Under The Kilt: Kilted For Pleasure Part 9

He picked her up and carried her into her room and then on the bed. "Your day," he said. "How was it?"

The question would have been nice and thoughtful if not for the way he'd begun to tease her nipples through her s.h.i.+rt in a lazy and unfocused manner. He caressed her just enough to make her pant. She crawled to the middle of the bed and he followed, his gaze intent.

"Long and confusing," she answered as she laid back.

He slid between her legs and knelt. "Dealing with Papa Baird can do that to you."

He seemed so big, but it had nothing to do with his actual size. Victoria felt so delicate and small next to him. Callan held her gaze and smiled. He didn't laugh or smile often. It made her wonder, if life hadn't kicked him in the teeth would he be a lighthearted man? Maybe, but he wasn't. He was a man who was often a pain in her a.s.s and could make her melt with a touch.

He pulled her s.h.i.+rt over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She wiggled to help him get it off and pushed aside the maybe thoughts. "I know you're just trying to distract me."

"Never said I wasn't. Now tell me about your most embarra.s.sing moment in college." He peeled the cups of her bra down and stopped. Raising a brow, he waited.

She made a frustrated noise because he wouldn't keep going until she answered. "Locked out of my dorm. In a towel. My co-ed dorm."

He sighed and then closed his mouth around her nipple.

"Callan," she moaned.

Without stopping his wors.h.i.+p of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he unb.u.t.toned her jeans and slipped his hand into her panties. She trembled from the sensory overload. His five o'clock shadow rasped over her sensitive b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the calluses on his hands were the perfect friction between her thighs.

Again he stopped, looming over her with only one arm bracing himself. "Favorite dessert."

"Vanilla bean cheesecake," she whipped back the answer because he'd stopped right as his fingers pressed against her c.l.i.t.

He dipped his middle finger into her as a reward. She gripped his hair and pulled his head up to watch his hand. She couldn't actually see what his fingers were doing, but there was something so erotic about his wrist being covered by her denims and panties. His arm moved in tandem to her hips rocking. Every time he pressed his roughened fingertip hard against her c.l.i.t, her legs trembled and pulled up.

"You like to watch, la.s.s," he whispered. "Kinky."

His words were too much. She moaned.

So caught up in the sensations hazing her brain, Victoria finally looked at him. He'd been watching her face the whole time. Embarra.s.sment couldn't get in, not while her world spun. He had applied more pressure, teasing her c.l.i.t at a faster pace. She let him go and balled her fist into the comforter as he worked her into a frenzy. The way he drunk in her responses left no doubt he got off on witnessing her unravel.

Worse, much worse, she liked him to watch her come. Her moans, her facial expressions were his form of erotic entertainment. Exhibitionism. Her moan deepened at the realization of that kink. Victoria tried to pant through this o.r.g.a.s.m instead of holding her breath and failed just as it gripped her hard.

She reached for him right as he leaned down to kiss her. There was a tenderness to the way he worked his mouth over hers. Nothing dark or possessive this time in his kiss. This kiss was too soothing for the sharp, raw way she'd come. She moaned into his mouth. He continued to hold her until the last vestiges rode through her.

When the climax had subsided and she'd kind of melted into the bed, he moved his hand from her p.u.s.s.y and placed it across her jittery stomach.

"Please tell me you have a condom." His voice was hoa.r.s.e.

She tried to catch her breath, and imagined what he planned to do next. Victoria stopped breathing for a full two seconds with that thought. "What would you do if I said no?"

"Make you come with my mouth," he said it as though the action was a threat.

She had no quibble with lying to him. "I don't have not a one."

He laughed and kissed her again. Victoria had no doubt he knew she was lying, and she adored him for going along with it anyway.

Much, much later she finally told him about the box in the drawer.

At seven the following morning, Callan stepped into Victoria's path right outside his cottage's gates. A sheen of sweat glistened on her face but she smiled at him. His heart, the treacherous little beast, sped up.

"Good morning." She continued to run in place, looking chipper and well rested.

He narrowed his eyes, because it was seven in the morning. No one should look pleased when the sun barely lit the sky. But here he was, awake for her. He couldn't decide what annoyed him more. "Let's go for a walk." His disgruntled demeanor didn't change the smile.

"Sure. Where to?"

She'd started to run around him in a circle. He grabbed the cover he'd left on his gate. "Could you be a little less happy?"

"It irritates you. So...no." She stopped and stretched.

Her tights wrapped around her shapely legs and a.r.s.e. His mouth remembered them very well from the night before and began to water. He grunted and started to walk.

She sighed but moved into step with him. "You should have had coffee first. I get up really early and not everyone is cut out for mornings."

He'd woken up when night still ruled over the day and couldn't go back to bed. Thoughts of her had come before wis.h.i.+ng for coffee. Callan couldn't understand the sudden obsession, and it irritated him.

He draped the blanket over his forearm and then his hand fisted over the soft cotton. "I had two cups."

She put a hand on his arm. "Can we be honest with each other for a moment?"

He stopped moving, his heart beat held in suspension at her tender touch. He hoped she wouldn't end things between them again. He wasn't sure he could take another few days without touching her. "Aye?"

Her nose crinkled when she winced. "You're more of a four cup kind of man."

"Awright," he said on a relieved laugh.

Her smile faded as curiosity shadowed her gaze. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

He started walking again. They were cutting across the field between their two homes. It would shape up to be a warm day with very little rain. "You'll see when we get there. Just come walk with me."

Trust me.

His next step faltered. She grasped his hand and tugged him forward. The weight of her palm in his stoked the unease that had been growing since the first time they'd had s.e.x. He'd been livid when she'd avoided him all those days after their first encounter. He understood her fear. She'd get caught, lose her job and everything she'd been working toward. Those were the surface complications. More than enough to put her on her guard. He could also betray her. He knew her kinks, what she wanted. He could see her. He could hurt her. That fear probably held more sway than anything else.

Callan squeezed her hand as they climbed the crest where the moor met the field. She gasped when she saw the spread. The vantage point allowed them to see Loch Ness and the city just beyond it. The way the morning sun hit the water looked like diamonds floated on the surface.

He said, "I figured between the castle and Dougla.s.s you weren't seeing much of Scotland."

"It's beautiful." She'd whispered the words and the reverence was exactly the reaction he'd wanted.

Pleasure warmed him, beating back the craggy bits of him that just wanted to growl. "How much do you know?"

"About Scotland?" She pushed back the escaped tendrils of her hair with one hand, her face still flushed and bright. "I've learned some because of the research I had to do."

"Research?" he scoffed.

Her dimple peeked out. "Better than saying Braveheart."

He dropped her hand and then laid out the blanket. "Sit with me. I'll tell you about Scotland, because if you say you learned everything from Youtube or BBC, I'll have to chuck you over a cliff."

She crossed her arms, suspicion clear in the way she pursed her lips. "Why?"

After he'd left her cottage, a yearning for her had clenched his gut. He wanted to touch her hair, hear her laugh. f.u.c.k, make her mad so he could kiss her and feel her melt into him. He wanted the one thing he'd denied himself since his wife's death-intimacy. It made him a coward because she wouldn't stay in Scotland, but for three months she'd be his. The truth had kept him up for most of the night and it's why he'd finally given up and gotten dressed so he could see her.

"The truth?" He could barely admit to himself. Could he tell her?

Her smile turned c.o.c.ky. "Aye?"

No. He couldn't. "I wanted to seduce you, and you're ruining it with questions."

She tilted her head, nodded and then sat down. "Should have just said that."

The lie settled on him and he realized it was, at least, partially true. Sweet Mary. This was more complicated than he'd expected. He started to run through the whys and what-fors, but she scooted between his legs and kissed him. Her soft lips quieted the worries in his mind. He wrapped his arms around her waist and laid back.

She brushed his hair from his face. "Tell me about Scotland."

The brush of her fingertips over his cheeks seemed to reach into him and soothe all the parts of him that wanted to push her away. "Coinnichidh na daoine far nach coinnich na cnuic."

"Gaelic," she said in a breathless whisper. "You really want s.e.x on this hill."

He kissed the corner of her mouth where a smile had started to form. "A mountain never meets a mountain, but a man meets a man."

A frown creased her brows. "That could mean anything."

"The mountains, our pride, never dies. We have fought for this land. We were slaughtered for our customs, but we're still here."

"And I thought you'd tell me folklore. Or impress me with your extensive knowledge about Picts and Vikings. Or even the shared Celtic history with Ireland."

"We have a b.l.o.o.d.y history, but we remain. That is Scotland." He smiled. He couldn't help it. "We're also foul-mouthed. We sometimes get into drunken fights. The bagpipes, haggis and kilts are mostly for tourist and purist."

"Do you want to know my favorite Scottish history?" she said.

"Let me guess," he said slowly. "You'd pay money to see me in a kilt."

She only laughed and rolled off him. Like a panther scenting its prey, he rolled with her in blinding speed and pinned her beneath him. Some part of them had to touch or he'd go mad.

"I can see it," she said, her face flushed for a different reason now as she gazed up at him above her. "Not the kilt but the saying. Although I'm from California. I know mountains move."

All her soft parts pressed against his hard ones. A groan slipped from his lips. He s.h.i.+fted more weight to his elbows just so he could think enough to hold a conversation. "Mostly the rich worry about their tartan. The Bairds were too small a clan to have their own."

She lifted her hand and started to play with the strands of his hair. "Even so, there are perks to being a Scot. You have the author of Sherlock Holmes. Sean Connery...Shakespeare is known as the Bard. Different spelling but Baird is a Scottish surname."

Restlessness stirred in his chest as she joked with him. This was too comfortable, familiar, and everything he'd yearned for when he shouldn't. If he kept this up, he'd miss her when she was gone. Her face would be the one to show up in his mind before he went to sleep. And he'd spend the night aching for her. That couldn't be.

Callan grasped her hands and locked them above her head. "America is a baby. If you love history as much as I know you do, you can't help but fall in love with Scotland."

"I do love history. I initially went to college intent on becoming an attorney, but one of my preferred electives had a waitlist. I took art history instead. My professor had a thing for antiques and that sparked a lifelong obsession for me."

"You, an attorney?" But then he thought about it. She was sharp, ambitious and used everything in her a.r.s.enal, within reason, to get what she had come for. An opposing counsel wouldn't stand a chance. "I take that question back. The world is a better place for it."

"Maybe." She s.h.i.+fted under him but didn't try to break his hold. "But I'm thinking you have something else to talk about."

She'd rubbed his favorite soft part of hers on his c.o.c.k. He grunted. "What kink do we discover today?

She opened her legs a bit more. "You just want to corrupt me."

He kissed her hard. Maybe then he could do away with the troubling emotion that made him wait outside for her. The same one that wanted to share something with her, even something as simple as Scotland's history. And then he could put to rest his need for her to understand him. It wouldn't matter that he felt alive for the first time in a very, very long time. He needed her to not matter.

He grunted in frustration, tightening his grip on her hands, and used his other hand to pull down her tights. The stretchy material tangled around her right shoe and he left it. She was exposed to him and that was good enough. When she s.h.i.+vered at the brush of cold, he murmured a plat.i.tude. She moaned an answer, lifting her hips a fraction.

Victoria was his guilty pleasure. If he had her enough, he could be sated. He refused to believe she could turn him inside out with a smile, a foul curse or a laugh. She could not have that much power over him. She had to be just another woman.

With a rough caress, he petted her p.u.s.s.y. Sweat had dampened her skin and made her soft to the touch. She still smelled sweet, addictive. As always it gave her power he suspected she didn't even know she had. Because of that, he let go of her hands and rose so he could watch her expressive face. He still needed her submission, needed to know this madness wasn't just his burden.

"I think today we see if you like being spanked," he said.

Her wicked laughter filled the air. "Spanking? Don't see the appeal."

And there it was. He pulled back his hand and lightly smacked her c.l.i.t. She jolted, letting out a strangled whimpered.

"Aye. Spanking." He slid his fingers down to see just how wet that had made her. She was wet enough for him to swirl his fingers around her c.l.i.t. So he did until she was swollen from need and then he teased the outer lips by tracing them with her own arousal. She trembled beneath him, but didn't beg him to stop.

"Spread your legs for me, darling. Let me see just how much you like it."

Her chest rose and fell in a rapid pace. He could see fear dilating her brown eyes. Not to run from him this time, but maybe that she'd like what he'd do. Callan was no fool. He knew he was corrupting her, turning her world on its head. Guilt should have settled in but he considered this making them even.

"And if I don't?" she asked.

Victoria would. They both knew it. He let that truth settle into the silence because answering had no point. She closed her eyes with a sigh. The conflict of her decision played over her face and he waited for her to make it. Though there was a sane, rational part of him that hoped she'd refuse, get up and finish out her run. They could avoid the turmoil, the complications and gray areas that their coupling sifted to the surface. But then she bit into her bottom lip and did as he asked.

He pushed out a relieved breath and wondered where his distance had gone. He used to be able to satisfy his physical needs but never truly sate them. Where was the cold he used to feel with every beat of his heart? That cold wouldn't give a s.h.i.+te that he should take care. To care at all that with each kink he revealed, he'd strip her of who she used to be. He'd meant to do it to prove to himself Victoria held no mystery, but there was something precious about her being vulnerable with him. Her trust, at least in this, dug into him and kept the cold at bay.

"Are you sure?" Say no. Please.

She pushed her legs back more and something inside him broke. He started off with soft, rhythmic taps that had her rocking her hips to meet his fingertips. Every so often he'd roll her c.l.i.t beneath his palm until she came. He'd wait for her moans to deepen, for her hips to still and then he'd put the right amount of sting into his taps. Her fingers curled into the cover and she let her head fall back.

"You're drenching my hand, la.s.s."

"More," she begged.

He cursed and then sucked on her neck in a way that he knew sent her over the edge. The sound of her moans and what he was doing filled the quiet, but it wasn't enough. Pleasure wasn't enough to satisfy him, not with her. He wanted to come and feel half blind, half sane and completely content.

He stopped the spanking to undo his pants and mid-way through she helped him take off his s.h.i.+rt. She caught his gaze and his chest squeezed. Did she know? Could she sense the urgency that made his heart race? Her nails bit into his a.r.s.e as she pressed him to her, to be inside her.