Page 84 of Lochlan

“Fiona, you had me watch group sex, females with females, and men together, BDSM, kinks I didn't know existed, and even some bestiality that I couldn't watch, when all I wanted was a sweet memory of our first time.”

She tilts her head, pinning me with a glare. “You didn't complain.”

“Because I wanted to please you. I accepted anything you wanted, making excuses for your behavior because I loved you. But none of that time felt right. You offered to have a threesome and didn't care if the third was a male or female. At least I said no to sharing you, but sex with you had to be rough, risky, or both.”

“We all have our preferences.” She smiles. “You were such a wonderful lover; you always gave me exactly what I needed. Lochlan, we can be good again. Now that we're in the same country, we can work together in the day and burn up the sheets at night. It's perfect.”

She finishes the whiskey in her glass and leans forward, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage from her V-neck sweater as she slides the heels off her feet slowly. Other memories of her flash in my mind. Watching her, the desire for her creeps over me.

She stands to pad into the kitchen and I follow like a man whose strings are being yanked. “I think I want to change to wine,” she says to me over her shoulder.

“The glasses you want are in that cupboard,” I say, pointing to the one on the end.

She's on her toes to reach the glass, and when I come behind her to retrieve it for her, I brush against her bottom and she leans back, her head on my chest. I step back for space, affected by the touch. I grab a bottle off the counter, pull out the cork that was pushed back in yesterday, and pour into her offer glass.

“Things you had me do to you the first time we were together; you weren't a virgin when we met that weekend.”

She brushes her fringe from her eyes. “It was long ago; does it matter?”

“I was a virgin. I waited for you. Tell me you were too.”

I'd heard rumors from old friends after the wedding that she was with lads older than me.

That calculating stare is back. “It was not my first time. I wanted to be ready when we did it. I wanted to be someone you couldn't forget.”

“You were my first love,” I say with disgust. “Did you not know I would never forget you? How could I, when you're burned into my soul?”

Her eyes dart with fear that she might lose control over the conversation. “It was a mistake,” she says, placing a hand on my arm. “I know that now. I was a naïve, stupid girl who only wanted to please you, a chuilein, my laddie.”

The endearment has the effect of me wanting to trust her, but it's an old ploy.

“I've known for a long time you took advantage of me, of my nature.”

“I wanted you to be a man,” she says to explain her deceit away. “You were a romantic, a privileged grandson of a wealthy man. You didn't understand what life was like for others. My family had the old name on the right branch of the tree, but without the vast wealth it takes to have power.”

“This was about you gaining influence in the MacTavish family and the business through me.”

“That's not true. I love you.”

“Not enough when I wanted to give up working in the family business to wander the world; that would have cut you off from Edinburgh society.”

“Is that why you called off our wedding, because I wasn't overjoyed that you wanted to throw away your birthright? That's not fair. You told me your plans days before our wedding, and despite how I felt, I was there ready to marry you, but it was you who walked out on me.”

I take a step toward her, my body brushing hers, my forearm resting above her head. Her dark eyes are wide with the old desire that I might dominate her again and have her against this wall. Her wine-soaked breath ghosts my cheek. I want her, and I've imagined this moment so many times that it doesn't seem real. I'll dominate her and do it completely, but not in the way she thinks.

“I walked away from you, lass, on our wedding day three years ago,” I say, my words cold and deliberate, “because you were about to do it to me.”

“That's not true,” she says, her words a breathy whisper.

I ignore her fear and continue. “I was in the groom's quarters wanting to see some of the architecture of the old cathedral when a priest told me if I walked along the catwalk, that I would see views that were not open to the public. I strolled along a lengthy padded stretch, entering room after room, admiring the stained glass windows. I estimated I walked at least a third of the old church when I knew it was time to return, but I wanted to see one more chamber. Before I entered the last room, voices drifted up to me. I concealed myself near a column, curious if there were other visitors touring the church.

“It was my bride-to-be against a wall, the front of her dress pulled down, her breasts exposed, her white satin wedding gown pushed up to her waist. Her long veil covered her face, the length of the fine netting cascading to the floor.

“You were promising not to go through with our marriage, while my brother Harris fucked you against a wall, you gasping with each dirty thrust of his cock. Him making you swear you were his, to do what he wanted, whenever he wanted you.”

Her hands cover her face as I push away from her. I leave her for my bedroom to search a chest of drawers. I yank the drawer open, almost pulling it away from its moorings. There is a blue envelope under a picture of us that was taken when we were in Copenhagen.

When I return, I hold the envelope to her chest until she takes it. “The contents are photos of you in that room with my brother. I forgot to say that I had my camera with me when I witnessed the sight.”

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