“Fuck,” he gasped. “Lean back.”
She lay back on the bed and he lifted her legs up as he moved between them, holding his hard red member in his hand. His dick was glistening with her spit and she was so wet and aching for him she felt like she could cum without him even touching her. As he pinned her back onto the bed and positioned himself at her opening, he looked her deep in the eyes and kissed her, before pulling back and slowly and powerfully sliding himself right up inside of her.
Emma gasped and gripped onto his shoulders with her fingertips as he fucked her slowly. She was already on the verge of unraveling beneath him, but she wanted to hold on. His thrusts were so strong and powerful, he was reaching places inside of her she didn’t even know existed. She felt opened up and reborn as he pounded her. His dick was so hard and deep, it was if he had created a new space. Rick held onto her throat and fucked her harder, his grunts becoming faster and more intense. His true power was oozing out of him, overtaking her and making her feel like she had never been anyone else’s but his.
“Yes!” she screamed as she wrapped her legs tightly around him. Rick reached down and took hold of her huge, swelling breasts and guided a nipple into his mouth. He sucked on her as he fucked her and the sensations he stirred within her were overwhelming. She knew she couldn’t hold on any longer. She threw her head back and came in a crashing wave of ecstasy as her orgasm thundered through her. Rick gripped onto her wrists and pinned them back into the pillows as he tensed up and grunted as he thrust into her powerfully once more, his seed exploding into her and filling her right up.
“Fuck,” he groaned as his whole body jerked and he emptied his load inside of her. He kissed her on the forehead and Emma panted beneath him. She could barely move and she didn’t know how she was going to recover. It had been the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced, and she felt weak.
“Oh my God, Rick,” she panted as he withdrew and lay down beside her. She could feel his hot, thick load running out of her and she squeezed her legs together to keep it inside. He saw what she was doing and smiled.
“Yes,” he smiled and then kissed her. “Keep it in you.”
Emma ran her hands through his hair and bit her lip, before cuddling into him and closing her eyes.
***
When she woke up, the sun was coming in through the red muslin. She looked up at Rick. He was sleeping, and his huge frame was breathing softly. She ran her fingertips up his chest, across his skull tattoos and up to his heart. She rested her palm on it so she could feel it beating.
“Morning, babe,” he breathed as he kissed her on the forehead. “What a night.”
Emma grinned and bit her lip. It had been a wild night indeed. She looked up at him and kissed him on the lips.
“I’m certainly glad you found me,” she smiled before she cuddled up to him and he wrapped his arm around her.
“Like I said, I just knew you were my kind of woman,” he winked and pulled her closer.
She looked around the room and at the clothes they had ripped off each other decorating it in strange ways. She didn’t know when the music had died, but she could hear the sound of bikes outside and the voices of men.
“Do you have to work?” she asked.
“Not today,” he smiled. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Emma leaned up on her elbows and smiled. Her naked body was perfect next to his; they complemented each other perfectly.
“I better find Leanne,” she said regretfully.
“Sure,” he said as he got to his feet and wrapped a towel around his waist.
“You’re not mad, are you?” she asked as she pulled her dress down over her head.
“No,” he smiled. “But I’ll be coming to find you later.” He winked at her, and Emma couldn’t keep the grin from her face.
***
He walked with her outside and lifted her onto the back of his bike. As he started the engine and Emma wrapped her arms around him again, she couldn’t believe where she had found herself, with a man this amazing. At the same time the previous week, she had been miserable with her life, hating every second and just wishing for some excitement. And now there she was: she had let her hair down, had a wild night with an incredible man and now she had him as a hot outlaw biker boyfriend, and she only had Leanne to thank. She giggled to herself as she realized her life had turned in exactly the direction she had wanted it to. And Rick was right, she was his kind of woman. She had the feeling that things were going to be good between them. She knew he was the sort of man who was going to care for her and support her… He was the sort of man she could spend the rest of her life with.
As they flew down the highway on the way to her house, she looked back over her shoulder at the ocean and smiled. She was on the right path now… And she had never felt better.
THE END
The Highland’s Call
Jessica Savage
Copyright ©2015 by Samantha Leal. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you so much for your interest in my work
Chapter 1
Andrea clutched the small stone in the palm of her hand. It felt cool and smooth and somehow strangely comforting. Her Grandmother Betty had insisted that her only granddaughter be given this small artifact on her death. That had happened over a week ago, as Andrea was driving through New York. It was almost as if she knew. An image of her beloved Gran had flitted through her mind at the exact moment she took her last breath.
Betty was her father's mother. Her dad Joe had died a few years ago and her mother Pat had remarried. She had never approved of her stepdad, Pete; he could never replace her beloved father.
Perhaps she was being unfair, but she had always sided with her dad against her mum, and now the two women seemed poles apart, no longer able to communicate with each other. Pat didn’t even attend the funeral. Not that Betty would have minded. She had never approved of the union in the first place.
Andrea had inherited her Grandma's creative talents and she had been close to Betty when she was a child, closer than to her own mother, but after college she had been offered a three-year contract with a major advertising company in New York, and it had been too good an opportunity to turn down. Betty had understood that she needed to fly the nest. She had been a young woman once, although that seemed such a long time ago.
Andrea had only seen her Gran when she flew home for Christmas and important family occasions. Then she had met Steve and her life in the US seemed to take on a more permanent footing, until the death of her Grandma had made her suddenly homesick for the English countryside. She loved the buzz and fast-paced life of New York but now longed for some peace and time to reflect and find herself again, and she certainly couldn't do that on Fifth Avenue.
Steve had stayed behind. He was in the middle of an important project but was willing to travel with her on a trip home for the funeral. For once Andrea didn't feel the need to be accompanied; this time she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories. Her insistence on being alone had caused a strain between them, the first serious rift since they got together almost two years ago, and it would be the first time they had spent any real time apart.
The pressure of the stone against her palm brought her back to the present. It had been almost five days since she left JFK airport, and Steve hadn't phoned her since. Not even yesterday after the funeral to see how she was coping. It saddened her to think the man she had grown to love could be so stubborn and heartless, and she began to question her commitment to the relationship. Did she really know him? He had seemed to be perfect for her, and she had enjoyed his company; yet when she looked back at the continual rounds of friends and parties, drinks and dinners, it seemed somewhat shallow. Lately she had started t
o feel broody; her body clock reminding her that time was ticking away. She had mentioned it to Steve once in a light-hearted way, and he had held up his hands in mock horror. That would never be the deal with him; his career was way too important, and her needs would always come second.
Did she and Steve really have anything in common?
The day was grey and coarse; the wind whipped up sharply from behind the trees and caused her to shiver. She had forgotten the English weather and hadn't prepared nor packed for it.
Opening her palm, Andrea looked down at the stone in her hand. She remembered seeing it as a child, taking prize position behind the glass in the old china cabinet in her Gran’s front room. Occasionally she had been allowed to take it out and hold it in her small palm. It was pale in color, not quite white and not quite beige. Several markings had been etched deeply into the surface, and she’d been told it once belonged to a white witch with magical powers. As a child, she had held the small token and made a secret wish that she would never grow up, that she would always remain a child. Of course, that hadn't happened. Not physically, anyway—but perhaps in her heart?
Grandma Betty had always been so full of life, her small blue eyes twinkling on the wrinkled and careworn face. There had been some sadness in her youth, but no one had talked of it and Andrea had never asked, but sometimes she saw a wistful shadow slightly dimming those sparkling eyes.
And now the stone was hers—that and an old battered leather diary from 1956. Before her death, Grandma Betty had written her a letter, the hand-writing barely legible on the expensive vellum cream paper. It had taken her a while to read the spidery hand.
Andrea,
My darling Granddaughter, I fear that I may not see you again. I do hope that is not the case, but I have to be practical. There is so much I should have told you and so much left to say, but my time is running out. Remember the wishing stone you used to ask me about as a child? I leave that to you. It's my most valued possession. You must promise that you will do something for me? The stone needs to be returned to its rightful home on the Isle of Iona, just off the Isle of Mull. You must take it into the Abbey and enter the little graveyard of St. Oran's chapel. Take the stone and place it on the third grave on the left-hand side. I can't explain everything to you in this letter. Most of it I don't understand myself. But you must promise me this, this small pilgrimage of mine. The diary may help? Call it an old woman's ramblings, but as you loved me please do this one last thing for me. The thought of you, my only remaining flesh and blood carrying out this last request, brings peace to my mind as I near my end.
I will never stop loving you even when I am far away.
Grandma Betty x
Tears trickled down her face as she imagined the dear old lady sitting up in bed, scribbling her last instructions to the world. It must have taken a lot of effort to write the letter. She had been in a very weak state in the end and therefore must have considered it extremely important to write.
Andrea had promised Steve she would be back in a few days, but what would a few more matter? It wasn't as if he was speaking to her anyhow. She would visit Iona. It was the last thing she could do for her grandmother, and although it would mean a further 1000 mile round trip, it would give her some peace of mind to follow her last wishes.
The phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and pulling it out, she could see it was Steve calling from New York.
"Hey." His voice was deep and apologetic across the miles, and her heart thumped loudly at the sound of him.
"Hey, back." She tried to sound light as she finished their usual greeting.
"So, how are you?"
She could tell he was struggling to find the right words.
"Not too bad, under the circumstances. It was the funeral yesterday." Andrea could feel herself start to choke on the words; she had been bottling things up for too long.
There was a pause as Steve caught his breath. "Yesterday? Andrea, I'm so sorry, I would have called. I thought it was today."
Another lengthy pause ensued. Usually they had so much to talk about.
"At least you'll be home tomorrow,” he added. “I've missed you."
And now it was crunch time.
"Steve, I won't be coming home tomorrow. I've extended my stay by a week." She could hear disappointment in the silence that followed.
"I have to go up to Scotland, to Iona. It was Gran’s last wish."
"What?"
His voice sounded incredulous, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right.
"It's just something I have to do; it was her dying wish that I visit the chapel there."
"But honey, you don't have to do that now. Not right away, anyway. You haven't forgotten the opening night for my exhibition, have you? It's in four days. I want you by my side. You promised."
Andrea had forgotten, and she closed her eyes as if that would make things go away. She had tried that as a child; it hadn't worked then, and it didn't help now. It just gave her a few more seconds to think.
"Andrea?"
"It was her last wish, Steve. I've got to do it."
She could feel his exasperation as he breathed heavily into his phone.
"Are you crazy? You know how much this exhibition means to me. You're not really going to put your senile old grandmother ahead of me, ahead of us?"
"Grandma Betty wasn't senile!"
"I know, honey. I know how much she meant to you, but you've got to be reasonable."
She was three and a half thousand miles away, and “reasonable” was something she didn't have to be. The word irritated her, and she could feel the anger rising in her throat.
"Andrea?"
She pressed the end call button and put the phone back in her pocket. End of call, end of relationship, she guessed. She shouldn’t have felt angry; she knew the exhibition meant everything to him. She should be the one feeling sorry and calling him back to apologize, but Andrea didn't feel any of these things. Her grandmother dying and her trip home had sparked something inside her, some longing and need that she couldn't quite grasp. The only thing that she was certain of was that she needed to travel to Iona as soon as possible.
Chapter 2
The next day she was leaving Yorkshire, traveling by train up North to the Inner Hebrides of Scotland and would complete her journey by ferry to the tiny Island of Iona.
Although still cold outside, the sun was shining brightly in a vain attempt to warm the chill October air. Inside the carriage, Andrea was cozy, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world race by. The scenery of the Northumberland coastline stretching its way up North was breathtaking, the sunlight dancing and glimmering on the waves as they brushed against the solitary, rocky bays.
She felt truly liberated.
It would take most of the day to reach Iona, so Andrea settled back in her seat. She had no book to read but then remembered the small pocket diary from 1956 in her bag and eagerly pulled it out.
The pages were yellowing and the diary entries didn't start until June that year. The writing was faint, but she could just about make it out.
June 13th, 1956
Arrived on Iona after a long journey. Fishing boat brought me over from the main Island of Mull. Mother still not pleased with my decision to take a few months away, but I need some time to paint and think. There is plenty of time to become a housewife.
Andrea smiled. She had married Grandpa Joe in 1958, so not too many years of being free and single.
Little pencil sketches filled the margins of the paper: a fishing boat (maybe the one she had traveled across the water in?) and a hut or shack standing alone. It looked bleak.
June 14th, 1956
Digs are basic and chilly. The walls are made of corrugated metal so very cold at night. Porridge and kippers for breakfast, which I have surprisingly enjoyed. It’s much warmer outside in the early summer air than in my poky little room. Glad to get out in fresh air and now am going to walk over to the Abbey.
19:15- Had a l
ovely day. The Island is truly breathtaking. The Abbey is a very special place and it felt strange yet welcoming, almost if I had come home. My great, great-grandfather’s family were Scottish—one of the Great McDonald Clan—maybe that is why? I must go back and do more sketches tomorrow in the early light. Have been told the sunrise here is spectacular.
June 15th, 1953
Up early. The sky is still dark, but I want to set up my easel in the little chapel grounds so I can start to capture the first rays of light against the Abbey, and get a feel for the colors and the peace at that time of day.
The rest of the diary entries ended there. But towards the back of the book the scribbling started once again, not in any particular date order, but just what seemed like a collection of thoughts.
I’m not sure what happened at the Chapel? I seemed to have passed out in the cemetery. I had found an ideal spot for my sketches amongst the ancient burial places, and the last thing I remember was finding a strange looking carved stone in the grass. After that, it all becomes a little bit dreamlike and it can’t have been too long after that I must have fainted or something. I can’t remember feeling ill. When I came to, which must have been only seconds later, I was seized with an awful pain within my stomach and had a bitter taste in my mouth. I was crying and wretched and was violently sick and that seemed to make things a little better, but I felt weak and tired. Maybe it was something I ate for breakfast? Perhaps the kippers don’t agree with me, after all? I have these strange images in my head—hallucinations or dreams—and the people I see are so vivid. I feel disoriented as if I have been snatched out of a deep sleep. I don't seem to have any physical injuries except a cut to my right ankle. The strange stone was still in my hand. I am very tired and feel a sense of deep loss.
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