by Em Taylor
WE SAT EATING A FRY up at Lacey’s kitchen table—me in my boxer-briefs and Lacey in a bathrobe.
Lacey was a great cook and always had the fridge stocked up if she was planning a big night out. She would have prepared for the hen night by buying enough bacon, square sausage, eggs, black pudding, potato scones, and beans to feed an army, even if she expected to eat it herself.
I dropped my gaze to the opening in her bathrobe as it split open with her movements and revealed the tops of her breasts.
I swallowed hard. Even after she’d emptied my balls and helped me out with my morning wood as soon as we woke up, I still wanted her. The woman was impossible to resist.
Lacey cleared her throat, and I averted my gaze. Picking up my mug, I drank my tea, then lifted my fork loaded with egg and black pudding. “I miss your hangover cures.”
“You have a hangover?” she asked.
“No, but I still miss them. I didn’t have that much to drink last night. I was too focused on you and getting into your knickers. And I appreciate this delicious food much more when I’m not feeling like death. I miss a lot of things about you.”
A blush stole up her cheeks and she shook her head. “We probably need to talk. I mean, we need to decide what this is.”
“Yes, what is this?” a new voice asked.
We both turned to the kitchen doorway where her mum and dad stood. How did they get in?
“Mum, your spare key is for emergencies, not so you can barge into my flat unannounced,” Lacey said.
Maureen Kendrick furrowed her brow. “Can I speak to you in the living room, please, Lacey Marie?”
She was in trouble if Maureen was using her middle name.
Meekly, Lacey got up and left the kitchen.
“Nice to see you, Fraser,” I said to her Dad, for want of anything better to say.
“It’s Mr Kendrick to you,” he said before following his wife and daughter.
“What is that boy doing here?” asked Maureen, her words travelling in from the next room.
“Having breakfast. He stayed over,” replied Lacey. I could imagine her chin jutting out in defiance.
“You mean you’re sleeping with him.”
“Well we didn’t get much sleep.”
“I don’t find this funny, young lady.”
“I’m nearly thirty-two, mother. I can have sex with whomever I like.”
“Not when he broke your heart the last time. Do you remember the state you were in?”
“Yes, but I’m different now—we’re different. Besides, it just happened. It’s casual.”
“Don’t you dare come running to us if he dumps you again,” Maureen said, her voice raising in pitch.
“You have nothing to fear. I’ll text you and won’t bother you when he does.”
Loosening my grip on my cutlery so my white knuckles returned to their normal colour, I placed them on the plate and stood. If she thought I was still an arsehole, I’d go and not bother her again.
I dressed and let myself out while they continued to take verbal lumps out of one another. At least I had one night to remember her by.
I arrived home to find David on the sofa playing on the PlayStation.
“Whassup bro? Did everything work out with Lacey?”
“It was great until her parents showed up this morning. Then I find out she still thinks I’m an arsehole who intends to break her heart.”
David paused the game, placing the controller on the sofa next to him as he screwed up his face.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Dude, you have form for hurting her. It’s going to take her time to trust you.”
I sighed. He had a point.
My phone dinged.
Lacey: Where the fuck did you go? Pussy.
Me: Your pussy seems out of bounds so I scarpered.
Lacey: My parents don’t decide who I see. I need to have dinner this evening with them, but I could drop round to yours after. I have work in the morning, so I could either bring clothes and go straight from yours or I can go home after you’ve tended to my pussy.
Me: I look forward to being the vet to your pussy. Bring a bag.
Lacey: That’s slightly weird dirty talk but I’ll go with it. See you about 9.30.
Me: I was always weird.
Lacey: True.
DAVID WAS AT OLIVIA’S so when nine thirty became nine forty-five, I paced the length of the living room. When nine forty-five became ten, I was tugging on my hair and glancing at the clock every second. Where was she? Had she changed her mind? Had something bad happened? Maybe I should go look for her.
I grabbed my jacket and keys and marched to the door, with no idea of where I was going.
Throwing it open, I stepped out and bumped into Lacey.
“You’re here,” I said, expelling a breath.
“Sorry. I got held up at the restaurant.”
I took a step backwards and gestured her past me into the flat. She dropped her bag by the door, and I helped her out of her coat. My mouth became dry and I licked my lips. She wore a scarlet dress which criss-crossed over her tits, giving her an amazing cleavage. The dress clung to her curves and she wore my favourite red stilettos.
My breath hitched.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re just staring,” she said, drawing my attention back to her bright red lips.
I imagined them wrapped around my cock, and my heart picked up speed while my thoughts became a jumbled mess. I let out a strangled rasp, “You.”
“What’s wrong with me?” She looked down at herself and then back at me, running her tongue over her teeth.
Fuck, that tongue.
“Nothing. You’re perfect, and you’re fucking sexy in that get up. I think my dick is going to explode.”
She stepped closer to me, a mischievous glint in her eyes as a smile quirked her lips. “Just as well I took my knickers off in the taxi then, isn’t it?”
I moaned, dropping my gaze to the hem of her dress. “Not helping, Lace.”
“I wasn’t trying to help.”
I ran my tongue over my bottom lip to add some moisture to my dry mouth.
I needed to reveal what was underneath—needed her.
Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around her waist and tugged her against me. Slamming my mouth down on hers, I slid my hands down to cup her arse.
She pulled away, glancing up with smudged lipstick.
“David?”
“At Liv’s.”
“Good.”
She crushed her lips back against mine and our messy, desperate kiss continued.
I hauled up her skirt and pushed my hand between her legs. “You’re soaking.”
“Was thinking about you all the way from the restaurant.” She unbuckled my belt and unfastened my trousers with frantic movements, freeing my erection in a second.
I hoisted her into my arms and pressed her against the door, driving into her. She moaned.
“Good or sore?” I asked, my voice a growl.
“Very fucking good. Move.”
She gripped me with her thighs, and I gripped her arse with my hands as I thrust into her. Using my shoulders as leverage, she matched me stroke for stroke.
I didn’t remember sex with her being this good. It had always been great, but this was a new level.
She clenched her internal muscles, and I hissed out a breath. The little witch would push me over the edge. I’d blow my load ... Fuck.
“Condom,” I hissed.
She stopped rutting immediately. “Shit.”
“I can’t believe I forgot,” I said, starting to ease out of her.
“Wait. I’m on the pill for my periods, and I take it without fail every morning. I’m also clean. Got a check-up after my last partner.”
I nodded. “I’ve had one partner since my last check-up, but I used a condom and she was a virgin.”
She winced. “Poor girl. Having your dick in her for her first time would have been a bit of a shock.
She might have wanted to start smaller.”
“You were a virgin when I met you, and you survived it.”
“You spoiled me for every other man,” she said.
“Really?” I rolled my hips, my cock, which had begun to flag, coming back to life.
“Shouldn’t have told you that.” She shook her head, chuckling.
“Probably not. Are we continuing sans condom, or do you want me to get one?”
“I like you inside me without one.”
Leaning forward, I closed the gap between us. Melding our lips together, she moaned against my mouth, the vibrations sending tingles of pleasure over my skin.
Running one hand over the back of my neck, Lacey tangled her fingers in the back of my hair and held me against, her. She ran her tongue over my bottom lip, and I parted them to allow her entry as I began thrusting in and out of her again.
She kissed me harder, urging me on, and I ripped away from her with a groan.
I needed to fuck her properly, and I couldn’t do that leaning over.
I picked up the ferocious rhythm of before, our breathing ragged as we battered the door and raced each other to the finish.
Her wet heat surrounded my steely length as it pistoned in and out of her.
When her murmurs became profanities, I rested my forehead on the door so my mouth skimmed her ear.
“Come for me, baby. You love my monster cock pumping in and out of your wet pussy. You need it. You want my cum, don’t you? You take me so deep. Now you need to come for me. Scream my name. You’re there, aren’t you?”
“Rory, please.”
“What do you need?”
“Deeper, harder.”
Was the thirty-one-year-old Lacey as nimble as the twenty-five-year-old Lacey had been?
I hooked one arm under one knee, then the other arm under the other knee, raising them and changing the angle. She widened her legs, and I pressed my hands against the door.
“Mmm good ... sooo good,” she murmured.
I pummelled deeper and harder, thinking of things to stave off my own climax. When she started to invoke the name of God, I looked down at her in her sexy dress bunched up around her hips, her red pouty lips with the lipstick smeared, and her cleavage still intact but red with exertion. A tingling radiated out from the base of my spine. She had to go soon because I couldn’t hold off for ever.
“RORY! RO-O-O-O-RY!”
My own orgasm barrelled down my spine, and all my muscles tightened as cum shot, then spewed, out of me. Rocking slowly as our orgasms let up their hold on us, I emptied the last drops of cum into Lacey, then carefully moved my hands so I could carry her into my bedroom before we both landed on the floor.
Collapsing beside her, my eyelids became heavy. I tried to fight it, but that had been a strong orgasm and sleep pulled me under.
WHEN I WOKE THE BED was empty.
I sat up and jumped off the bed, hauling my jeans into place. I glanced around at the empty room. My heartbeat increased as my hands became clammy. I needed my phone, I needed to apologise.
I entered the room that was both living room and kitchen and froze. Lacey was on the sofa, drinking from a mug and watching TV.
“You’re awake. Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“What’re you having?” I asked, trying for nonchalance as I exhaled in an attempt to stop the blood from pounding in my ears.
“Tea. I made a pot since I thought you’d wake up soon. I just woke up myself.”
“You fell asleep?”
“Yeah, of course. That was ... well ... you were there.”
“Yeah. It was something special for sure.” I poured the tea while throwing glances back at her. She looked comfortable sitting on the sofa in her pyjamas, her knees pulled up in front of her and her arms wrapped around them, cradling a cup of tea like old times.
I picked up my mug and sat down beside her. “I guess we had the talk about what this is in a roundabout way, and we’re just casual.”
She frowned over her mug. “I don’t recall having this conversation.”
“It’s what you told Maureen. Your mum, I mean. I’ve had my first name terms revoked.”
She chuckled. “Sorry. My mum reminds me of a song I heard recently. It’s by a country singer called Ingrid Andress. It’s about a girl taking her boyfriend back to meet her parents and the chorus says that her parents fall in love faster than she does, so you break more than one heart if you leave.” She glanced at her mug. “I guess my parents are a bit like that. Mum took you into her heart, and I think you broke it when you walked away. And Dad did a lot of firsts with you, so he feels he wasted them on you because they didn’t feel as special when he did them with Jonas. I think he feels like you robbed him of some of his father and son moments, which he wouldn’t have felt if we were now married with three kids, a dog, and white picket fence.”
“Are you saying I need to seduce your parents as well as you?”
She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. “Not the way you seduce me. But honestly, Rory, I have no idea where this will lead. I quite like what I’ve seen of the grown-up Rory, but you have a lot of trust to rebuild. And not just with me.”
I grinned. “I have natural charm. I’ll win your parents back around.”
“It’s not your charm that’s the problem.”
“The trust will take time, I guess. I wonder if there is anything we can do while the trust is earned?” I took the tea out of her hand and tugged on her pyjama bottoms. She lifted her backside for me, and I slid the material down her legs.
Within moments, I had my face buried in her pussy, Lacey had her fingers curled in my hair, and she was rutting against my tongue on the way to her second orgasm of the evening.
Chapter 18
Lacey
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE wedding, Olivia and I were staying at the Hilton—my treat—and the boys were staying at their own flat. My phone pinged.
Rory: Miss you.
Me: Don’t get sentimental.
Rory: I mean I miss your body snuggled up to mine. I was trying not to be a dick.
Me: That’s okay.
Rory: Your folks think you’re done with me, don’t they?
I didn’t answer. He could work it out. I’d been meeting up with my parents for dinner after work all week, since they arrived early for the wedding, and then spending the night with Rory at either my place or his. The two worlds never merged.
My phone pinged again a minute later.
Rory: Goodnight, Lace.
Me: I’ll see you tomorrow.
How could I tell him my parents hated him with a vengeance?
MY BEST FRIEND LOOKED beautiful. And very ... Olivia. She wore a dark green dress with a short train. The bodice had embroidery detailing, and the dress was fitted down to her hips before it flared out. When she described it to me, it had sounded ghastly, but the moment she showed me in the dress shop, I’d been sold. And, although David had said any old sack would do, his wide grin and misty eyes contradicted his words. He appreciated the effort.
“You look gorgeous,” he said to Olivia as we reached the bottom of the aisle and No One by Alicia Keys was faded out by the person in charge of the music. His voice carried a little more than David probably expected, and he looked around with a wry smile. I suspected if he’d not had such a dark complexion, he’d have been blushing furiously. David was a quiet and private guy with a fierce sense of loyalty. I’d always admired how he and Olivia managed to remain friends with both Rory and me despite our decisive break-up.
I glanced at Rory standing beside David as his best man. He grinned from ear to ear, patting the pocket of his black jacket with diamond-shaped silver buttons.
My gaze roved down his crisp white shirt and dickie bow to his kilt—a kilt he was totally rocking. The light blue main colour of the Thompson tartan looked great on him. It had contrasting horizontal and vertical thick black stripes with thin red and yellow accent stripes. Long woollen socks hugge
d his muscular calves with the ceremonial knife, known as a sgian dhu, tucked into the top of one. Polished brogues—shoes that laced part way up the leg—completed his outfit.
I caught his gaze and he winked. Glancing away, I bit down on my bottom lip and shifted my gaze straight to my mother’s perceptive and disapproving look. I may have dodged questions about my ex-boyfriend all week, but she knew from one look that Rory and I were more than friends. Damn.
I concentrated on the ceremony, and the vows David and Olivia had written themselves—funny, sweet, and promising the world as they stared into each other’s eyes. They had always been perfect as a couple.
I blinked back the tears threatening to ruin my flawless make up. When I glanced at Rory, he was staring at me like a puppy who had been kicked. Was he realising he’d thrown this away with me? Because it was exactly what I was thinking.
As we walked back up the aisle, side by side, a few steps behind the happy couple, he turned his head to me. “Why the hell did you not come after me? I’d have come back. I’d have—”
“Rory,” I said, my voice almost a growl. We were not having this discussion here. Perhaps not anywhere.
“I ...”
“No.” I moved to Olivia’s side to check her hair and headdress. No matter how much Rory Thompson wanted to mess with my brain, I wasn’t going to let it stop me doing my duties as maid of honour.
We had photographs in the Satinwood Suite, the room in the City Chambers where the wedding had taken place and then we all met up outside to walk to the pub on the other side of George Square for the reception in their function room. It wasn’t the fanciest of weddings, but it was the wedding Olivia and David wanted.
We walked past the large white war memorial and various statues, avoiding pigeons, workers eating sausage rolls for their lunch, tourists, and a few youths who shouted abuse at us in our finery. We just laughed. It was Glasgow at its finest; the sun was shining, and even though it wasn’t exactly warm, people had their sleeves rolled up and were exposing their pale skin to the chilly wind and elements.
Despite my unease at Rory’s question after the ceremony, I felt happy.