1NS 094 - Haste Ye Back - Wendy Burke - Decadent 2012-02

by 1 Night Stand

  She couldn’t help but hope the rubber held.

  Yet, she didn’t care. The encounter was wanted and needed, and she sure the hell hoped he wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel, not without a little more fun.

  Bryn didn’t mind his full weight laid out atop her. It would be too bad if she did, it seemed he couldn’t prevent it—muscles probably so spent for the moment he couldn’t pick himself up if he needed to.

  But he did lift his hips, just enough to remove himself from her. She groaned in disappointment. “It’s all right, darlin’. We just got started.” He relaxed into her hold and shifted a bit, his full two hundred pounds-plus not completely on her.

  “Oh, Ian,” she purred against his ear.

  “Oh, Brynnie,” he breathed in return.

  He propped himself on an elbow while his eyes studied her body, and Bryn enjoyed the long look he gave her—from her damp hair, over her face, down her torso, seeming to imprint every curve of her. Her head tipped back into the blanket when he slipped his hand between her thighs. Her immeasurable wetness had an immediate effect on him; again, he was hard against her.

  Dead pine needles crackled under her as she shifted with his caress. Lifting her head to spy on him, she arched an eyebrow, wondering…he bit at his bottom lip, his blue eyes answering her questioning thought.

  His bare skin roused her as he bent over her for a deep kiss. It ended, but began anew as his tongue bathed her neck and—Oh, shit!—each breast ever so slowly. Her tummy trembled beneath his forearm as his fingers played in the wetness between her legs.

  When he stopped, she gasped, her body begging for more wanton caresses. Pleading moans came from her when his whiskers scratched the sensitive skin of her stomach. He rose from her slightly, his legs over hers, his knees making room between her thighs.

  His lips sweetly met hers. Then he slipped down the length of her body, his handsome face disappearing between her legs.

  Her squeals were muffled by the flora, deadened by the greenery, absorbed by the lush surroundings. Her body yearned for his mouth to grab her clit and suck the life from her, but he didn’t. His facial hair prickled against her mound, strong fingers eased apart aroused folds, his teeth gently nipping, tugging at her labia. She clawed at the wool beneath her when his hot tongue teased her opening.

  He slowed and she felt him studying her, moving her thickened flesh about. His soft hair rested on her thigh. His groaned appreciation of, “What a fine lass you be,” cut short as he buried his mouth into her bush.

  When she writhed into him, his mouth claimed her clit—sucking, licking, blowing searing breath upon it. His bristly chin burrowed lower, little pin-pricks excitingly irritating her delicate skin, exacerbating her overly aroused state.

  His hand surrounded hers, drawing it down the length of her body. Her fingers were directed into her slick labia, encouraged to work around his probing tongue. Bryn felt for her clit. That can’t be mine! Her middle finger worked the engorged pebble. Her back arched, strong arms lifted her. She rested nearly on her shoulder blades, her knees hooked over broad shoulders.

  His chest hair tickled her backside, but that sensation lasted just a moment. He pushed her body a bit away from his. She opened her eyes long enough to see his sex-driven wink, then his face again vanished into her wetness.

  She rubbed herself more vehemently, shrieking in surprise when his tongue met the puckered opening of her ass. “Ian!” He possessed a strong, wet and incredibly insistent tongue.

  Physical reactions overwhelmed her. She weakened, her fingers left her cherry-sized clit and she hefted herself up to Ian’s waiting mouth. She didn’t have to ask, she signaled with her movement—he buried his tongue into her vagina. He continued to flick inside her even as her muscles clenched upon it.

  Yet, she needed more. She flailed and writhed in to his face. He seemed to read her mind. He licked her bottom to top, his tongue dragging over pulsing flesh a last time, before he leaned away from her to grab his coat and dig into a pocket. Then, she felt his hands working against her back, donning a condom.

  Eyes locked with his, she slipped her knees from his shoulders. A bit of shock painted his face when she rolled over and thrust her ass at him.

  For a stranger, he followed silent directions well.

  He dragged his hand through her thatch, bringing more natural lubrication around her anus.

  “Ian, please,” she begged.

  Chapter Six

  You’re kidding, lassie!

  In all his life, no woman had ever willingly pointed her arse at him and begged to be fucked there. And what a beautiful backside it was; prominent dimples of Venus tapered into trim hips, giving way to a perfect heart-shaped bottom with toned, flawless skin.

  He certainly wasn’t going to let the opportunity to take her that way pass by.

  As adventurous as she seemed, he knew pain was a huge turn-off, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt her. Although he had to pat himself on the back having a dick his size, he also knew unintentional brutality could take place.

  Rising up on her knees, she rubbed her butt into his sheathed cock. Nearly apologetic, she mentioned, “If you don’t care for anal, Ian, just tell me.”

  So, the lass does want it in the ass!

  “No, Brynnie.” He slipped his hands up her bare sides, raising her arms. In a natural reaction, she wound them back around his neck, tilting her face to his, forcing a deep French kiss on him. “I don’t want to hurt you, darlin’.”

  “I know you won’t,” she whispered. “I trust you.” She kissed his cheek, a smile lingering against his beard.

  He couldn’t grasp his response to her seduction, roughly shoving against Bryn’s back, nearly flinging her to the ground. She peered at him in reaction to his sudden forcefulness, then braced herself, grabbing and burying her face into the blanket —which only put her ass further in the air.

  “C’mon, Ian.” Sex oozed in her voice.

  Gently he caressed the skin of her butt cheeks. A bit concerned about lubrication, he slipped one, then a second finger into her, dragging the gloss around her hole. She rocked forward and back, her ass bumping against his hardened dick.

  He treated her gently, but left out any sort of anal foreplay. “Hold still, lass!” She stopped moving immediately and allowed him to spread her cheeks, poking lightly at her hole with his dick. When she pushed out against him, a seemingly painful groan left her, and his tip disappeared within her.

  “Shite!” His cock sank into the hot, lush, tight crevasse.

  “More, Ian, more!” She rocked into him, her body begging his stiff shaft. “No matter what I say, don’t stop.”

  When she pulsed about him, he growled like a feral cat. “Fuck!” Her chuckle forced an end to his gentleness. So harshly he grabbed her hips, surely welts would be left. Nothing sounded sweeter and more arousing than her erotic cries as he banged into her.

  So engrossed in sexual sensation, his mind left the plane of consciousness, as if he’d been there before—probably with some long forgotten babe from college—but this was another experience all together. Seemingly one of another world.

  Hearing Bryn’s cries, memories of experiences not his own flooded his head, though they were not in English. Something in his ancient consciousness expressed this lass was ‘the one.’ All he knew—in the now and in the past—he’d be alone the remainder of his life if she got away.

  Dizzy with sensation, body alive with energy not his own, he bent over her, wrapped his arms about her trim waist and drew her upward. He slipped one hand into her pulsing thatch, the other supported her, while he caressed one of her firm, round breasts and continued to piston her tight hole.

  When she dropped her head back to him, he ravished her mouth just as he did her body. She didn’t resist until she wrenched her lips from his, tossing her head back in a tear-filled wail of release.

  Ian took the cue. He guided her forward, pressing her into the wool beneath them. Moving dark tress
es from the back of her neck, he kissed her nape, breathing sweet words in her ear, hoping to calm her emotional whimpers. He whispered to her until his body denied him that gentleness, his breath caught in his throat, and a shudder of a hundred lifetimes consumed him.

  When he collapsed on her, she moved him, prompting him to spoon. Tears abated, giving way to contented sighs.

  Six or seven centuries ago, by virtue of this act, he would have claimed her, forced her to be his. At this moment, however, willingly she belonged to him.

  Bryn shivered against Ian’s body, the meadow air cooling as the sun slunk behind the hills. She had nestled into his hold after collapsing upon him—the conclusion to their past hours of couplings. She smiled when he pulled her closer, draping his coat over the both of them.

  He did it with his eyes closed, a lovely, spent grin upon his face. She shook her head then tucked it into the curve of his neck, still shocked at his attractiveness and beyond. Despite their flailing, intense fuck session, he had concern for her, showing kindness and gentleness.

  For a millisecond, she remembered Don only because Ian had forced her to forget all about him.

  His lips met her forehead. “What’re you thinkin’, darlin’?”

  She cuddled him closer, his coarse chest hair tickling her nipples, igniting another arousal cycle. “Other than the obvious?”

  In his hold, her body jiggled with his deep chuckle. “Aye, other than the terrible obvious.”

  She pulled back to take him in, to find him gazing at her. His navy blue eyes were kind, wondering, and fucking sexy. “Uh, that I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “Nor have I, lass. But….”

  “…this seemed so right.”

  “Like the most natural thing in the world.”

  How she could be on the same page with a man she’d known less than a day confounded her, but still it wasn’t disconcerting. “Is that why you planned ahead with the knapsack?”

  “That wasn’t me, Brynnie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found it in my car with a note on it, Courtesy of Madame Eve.” Bryn chuckled into his bare skin. His voice took on a serious quality. “I can only wonder what that woman has planned for us.”

  She hid her face from his, screening a somewhat sour reaction to his deliberate, hopeful statement. Wait a minute—this is supposed to be a one-night, well, okay, an all-day-one- night stand. Extremely expensive revenge fucking. Nothing more.

  And, there was—the tone. That tone in Ian’s voice of momentous consequence. She’d heard the same overt seriousness when Don asked her to move in with him, and again when he announced he had better things to do than go to Scotland with her. That tone scared the shit out of her—it reeked of something coming down the pike, menacingly sober emotions, and a discussion which could change one’s life forever.

  “I wonder if she can see into the future…like my future with you,” he whispered.

  Bryn closed her eyes, the sincerity in Ian’s voice almost too much to bear. Of course, you’re going to punctuate that statement by kissing me—like no one’s ever kissed me before.

  She’d read his mind. In his hold, his wonderful weight pleasantly crushed her into the pine straw beneath them. A nudge of his chin to hers, her mouth eagerly opened. She didn’t want to admit it, at least not aloud, but she could certainly get accustomed to kissing him, among other things.

  “What do you think, Brynnie?”

  She almost came again, just by the way he said the word ‘you,’ that long unintentionally extended ‘ooo’ at the end.

  “Ian….”

  “Aye, lassie….”

  Damn fucking sexy parochial colloquialisms! “I like you, Ian, I really do. So, for now, let’s just not ruin this. Can we leave the ultra-personal whys and hows till our actual date?” Again, he cuddled her close. She hoped he understood.

  “Sure, darlin’.”

  It seemed he did. At times, she found herself psychologically like a man; fucking was grand, but sometimes it just needed to be heartfelt entertainment. She wasn’t ready to have a heavy conversation—not there.

  And maybe not even in a more suitable environment.

  Chapter Seven

  The Vauxhall proved to be a toasty respite from the damp, drizzly outdoors. Ian hadn’t realized the cold until he cranked up the heater and thawed out. Bryn burrowed into her seat and covered up with a green and white Hibernian Football Club fleece she found on the backseat floor.

  He shook his head, chuckling, hearing Bryn’s teeth chatter. “I hope we don’t catch our death, darlin’.”

  “S-so w-worth it, Ian.”

  “Ya think so?” She answered him with smile, a gentle moan and the closing of her eyes as she sunk into her seat. “Shite.” Giving the windshield a sour stare, he rolled down his window and yanked a Tyvex envelope from under his wiper.

  “Ticket?”

  “Eh?”

  “Ah, um…parking citation?” she translated.

  “Don’t know.” Sighing, he let the blower thaw him a bit more before opening the envelope.

  “What is it, Ian?”

  He read, “Bryn and Ian. Dinner and brandy await you. Please follow the—” he handed Bryn a small enclosed map— “directions on the map. Have a lovely dinner and equally as lovely evening. Bon appétit—Madame Eve.”

  She sighed, disappointed. “I bought a new dress for tonight, too.”

  He held up a hand. “…PS: all your belongings have been transported to your new lodgings. Guess that answered that question, eh?”

  “Aye.” Bryn giggled.

  “Certainly, aye!” His lips met her cheek, giving her a noisy smooch. “Let’s go, shall we?”

  ***

  Another forty-five minutes, and further up into the rolling hills, Ian took a right off the main road onto what appeared to be a goat path. He loved her happy sigh as she took in the landscape—immense amounts of green, strafed with craggy outcroppings and splashes of pinkish buds of the country’s national flower, the Scots thistle.

  No longer chilled to the core, her cold chattering disappeared. “Are we visiting a shepherd or someone?” she teased. Only sheep dotted the beautiful countryside.

  Over one last rise, pastures gave way to a modest estate, the stone house antique but well kept. The car came to a stop in the pea gravel drive. The house was small, but the property large with rolling fields beyond a stone fence, dotted with more sheep and the occasional cow. Flowers overflowing from well-groomed gardens dropped their heads in the slight drizzle.

  As they parked, an impeccably dressed man exited the home’s large door and waited on the flagstone stoop.

  Ian went to the left side of the car, opened Bryn’s door and assisted her from the vehicle. He held her close as they moved toward the porch.

  “Mr. McCallum, Miss Wallace—welcome to Dunbar Inn.” He held open the door, putting out his hand for them to enter. “Anything you need, please ask. My name is Tavish.”

  The small, but grand foyer gave way to stone arches leading to the remainder of the house. Watching Bryn take in the ultra-antique, yet modern accommodations, Ian smiled—the lass seemed lost in her element. She took particular interest in the Dunbar coat of arms.

  “Hmm.” She shook herself.

  “What, darlin’?” He rubbed her shoulders, happy that she relaxed into him.

  “My mother’s maiden name was Dunbar.”

  Ian gave an invisible shake of his head. What else will you come up with, Madame Eve?

  A fuzzy orange tabby brushed by him to Bryn, dancing about her feet, meowing and insistent. “Hi, kitty.”

  What a beauty Bryn was. Even in her most innocent of moments, irresistible and sexy.

  She picked up the cat and cuddled it. The animal wedged its head under her chin, purring enthusiastically, like he’d found a long lost owner. “What’s your name, fuzzy guy? You’d love my Fat Louie at home.”

  “His name is Roy, Miss.”
r />   “Like Rob Roy?”

  “One and the same.” Tavish nodded and disappeared.

  Ian scratched the feline’s head while she cuddled it closer. “My neighbor Jason is watching Lou while I’m gone. He’ll probably weigh thirty pounds when I get back—the cat, not Jason!”

  “Two stone is a hefty cat!”

  Silently, Tavish returned, bearing a silver tray with snifters of brandy. “The thirty-year old to begin. Mr. McCallum, would you do the honor, please?”

  Taking one glass, Ian waited as Bryn returned Roy to the floor, where he pranced off. Ian gave her the glass with the rich-hued liquor, the other he took for himself. He sucked in a breath, wondering if he could get through an old, worn toast without cracking, his new friend—lover—affected him so. He raised his glass to her. “May the saddest day of our future be no worse than the happiest day of our past.”

  Wait, that’s your future, not our future! But, she didn’t seem to notice, and if she did, she let it slide.

  Her glass met his, but before he could bring it to his lips, she wrapped her arms about him, kissing him on the mouth. “Thank you, Ian.” Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Thank you for everything.”

  Maybe the day, his presence, their intense and immediate ‘relationship’ had heartily affected her as well.

  “Now,” Tavish interrupted, “if you don’t mind, I’ll show you to your quarters where you’ll be able to freshen up and dress for dinner.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ian clutched his chest, hoping to keep his heart within it. Lying in the drizzle, his hands exploring her body, Bryn’s beauty had excited and stunned him—but the woman being escorted into the dining room by their host, Tavish, was again as beautiful.

  He rose from the dining table set for two. She wore an emerald green dress; simple, elegant, form-fitting, a thistle broach its only decoration. Sterling Celtic knots dotted her ears, and a short-chained matching pendant rested in the hollow of her throat. Her shawl couldn’t have been more apropos—an oversized wrap in a weathered Wallace tartan of black, green, and gold.