we’ve known each other like an hour and a half. Okay, a little longer than that, but still a few days isn’t enough to fall in love.

Though it totally happened like that for my sisters. But lightning can’t strike the same family three times in a row. I didn’t have to take statistics to get a degree in special education so I can’t say that for certain, but I feel pretty sure that’s a true statement.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I lick against it. Those big calloused hands of his slip under my skirt and find my bare ass and he growls and squeezes.

“You listened,” he says gruffly, breaking our kiss. “Did you touch yourself?”

I shake my head.

---