Page 69 of Lochlan

“Let's stay like this?”

“You mean in a basement, in the dark? It would be lovely for a time, but Aubrey knows we're here; he'd eventually check on us. I suggest we make the most of the time we have together.”

My breath catches when his fingers slip under my chin, tilting it up. The kiss is tender, like the words he wrote to me in his love letter. I slip my arms around his neck, binding him to me. I press myself as tightly as I can against his body and breathe him in. He urges me onto the sofa, his mouth on mine. His fingers tug at my clothes, trying to find skin.

He unzips me, slides my jeans off, pulls the sweater over my head, and yanks panties and my bra off my body until everything I had on when I arrived is on a chair in a pile.

Lochlan runs a hand over my breasts and belly as if he's making sure I'm real. Then he pushes a finger deep into my pussy as I sigh with the pressure. I don't get a smile, just a look of satisfaction that I'm wet for him. He brushes my lips with a kiss. “It's my turn,” he says, in a low rumble. Before I can ask, he leaves me on the wide leather couch with a throbbing ache for him to return.

I scramble to my knees when I watch him skirt the couches for the back wall. When he knows he has my attention, he pulls his sweater over his head.

He should do this in front of the screen where there's a platform that's too small to be called a stage. I drape myself over the back of the couch, my stomach on the backrest, watching my imaginings about his body become a reality as more of his clothing falls away to reveal his cut muscle and a big, hard erection.

He comes closer to pull me up for a kiss. “Do you trust me, lass?” he asks, holding my face in his hands.

I nod.

“Will you let me have your body, the way I need it?” His hand drops to my waist to follow the curve of my bum to cup and squeeze.

“Anything,” I respond, scared and elated by what he wants.

He kisses me again, palming my breast, the wetness between my legs unbearable.

He climbs over the couch. I twist around to face him, but he turns my shoulders away from him. “Face the wall, gaol, I want to play with your beautiful round bum.”

When he calls me gaol, the Gaelic for love, I shiver because it’s so fucking sexy that I strain to hear more, until I realize he’s waiting. Adjusting my fingers, I clutch the backrest as his hand runs over my ass. He pushes two fingers into my pussy, bringing the moisture to my anus.

Words catch in my throat at what he's asking to do. He's a big man. It will be difficult if he takes me with no lube. It's not something he can ask Aubrey to deliver, or can he?

“I have nothing to lubricate,” I say.

His lips drop to my ear. “Never fear, gaol, this will be pleasurable for both of us,” he promises, and leaves me again, ambling towards the bar. I think he's going to bring me back whiskey to ease his entry inside of me. He brings back a bottle and something small in a glass vial, which is difficult to see in this dim light.

He sets the vial down and hands me the whiskey bottle. I sit back on the couch and take a healthy drink, then I hand the bottle back to watch him do the same. The drink hits me harder on an empty stomach. I rest my head on his shoulder and nestle into his side. His arm pulls me to him, while he tips the bottle up for another long drink until it's drained. The bottle hits the floor with a thump when he drops the spent bottle next to the couch.

“Assume the position,” he says with his old gruffness. I ignore him. Habits are hard to break.

I'm back in place, but he urges me to the opposite side of the couch, away from the wall and toward the screen that still has my picture frozen in time.

“On your knees with your arms resting on the couch's armrest. That's right, keep your bum high for me.”

I look back. He's picked up the vial and is pouring warm liquid on my ass, working it into my anus and on his cock. He meets my gaze.

“Olive oil is a natural lube. We're lucky Aubrey brought our lunch down with bottles of oil and vinegar to mix for a salad dressing.”

The soft scent of olives fills the air, mixed with our musk, and I swear after this I'll never look at a salad the same way again.

Fingers slide into my anus. “Relax,” he soothes. He grabs his cock with his other hand to give it a few hard jerks. He's not looking at me; he's looking at the screen.

He withdraws his fingers to replace them with his cock, teasing my anus. Both hands cradle my ass while he gently thrusts his cock until he's inside.

Once I've accepted him, he's slamming me hard against the armrest, muttering to himself some first-class dirty talk in Gaelic.

Shit, it's a turn-on. I talk back to him in dirty Gaelic. When he hears it, the muttering stops and he pumps me harder. He tells me in Gaelic that he owns me, that I'm his, that he'll use me any way he wants. I respond with my own string of filthy words about what I'll do to him.

We push each other, heightening the sex, until he slips a hand to my clit and I gasp at the surge of pleasure. His thrusts are relentless until he's had his fill of me and comes, fluid dripping from my bum, his body on top of mine, spent.

CHAPTER30

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