One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  I open my eyes, suddenly bereft and empty before his fingers drag against my bottom lip. ‘Taste yourself.’ As I push out my tongue, he brings the glistening digits to his own mouth, sucking hard.

  I convulse a little as he watches me, wanting so much. Needing.

  His eyes are dark and dilated as he turns me in his arms, his mouth sliding against mine, his tongue forcing entry and seeking my own. I match his intensity, tasting myself from his mouth as he holds my head firmly between his hands. Our kisses are savage, ferocious kisses of need, hard and unforgiving. My hands clasp his biceps, their restrained power vibrating under my palms.

  ‘This way,’ he rasps, taking my hand. ‘Before the evening ends prematurely.’ I inhale and almost choke. The expression on my face must border on comical as he pulls me roughly against him, his erection hard against my side. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I mean before I fuck you right here, abandoning my plans.’

  Words, just words but, boy do they hit the right spot.

  Pulling me toward the chair, he pauses to slide the untied panties down my legs. With what can only be described as a smirk, he grabs them from the floor.

  ‘You should always dispose of wrapping mindfully.’

  ‘You don’t strike me as the kind to recycle.’ My voice is breathy as I use his shoulders for balance, savouring the warm, solidness of him under my hands.

  From his crouched position, his eyes narrow. ‘Oh, I can be green.’ As he stands, he tucks the scrap of satin into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I’m absolutely the jealous type. Sit down.’

  Hands against my hips, he lowers me to the chair.

  I feel a sudden thrill, powerful in my position. I run my hands through his hair, nails against his scalp and tugging the ends. His shoulders roll and loosen, his eyes closing slowly in response. He exhales a harsh, masculine sound as he places his palms on my knees, sliding them apart with ease. Eyes lustrous, he lifts my foot by the point of my heel, kissing the inside of my ankle before draping my leg across the armrest.

  Repeating the actions, he lays me open and bare. Vulnerable.

  I blink rapidly, trying to reconcile how I feel against how, maybe, I ought to feel. There’s a residual unease, particularly as I’ve allowed him to position me so, but it’s secondary to my arousal as unfamiliar sensations slice through me, pushing me further toward that unseen edge.

  ‘Inti hilwa . . . you’re so beautiful.’

  His breath feathers the inside of my knee and my body jumps, bowing in anticipation as his tongue suddenly reaches the limit of my thigh. He stills, neither head nor mouth moving for a moment, a moment filled with torturous expectation. My erratic thoughts jump from nervousness to desperate desire as he kisses me wetly, halting his journey and tilting his head.

  I lift my hips in a not-so-subtle plea.

  ‘I love this piece of skin right here.’ His hands stroke the pale skin of my inner thigh, eyes entranced. ‘So soft. Like a symbol or a promise. A no-man’s land.’ With an agonising ache, he draws a finger along my slick ribbon of flesh. ‘Before the velvet within.’

  Almost grinding in the seat, I whisper, ‘Please.’

  ‘What is it you want?’ His cheek is pressed into my thigh as his eyes travel up my body.

  ‘Take off your shirt.’ What? It’s the best I can come up with right now. Don’t judge.

  He laughs huskily, teeth grazing my thigh in play. ‘Pout all you want, it’s not going to work.’ He straightens, and for a heart-stopping moment, I’m sure he’s about to kiss me. I end up frowning as his mouth brushes past my face. His hands feed into my hair at the nape of my neck, his mouth a whisper from my ear. ‘I’m not your puppet. You don’t get to pull my strings.’ As though to emphasise the point, he pulls and my head falls back, each strand seemingly hardwired to my clit. I whimper, I think, only as a description that seems inadequate.

  His hand slips to the cushion at the small of my back, a silken fabric travelling across my skin in a whisper of air. A tie, like the one from the box. Actually, there are a couple, as not unlike a magician, Kai pulls the silks across my waist.

  ‘Look familiar?’

  ‘And for your next trick?’ My words sound thick, desire coating my throat.

  ‘I do need a willing assistant.’ He chuckles darkly. ‘You’re here, so I gather the scarf’s message was clear.’

  ‘Subtle,’ I whisper. Like a sledgehammer. ‘Not sure how bondage will set me free.’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Almost at once his expression changes, eyes intense as he lifts my hands to his mouth, kissing the tips of my fingers and positioning them against my hips. He begins to thread a length of silk under the arm of the chair and around my thigh, fingers entwining anticipation and hunger as silk twists against my skin. My heart rate increases as I watch his bowed head, shortly followed by a duplicitous but delectable pulsing between my legs.

  ‘You look better than I could ever have imagined.’ My body trembles where the pads of his fingers caress the hyper-sensitive skin of my inner thigh. His gaze is resolute on the path of his fingers as he speaks again.

  ‘I’m going to taste you, sweetheart. Lick, suck and bite you. Devour you, until you beg for release.’

  The words, ominous and intimate, cause tiny explosions inside. I bite my bottom lip hard, desperate to keep a building moan inside my throat. Then his head rises, eyes finding mine alive and fire bright. ‘Then I’m going to fuck you. How does that sound?’

  Heavenly? Blood pounds in my ears, echoing between my legs, a tiny explosion of sensation matching the sudden beat.

  ‘Threats and promises,’ I breathe, any further comments dissolving as he presses his thumb against my clit. My hips surge with the motion, one hand gripping his shoulder, but the pressure is gone, all too soon.

  ‘Just promises,’ he whispers, kissing my cheek.

  Lowering his head, he strokes my nipple with the flat of his tongue, taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. As soft as his mouth is hard, he draws his fingers across my leg, brushing my entrance just once. I try desperately to absorb the enticing sensation, my body rising on instinct. I whimper as he repeats the actions against my opposite side, the corner of his smile visible against the skin of my breast. I pant quietly, need hot and heavy, drenching my skin as his mouth skims lower, licking and nipping still.

  ‘Fettered and fucked . . . my favourite,’ he murmurs against the soft flesh of my belly. I’m about to point out the obvious as he pushes a finger inside me. ‘Finger fucked,’ he growls as he adds another. I moan, the words dying, unformed.

  Dark eyes watch me, fingers dipping and curling inside, his touch as exquisite as his gaze is electrifying. I’m so turned on by his watching me that it only increases my pleasure, and as though knowing this, he speaks.

  ‘Don’t come. Not yet.’

  ‘Do it, then,’ I moan, my wave of need beginning to crest.

  ‘Do what?’ he purrs. ‘Come on, say it. Tell me what you want, what you need.’

  ‘You, I need you,’ I whimper.

  ‘But we’re not done.’ Lowering his head, he continues kissing my torso. My legs jerk against the restraints as he reaches the apex of my thighs with a chaste kiss. ‘So sweet,’ he murmurs. His fingers hold me open, his flat, full tongue drawing languorous strokes along my flesh. My insides tighten and heat as, like quicksilver, the intensity begins to build again, forcing me to lift my hands to his hair, as though to hold onto it.

  ‘Ah-ah,’ he admonishes, his tongue circling me as his fingers work me still.

  My eyes roll closed and I moan, arching my hips within my limited motion, desperate for more—for harder, deeper—as his teeth graze my sensitive skin. Quivering and desperate, I’m just a bundle of nerve endings, drowning in sensation. I’m close. God, so close.

  I sense him standing and whimper, my eyes snapping open to follow, heated and desperate, wanting yet unfulfilled.

  Fingers at the hem of his shirt, he reaches for the lowest button,
loosening it in a deliberate, unhurried action, revealing his defined torso inch by slow inch. With a light roll of his shoulders, the shirt slides down his arms. I reach to stroke his flat stomach, wanting to touch him, bring him closer as he moves to the back of the chair.

  ‘Patience is bitter,’ he taunts from behind, running his hands down my arms.

  Swallowing thickly, I rasp, ‘But its fruit sweet.’ I’m a pawn in his game and I don’t know the rules, but I so want to play.

  ‘Clever kitten.’

  Grasping my wrists, he lifts them to my head, binding them deftly with another silk, finally threading the fabric through the crown of the chair.

  ‘Look at yourself,’ he coaxes, but I’m too busy watching him; unable to move my eyes from his almost feral gaze. His fingers tilt my chin to our shocking reflection; the mirror in front of me, I’d forgotten.

  My eyes are reflected wide with anticipation, complexion flushed, my breasts are thrust out. Satin restraints echo the shoes on my feet. I’m so open and exposed . . . thrillingly so. Watching him watching me, suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe.

  ‘What did I promise you?’ He lowers his head, our eyes connecting in the mirror, the question pulsing between my legs.

  A really good seeing to?

  I lick my lips, summoning a more sensible line. ‘That you’d make me beg.’

  He smiles and with a rustle of silk, covers my eyes.

  ‘So I did.’ The sense of promise hangs heavy in the air as the soft pad of feet sound against the marble floor.

  Was that a swish of air from an opening door? My anxiety levels spike. He’s leaving. What sort of a nut job allows a guy, one she barely knows, to tie her to a chair? And now he’s buggered off to god knows where.

  It’s all fun and games until somebody gets fucked. Or not, as the case may be.

  I try to rein in my rising panic, resisting the urge to pull against the restraints, my breathing shallow and rapid. I hold my breath, straining to make sense of muffled noises coming from the other room, without much success. Time passes, how many minutes—a couple . . . five . . . ten?—I have no idea as I wait and speculate, anticipation and anxiety cleaving my insides.

  Having no control over what’s about to happen is arousing, consuming. Confusing. As my mind races, doubts and recriminations rise.

  Nice girls don’t put themselves in this position. Nice girls have sensible sex. In a bed. Lying down. With a man they know. They don’t allow themselves to be tied to a chair, naked and spread open by a virtual stranger.

  My heart skips a beat as the door swishes open once more. Soft steps draw closer, and something I can’t quite place. Maybe the clink of glassware? Then, liquid pouring.

  ‘Thirsty, kitten?’

  I shake my head, relieved that I’m no longer alone. My anxiety recedes but my heart still beats in my ears.

  ‘No?’

  His cologne drifts past me as a soft brush of fabric caresses my skin. I try to rise to meet him; he’s so near, our skins almost touching. I recognize the sound of liquid once more and Kai’s appreciation as he swallows, lips smacking in an exaggerated fashion.

  ‘You’re sure? You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  As he swallows again, the chink of ice sounds against the glass. I can almost feel the cool liquid travel his strong throat and I swallow instinctually, suddenly craving the taste of the wine I can scent in the air.

  ‘I want,’ I say breathily.

  ‘How badly?’ His voice is deeper, huskier, as he rolls the cold glass against my jaw, causing me to jerk my head. And I want pretty bad, but I can’t verbalize the notion, the words lodged at the back of my throat.

  ‘Open wide,’ he croons, turning my head, fingers briefly against my chin. ‘Ah, sweetheart, you already have.’

  Muscles clench at the unexpected and cool invasion as he suddenly drives, what feels like, two fingers in between my legs. I whimper as the fingers retreat.

  Grazing my jaw, he kisses the edge of my mouth before pressing the glass to my bottom lip. I tilt my head back to receive the sacrament and my mouth is filled . . . by fingers. I taste myself on them before he replaces them with his glass, and at last, my mouth is filled to overflowing with crisp, cold wine. It spills past my lips, falling to my chest as I shiver in its cooling wake.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he murmurs with a sigh, his tongue now lapping my skin and the liquid trail. Despite the cool of the wine, I’m heated from the inside out. Desire courses through my veins as he skims my bottom lip with his tongue. I moan softly fighting the urge to bite, to draw it inside.

  ‘More,’ I demand.

  ‘Better than martinis’?’ He asks with a soft laugh, as something hard and cold touches the centre of my bottom lip. ‘Suck,’ he rasps, trailing fingers dragging from my lip as a cube of ice slides onto my tongue. ‘Suck harder,’ he commands.

  Drawing in my cheeks, I suck deeply, the ice turning to vapour, I’m sure, forgoing the liquid phase. The hum of appreciation he makes flips my insides. My senses are heightened, his closeness taunting as I feel him moving between my open legs, reminded once more of how helpless I am. Helpless to his desires.

  ‘Stick out your tongue,’ he whispers, ‘let me taste.’

  I feel him over me, my insides tightening in pulsing jolts. His mouth touches mine, sucking, licking, gently biting my bottom lip as cold fingers trail my heated skin.

  ‘More,’ I plead again as he pulls away.

  ‘Such a greedy girl.’ Deliberately misunderstanding me, he brings the glass to my lips, the liquid overflowing a second time. ‘And so messy.’

  Something smooth and cold follows in the wake of the wine, making a path between my breasts. I jump and shiver, reacting to the sting of the ice he begins trailing across my skin. Circling my breast slowly, he moves the ice in decreasing circles, until it glides across the edges of my areola.

  ‘Cold,’ I whimper as the ice reaches my nipple. A divine, numbing sting.

  Cool lips touch my breast as my peaked nipple is taken into his mouth, his tongue an exquisite contrast against the bite of the ice.

  ‘Better?’ I hope it’s a rhetorical question as I try very hard to absorb the sensations. ‘I think you still need to cool down.’ Arrogance masquerades amongst his words, but I’m beyond caring as again, the frozen torment begins. I pant, the anticipation of the ice almost too much to bear.

  Its borderline painful and I moan loudly as my body surges against the chill, my nipples hardening further, singing with the sensation.

  In a swish of air, he moves and my heart sinks.

  I sense he doesn’t move far. Cloth rustles over the sound of my breathing and then the slow descent of his zipped fly. Almost immediately something bites against each nipple in turn; something tight, not quite piercing. I cry out in surprise, the sound lengthening as I try to process the sensation of pain, actual pain this time. My breath comes in small panting bursts as he speaks.

  ‘You look so beautiful,’ he murmurs against my ear. ‘Try. For me.’

  The stinging sensation begins to dissipate, the now dull, needy throb radiating to my clit, the line between pain and pleasure becoming somehow hazy. As he peels the silk away from my eyes, his naked abs and hard cock jut out between us. And a moment later, I’m staring down at a familiar pair of ornamental butterflies perched against my skin, their purpose now painfully clear.

  Kai’s eyes shine with intensity, an almost amber liquor-lustre, as he watches me, watching the butterflies as I breathe through the insidiously tempting pull of the clamps. Beautifully sadistic. My nerves are jarred as I try to absorb the almost overwhelming bitter-sweet sensation.

  ‘Sweet . . . fuck,’ I moan out.

  ‘That you are.’ Husky voiced, he swallows more wine, our gazes connected over the top of the glass. His eyes are clouded with intent, darkly dilated and hungrier than I’ve ever seen. I thought I knew about desire, about sex. I was wrong. More than action and words, the knowledge of his passion, his
desire to restrain and control me, to have me helpless like this, is a thrill like mothing else.

  He places the glass on the floor and begins placing cold kisses across my skin. Each touch of his ice-cold lips sends my blood rising to the surface in greeting. Lips trail kisses across my torso, down further still, the tip of his tongue pushing inside.

  I cry out, surging against his mouth as his tongue suddenly swirls ice against my clit. My body struggles against the restraints, convulsing, before the ice melts into nothingness.

  ‘So cold!’ I writhe against him, shocked as the familiar sensation begins to expand. Surely not . . . no, it can’t be.

  ‘I know, but so good,’ he breathes as he swirls and licks, not yielding an inch.

  All reason abandoned, I’m a mass of sensations I can’t process. It hurts, a little? Not enough? I can do nothing but concentrate on his sweet, sweet torture and just submit to the pleasure and pain slicing through my insides. Torturous and wonderful, the intense pressure continues to build in my core.

  I cry out as Kai removes the butterflies, discarding them to the floor. Replaced by his ice-cooled mouth, the bite reduces to a delicious throb.

  ‘Please, Kai . . . I can’t.’

  I’m panting, not able to swallow a full breath of air as silks are loosened, my hands falling limply against the chair arms.

  ‘Say it,’ he demands, manoeuvring me with his hands under my legs.

  ‘I need you.’

  My legs feel strangely unfamiliar but move of their own accord, flexing against him, willing him inside. He moves unexpectedly, pulling me upwards until my legs are wrapped around his waist as he stands.

  ‘Say it,’ he repeats, eyes dark and luminous. He begins to walk across the room.

  ‘Please, Kai,’ I breathe, ‘please, just fuck me!’

  I cry out as I’m pressed against the cold of the mirror as he slams into me with a growl. His head lowers, eyes watching where our bodies join as he slides in and out, again and again.

  ‘I want to hear,’ he growls, moving deeper. Slipping one hand under my butt, his other splays flat against the mirror, his hips driving between my legs.