by Alam, Donna
I came up spluttering, though not annoyed. More turned on. ‘Sneaky fucker,’ I gasped. ‘If you want to fuck my mouth, you just have to ask.’
‘Darlin’,’ he answered, twirling a lock of my loosened hair. ‘Take this old man to bed.’
Moments later, we were bouncing along my tiny hallway, fingers grasping, kisses greedy and biting, the joint effort of shedding him from his clothes jerking and erratic. As his boots hit the floor, his mouth meet mine again.
‘Bedroom’s through there,’ I mumbled against him when, hand on his shoulder, Greg suddenly spun me around.
‘I’ve something else in mind,’ he growled, wrapping one large arm around my waist as he walked me in the direction of the window overlooking the street.
‘Oh, naughty,’ I breathed as my palms hit the cool glass.
‘What can I say? You must bring out the best in me.’
I yelped as he slapped my arse again, the bloom of the sting matching the heat building inside of me.
A tear of foil.
The smooth touch of latex against my butt cheek.
The sound of our desperate and halting breaths.
Then finally—finally, his tip touched my wetness. Our joint groan hit the room and, with a snap of his hips, he plunged inside my body. He held me there for a minute, wrapped in his arms, his heart beating agasint mey back. Held me while he kissed my face. When he began to move, his thrusts were slow and unhurried, his big hands holding my body hostage by my breasts.
By his movements.
‘Look,’ he rasped, delivering biting kisses against my jaw. ‘Anyone could glance up, could look up at the sky, and instead see you. See my hands on you. See me fucking you.’ I moaned at his words, at his intent, though his next whispers brought stinging tears to my eyes. ‘Maybe they’d take you for an angel, in all your glory.’
So sweet. So dirty. But not mine to keep.
In the absence of words, I pushed back against him, his hands sliding to my hips. His long fingers curled tightly, the pressure almost punishing. Then, with one solid thrust, the tone changed. Flesh met flesh, the room filling with the noise of our rutting—of sharp breaths that fogged the window.
‘Oh, God—that’s. I’m coming!’ At my words, Greg’s movements took on a halting and jerking cadence as he slammed into me again and again. His whole body tensed as he called out my name, my insides fluttering and pulsing around the hardest, pulsing part of him.
Pushed over the edge, I came so hard I think I saw stars . . .
‘Wow. I think I need a cigarette.’ Pulled from the mirage of last Wednesday, I realise Fin has spoken. And that she’s currently fanning her face. ‘My God!’ Her long flashes flutter rapidly. ‘I think I just found my libido again.’
‘There’s oversharing,’ starts Ivy, ‘and there’s . . . wow is right. Have you ever thought of writing women-centric erotica?’
A burst of laughter breaks free from my chest. I’m not shy, but I can’t quite believe I’ve spilled my guts with such detail.
‘Away with you,’ I respond, taking a sip from my warming drink. ‘But it’s like I said, I don’t need . . . whatever help you lot are offering.’ Conspiring, more like.
‘She’s right,’ adds Bea. It takes me a moment to realise she’s pointing at Ivy. Ivy’s right about what? ‘I know a woman who has her own porn channel for women. All above board and very high brow. I’m sure I could set up a meeting with her.’
‘Fucking in windows is’nae the same staring in porn,’ I answer, trying to swallow my scorn.
‘You misunderstand me, not that there’s anything wrong with working in the adult industry. Or people watching you fucking, come to that. What I meant was you could write scripts from what I’ve just heard.’
‘She’s not going to be able to. She’ll be busy,’ cuts in Ivy. ‘Busy meeting new people and experiencing new things.’
‘I’ll be busy working, bampot! I’m no’ sure who concocted this hairbrained scheme, but who’d run the salon if I wasn’t around?’
‘Mind the step.’ I turn to the sound of June’s voice as she directs Sam, her nurse. ‘Sorry I’m late. Sam had to go get the messages before we headed out. What did I miss?’
‘All right, out with it, sleekit. What have you and this lot been up to?’
‘Sleekit, is it?’ June replies a touch haughtily, folding her arms across her frail chest. ‘I’ll remind you that I’m your elder—deserving of respect! Calling your grandmother sly, fore by. While I’m on, I’ll remind you, you’re not too big for a smack on the bahoochie.’
‘So we’ve heard,’ Fin says, covering her words with a fake sounding cough.
‘Och, away, the lot of ye’. I’m goin’ nowhere, you hear?’
‘Well, you might be staying put, but I’m not.’ But for the sound of Fin’s now snuffling babe, the room falls quiet at June’s words.
‘What d’ye mean? You’re not goin’ anywhere,’ I answer with a dismissive wave of my hand.
‘Oh, am I no? Well, that’s where you’re wrong, young lady. The trouble with your generation is you think you know it all.’ This isn’t like June; she’s not crabbit or grouchy at all, usually. ‘Well you don’t know it all, see? I’m going on a grand tour—starting in Italy. And Sam’s coming. Dylan’s sorted it for me.’ All that’s missing to finish is for June to poke out a belligerent tongue.
‘You can’t be serious. But . . . but you’ve had a stroke!’
‘All the more reason to go. It’s time I did all the things I wanted to do, but couldn’t a’fore.’ If her words are meant to hit home, they don’t. They’re still borderline laughable. ‘And I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed!’
‘Enough of your cheek, girly. I’m going away for a few months and I suggest you take the opportunity to do the same.’
‘Aye, grand,’ I reply, using the same tone. ‘I’ll come to Italy with you.’
‘Nope, you’re not invited,’ she says, holding her chin a fraction higher. ‘You’re going to stay with Ivy in America.’
‘Am I bollix,’ I scoff.
‘Please yourself,’ June sniffs. ‘But you’re not coming with us. ’
‘Who put her up to this?’ I ask, my eyes travelling the room, landing on each woman in turn. But they say nothing, just look on with a frightening sort of sympathy.
Tears prickle, threatening to fall. I never cry. Never! And now I’m fighting tears for the second time this week.
‘It’s for the best,’ June says softly, ‘and not forever, my lovely chicken hen.’
But I’m not soothed by her words, I’m panicked instead.
I look to Ivy once again, my words all watery.
‘She can’t leave me, can she?’
A wee Scots Dictionary
Auld – “Old” it is often used to refer to old people, such as “ye auld bastard”.
Aye – Yes
Bam – Uneducated delinquent
Bampot – An idiot
Bairn – A child
Bahoochie - Bottom. Bum. Arse. Ass!
Beasties - Bugs
Blether – Conversation, often long. “She was bletherin’ on and on”.
Bide – Where you live. “I bide in Edinburgh.” Can also mean stay, ‘‘bide awhile’’.
Bonnie – Beautiful, “She’s a bonnie lass”/Excellent. “He’s a bonny striker!”
Braw – Good
Burn – A stream
Boabie – Penis
Baw/ Baw bag – testicle/testes. A great insult!
Bevvy - An alcoholic beverage
Boagin/Boafin/Minging – Dirty/smelly
Cannae/can’nae – Can’t. “You cannae make it to the pub for pint?”
Canny - Careful/cautious
Clipe – tell tale. “You’re a wee clipe, so you are!”
Crafty - Devious
Deid – Dead.
Driech – Wet/miserable weather
Eejit – Idiot
/> Hogmanay – New Years Eve.
Haud yer whest – Be quiet
Havering – To talk a nonsense
Jakey - A drunk
Keek - A peek or look
Ken - To know. “Y’ken?” = “You understand?”
Lass - Girl
Peely-wally – To be pale in colour
Radge – Crazy.
Messages – Shopping. Get the messages in = go shopping
Sleekit - Sly
Stoater – A great thing, as in cool.
Wee – Small.
Ye – You.
Scots Sayings
What’s fur ye will no pass ye by. What’s meant to be will be.
D’ye think ma heid’s buttoned up the back? Do you think I’m stupid?
Givin’ it laldy. To do something with enthusiasm or gusto.
Yer bums oot the windea! You’re talking rubbish. See also, talkin’ pure pish!
~*~
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about Rory, Dylan, and Kit. If you’d like to read on, look out for Single Daddy Scot, the story of Mac, Ivy’s brother. You can also catch up with the Hot Scots in the Hot Scot Christmas novella.
And keep your eyes peeled for Easy, a new title coming late February 2017. You can do so by joining my mailing list here, or joining the Lambs Facebook group here. Thanks so much for reading. I hope you’ll review!
About The Author
Donna writes about exotic locations and the men you aren’t married to, but might sometimes wish you were. Escapism reads with heart, humor, and plenty of steam.
Hailing from the North of England, she’s a nomad at heart moving houses and continents more times than she cares to recall. She once worked at a school like the one described in her Pretty Series, where the wheels of her imagination began to turn.
When not bashing away at a keyboard, Donna can usually be found, good book in hand, hiding from her family and responsibilities. She likes her wine and humour dry, and her mojitos sweet, and language salty.
Catch up with her on Facebook or send the twit a tweet to keep in touch.
DonnaAlam.com