Curiosity poked at him to show up at the Castillo Dalmahoy much earlier than the 8:30 p.m. dinner date. An unidentified thought bothered him through the night, until he relented and planned his day—showing up early seemed to satisfy the bizarre notion which hadn’t left him alone since he’d signed up for the arrangement.
With a pint in hand, he left the hotel’s lodge and wandered out onto the flagstone terrace. He took a deep breath—a fine fall afternoon. Plopping himself in one of the wooden chairs, he propped his feet on the stone wall and took in the view.
Down in the meadow, a falconer instructed a guest. Unlike some women he’d seen experimenting with the Scottish traditional sport, this one didn’t flinch. Her arm didn’t drop as the sharp-taloned bird made its way back to the leather-lined perch upon her hand. The bird’s wings flapped with some unknown irritation and the woman seemed to calm it with quiet words. She appeared to be an American lass, the air about her—all Scot. If it were possible, she’d be even more beautiful in a ruffled blouse and plaid jumper topped with an apron. Ian could almost see her schlepping a sloshing bucket of fresh milk from a moss-topped barn.
C’mon luck, let’er be the one.
From a distance, she appeared confident and lovely, open, happy, alive, at home in the outdoors. She seemed at ease, not minding she’d mucked her knee-high leather boots, or that she had falcon shite on her light wool coat. He bet she wouldn’t care if burrs stuck to her backside if he pinned her down in a field of heather. Somewhere in his ancestral consciousness, it seemed he already had.
Now, that would be the spot!
He shifted in his seat. His stiffening dick would be terribly disappointed if the woman he watched wasn’t ‘the one.’
Chuckling, he observed as she insisted in helping the falconer tote his equipment back to the barn. When they completed that task, she shook his hand, nodded appreciatively and started toward the terrace.
She seemed lost in thought—head down, hands stuffed deep into her pockets as she took the stone steps slowly.
To hell with whatever money he had spent for this date, he wanted her, whether that prognosticating proprietor of 1NightStand had chosen her for him or not! I’d be a fool to let her walk by and say nothing.
Not wanting her to miss him as she made the last step, Ian rose from his seat and waited. Her sigh was the saddest sound he’d ever heard.
“Bryn Wallace?” he asked quietly.
How he knew it was her, he didn’t know.
She glanced up from her absorbed musing. “Yes?”
Ian took a step toward her, his hand out. “Ian—Ian McCallum.”
With that introduction, her entire being changed; a lovely, genuine smile lighting her face as she took his hand in his. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ian.” When she shook his hand, it seemed to fit into his perfectly.
Her touch reached beyond the emptiness in his heart, deep into his soul. There was nothing more wonderful in the world than a woman looking you directly in the eye, which Bryn did. And, she held his gaze. In that mere moment of meeting, Ian summed her up—just what he wanted—the exact opposite of Sarah. He felt the woman standing before him to be an easy-going, outdoorsy, honest type, yet he could also tell, like him, she’d been hurt.
How he knew this he didn’t know, but the ability to read her calmed him.
Her beauty, however, salved his emotional ache; caramel eyes, chocolate hair, skin like cream and surely she had a juicy red cherry hidden somewhere in her knickers. He wanted to eat her where she stood.
“May I buy you a drink, lass?” His dick stirred when she giggled. “What?”
“‘Lass.’ I just find that cute.” She wound her arm through his, brazenly drawing him close. Did she realize how painfully her husky voice teased him? “Yes. I would be chuffed if you bought me a drink, Ian.” She winked at him after using the local vernacular.
A Scottish rarity, a beautiful fall day—an expansive blue sky paint-brushed with cirrus clouds. A very light breeze bothered the slowly-turning brown oaks which lined the property. At eighteen degrees Celsius, one could go with or without a light jacket. He found a table on the terrace not far from the outdoor bar and sat next to Bryn, taking her in, watching intently as she sipped her Belhaven.
“So, do you think we’re violating some sort of contractual agreement by meeting hours earlier than we’re scheduled to? I mean, you could bolt right now, if you wanted.”
He’d heard a twinge of sorrow in the last of her statement. He moved in closer, his hand surrounding hers as it rested on her knee. “I would have been here yesterday if I’d known you were waiting for me.” Then his lips met her cheek, her scent homey and familiar. When she smiled into his light kiss, he knew he found the right path. “Okay, so we’re in agreement, this is the oddest date either of us has ever had.”
She sat back with a relieved sigh. “Thank you for letting me off the hook, Ian.”
“Feeling’s mutual, lassie.”
“May I ask you something, though?”
“Of course.”
“And, I understand if you want the same answer from me. Why did you use this service?”
He sat back in his chair. Would he sound pathetic if he told the absolute truth? Could she tell if he wasn’t? He found the answer somewhere in between. “You know how sometimes, despite being a responsible adult, you just don’t want to make any more decisions?” His heart and mind calmed when she nodded, seeming to understand. “And, I also thought maybe I was missing something by making my own decisions, especially when it comes to women.”
“Looking for an unbiased third party, were you?”
With a glance at his watch, he chuckled. “Ten minutes and you’ve got me pegged, Bryn!” He slid a bit closer, wanting to be near her, study her, listen to her breathe, like he’d done so many mornings in a straw bed near the fireplace in their little hovel outside the village.
Where the hell did that come from?
Internally he shook the silly notion from his mind. “And, you signed up for this adventure why?”
“You put it the best, I didn’t want to have to think about it.” She dropped her gaze from his. “Anyway, I don’t think I could’ve met someone like you on my own.” Ian searched her eyes when she returned her attention to him. “But maybe providence has smiled on me this time.”
Ian didn’t deny his immediate attraction to Bryn, and he couldn’t help think she felt the same—gregarious and affectionate, her hand touched his arm, rested on his knee, and during something particularly amusing, playfully slapped his thigh, then lingered there, fingers dancing dangerously toward his inseam.
Maybe Martin and Garret had been right—this service was more than that. Spot on with their description of Madame Eve, even without the massive number of pounds he’d laid out for the arrangement. Obviously, the proprietor had some sort of mental extension into the past and present to bring him someone with whom he had an immediate connection, and one who responded to him in the same manner. Like Eve had reached back into their collective conscious and recreated some long lost love and relationship.
Despite the obvious closeness and easy and entertaining conversation with Bryn, it still surprised him, when less than two hours into their meeting, she nuzzled against his cheek, her lips dragging over his ear when she whispered, “Uh, I hate to be blunt, Ian, but if I don’t get my mouth around your dick—and soon—I think I’m gonna die.”
“Cheque, please!”
Chapter Four
What the fuck? Those words actually came out of my mouth!
But, Bryn couldn’t help it. The lush setting, Ian’s melting voice, his sexy accent and his well-built physique—Dear God!—the way he smelled—hell, no expression would be more direct to let him know she was more than interested.
“I’ll meet you at the entrance turnaround.” She intentionally dragged her fingers across the inside of his thigh as she rose from her seat. She glanced over her shoulder and snickered. He had yet to rise from his
chair, obviously needing to cover a growing problem in his tan jeans.
Giddiness bubbled within her as she quickly left the terrace and made her way to the walking path which paralleled the hotel’s driveway. Her sexual insistence may have been abrupt and impulsive, but no other expression would have conveyed her instant ease and immediate want of that man.
He didn’t feel like a stranger at all.
Worth every penny—Eve sure knows what she’s doing!
Ian was definitely the most attractive man she’d ever met; tall, more than six feet, broad-shouldered and strong, like someone who didn’t shy away from manual labor. He had well-groomed, near-auburn hair, long enough to show his fun side and give off an air of intrigue. Perfectly cropped facial hair of the same hue, ocean-blue eyes, a rather Romanesque nose, and the most amazing, welcoming smile she’d ever seen.
And, she’d just told him she was ready and willing to blow him as soon as possible.
Flushed and warm, heat crept up her neck from under her T-shirt—maybe walking had been a bad idea, the wetness intensifying between her thighs as she made her way down the path.
What the hell is this guy doing to me?
Was it the illicitness of the meeting, or that this ‘service’ had delivered everything in a man she had ever wanted? Maybe more.
Parking herself on a bench, she sat primly with her knees together, waiting. A few cars went by. Despite not knowing what he drove, the carbon black Vauxhall coupe that came to a tire-burning stop in front of her had to be his.
A door flung open in her direction. “Make haste, lass.”
She slipped in, slammed the door and made a beeline for his fly.
“Wait, Brynnie!”
She sat back up in her seat, stunned. Only her closest of companions called her by that nickname. Even Donny hadn’t used that pet name for her. Coming from Ian’s mouth, with his irresistible accent, only made her want him more.
“Let’s put some people behind us, eh?”
She understood, for what she had in mind a bit of privacy would be a good idea. Yet, as he drove, she couldn’t stay away from him. Moving to her right, into the driver’s side, she carefully avoided the stick shift. Her tongue played on his neck, her hands searched between his thighs. It took a bit of maneuvering, but she got her hand into his jeans.
“Fuck, Brynnie!”
“Are there enough people behind us, now, Ian?”
“Aye,” he groaned.
She popped her seat belt, shifted in her seat and bent over his lap. With a bit more encouragement, his member peeked through his fly. It seemed to smile at her—a shiny, happy grin. The tip of her tongue barely grazed its substantial head before Ian’s hand dug into her hair. Without hesitation, she clamped her mouth around his eager crown and suckled like a newborn calf. She giggled; the words he shouted at the windshield certainly weren’t in English!
Slowing, she calmed herself, not wanting the delicious treat to end too quickly. She would make this last, until hopefully she could be laid out in the back seat, her head hanging out the door, with Ian fucking her throat like it was his last fuck on earth.
Far enough into the boonies, civilization faded in the rearview mirror in short order. Bryn continued her entertained and enthusiastic nursing on Ian’s dick, even as the Vauxhall rumbled off road and over gravel into the woods.
The car came to a stop; Bryn didn’t.
Ian worked around her, putting the coupe in park. One hand caressed her head, the other yanked her shirt from her jeans, his callused hand wandering up her back. His fingers deftly unclasped her bra, and she willingly lifted herself so he could access her chest. When he grasped her breast, seriously tugging at a nipple, she surrounded the base of his turgid member and squeezed, at the same time going full out on his shaft.
In seconds, he dropped back into the bucket seat and gave up a sexy growl, her teeth, tongue and throat awash in his cum.
She kept him in her mouth until he calmed. Sighing happily at her post-fellatio chores, cleaning him with slow, gentle licks, not ready to re-arouse what was already tender with over-stimulation. She released him, resting her head against his midsection, his heartbeat thumping in her ear. His soft wheat-colored sweater caressed her cheek, while underneath his clothing, solid muscle.
Sighing and content, it seemed the most normal thing in the world. Regardless of the obvious sexual situation, she was comfortable, as if she’d laid her head in his lap before, his strong hand stroking her hair.
Now you’re being ridiculous, Wallace!
She kissed his softening member and sitting up, she nestled against his shoulder. Somewhere in some distant life, it seemed she had quietly nuzzled him like that before.
Her head jiggled as he held back a chuckle. “Where the fuck did you learn that, lassie?”
Shrugging, she really had no answer for that inquiry.
When his hand touched her face, she tilted her head to gaze at him. His eyes were almost navy blue, little gold specks decorated the irises. Her breath stuck in her throat—tighter than, she figured, his cock would—as her gaze met that of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Right out of a childish daydream—no wait—recent fantasy! This can’t be possible. She angled her head at him and as if reading her mind, his lips met hers.
She sighed when he took charge. His tongue forced her mouth open, and she relished the feel of it exploring places long forgotten by her ex-fiancé. She adored men skilled in the art of kissing and wondered if Madame Eve had auditioned him herself—he was that good. The feel of his close-cropped beard tickling her cheeks and his talented tongue investigating her mouth had her writhing in her seat. Her moan seemed too loud in the confines of the small car, but she had no choice—he had grabbed her crotch, rubbing the seam of her jeans against her most delicate tissues.
Pulling herself from his mouth, she collapsed against him. “Ian.”
“I know, Brynnie—t’arnt enough room in here to breathe.” He kissed her neck and placed her back into her seat. She closed her eyes and nuzzled the hand stroking her face. “C’mon, I know a place.”
Taking both a breath and stock of herself, she hoped she hadn’t oozed through the back of her jeans. She slipped from the car and joined Ian as he sat on the bonnet, a small pack hanging from his arm. Putting her hand in his, she smiled when his fingers intertwined hers.
Chapter Five
The walk seemed to do them good. Out in the fresh air of the rolling hills surrounding a loch, they both calmed. Bryn, however, sensed the impending hours and the thought forced her heart into fits and her want slicking down the insides of her thighs.
After ducking through low, thick trees, Ian stopped in a tiny open spot of heather-padded meadow. He took a glance up into the clouds and backtracked a bit until he stood under the head high limbs of Scotch pines. He extracted a plaid wool blanket from his pack and spread it over the scattered pine straw. Bryn thought she’d wet herself when he returned to her, and without a word slipped her jacket from her arms and pulled her light sweater over her head. She reciprocated, trying to steady her hands, as she unbuttoned his fly and slipped her fingers into the waistband of his briefs.
Concerned, she glanced about.
“No worries, darlin’.”
“You’re sure, Ian?”
His hand cupped her face. “Trust me.”
And for some unknown reason, she did. Even though a relative stranger, something deep in her soul expressed her trepidation of him was unwarranted.
Slipping her bra from her torso, he grasped a chilled breast with one rough hand and with the other, drew her to him for an intense kiss. His strength guided her to the blanket. She tore off her knee high boots while he stripped off his pullover. He’d shed out of his trousers and assisted with hers when a light sprinkle began.
She didn’t care—and it seemed he didn’t either.
It seemed so normal, his strong nude body pressed into hers as he reached into the pack. In mere seconds, he had donned a
condom. Bryn groaned in relief when he pushed his way into her.
“Shite, Brynnie!”
Unknowingly, she moved with him, her tempo complimenting his. She was fucking a near stranger and not having even a second thought about it. Yet, nothing seemed amiss—her situation seemed the most natural thing in the world. “Uh, Ian….”
“Darlin’?”
Clinging to his powerful back, she reveled in his shape, his build so different from any other man she’d ever been with—broad, strong, thick—and she loved it. Again, she stunned herself with the words which left her mouth. “Fuck me.” She clutched his shoulders. “Fuck me, hard.”
And as if calling upon some ancient rite of passage, he did.
He was larger than any other man she’d been with, and her insides screamed as his thickness buried into her. It hurt, but she only wailed for more. She relished how he pounded against her. Watching him, his wavy reddish-brown hair bobbed about his ears. Over his shoulder, the hue of a nearly typical Scottish day, gray with a misty sky. The tops of Scotch pines and birch waved in the meager breeze, birds flitting overhead, oblivious to the activity below. She sighed and turned her head to the side. Purple sprang up around her—making love in heather, just like some odd lingering memory had foretold.
“Hold still, lass!”
Bryn didn’t even realize her response to Ian, bucking against him with each of his thrusts. She winced when he grabbed her hips and gave her a good bend upward. The shift had him hitting spots inside her she didn’t think existed—until now. She screeched, clawing at his arms for something to steady herself as a vertiginous rush of orgasm shocked through her.
Climaxing only intensified his movement. He bent over her, his hands supporting him well beyond her head. With one last ramp, he came—long, loud and explosively.
1NS 094 - Haste Ye Back - Wendy Burke - Decadent 2012-02 Page 2