One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  From across the room, he stills and his eyes seem to regain focus, as though he’s just noticed me here. The smallest suggestion of a smile sneaks through as his eye rake over me. ‘You’re impossible.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I’m incorrigible.’ Emboldened by his response, the new Kate returns, full of sass and bullshit. She may even flutter her lashes a little.

  He towers over me in a few short steps, fingers toying with a lock of my hair. ‘That you are and I just don’t know what to do about it.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘I’m not sure you can take what I have in mind.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I can take whatever you’ve got.’

  My words elicit a brief laugh from him. It occurs to me at this point that I could well be writing cheques my arse has no intentions of cashing because, seriously, despite our almost-sex phone call, I’m not doing that.

  His laughter fades and he lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, his other cradling my cheek. And then the atmosphere changes.

  ‘You’re like an obsession,’ he whispers. ‘And what I want from you will never be enough.’

  ‘I can try,’ I answer. ‘Try to be what you need.’

  ‘No, habibti.’ His gaze is clear and unguarded, adding gravity to his words. ‘I want to be the thoughts filling your head, the need burning in the ends of your fingertips. The longing between your thighs. I want all of it, every last piece of you.’

  All else fades into the background. Thoughts, concerns; washed away by his words. If I’m his obsession, then surely he’s mine.

  ‘Oh, Kai. Don’t you know you are?’

  Air seems to leave his body in a sigh as he closes his eyes. ‘No more mixed messages, sweetheart,’ he says, opening them once more. ‘You agree you belong to me?’

  Belong is a strong word. I want to belong.

  His relief is almost palpable, his expression so sweet that I almost don’t hear his next words. ‘Have you ever heard of the rule of thumb?’ I shake my head not sure where this is going, his eyes taking on a curious light. ‘It’s an old phrase,’ he continues, his thumb lightly stroking the bow of my lips. ‘From a time when men were the protectors of virtue. Of reputations.’ Do I imagine the emphasis he places of that last word?

  ‘From a time when women belonged to men as a matter of course. A chastisement by use of an implement no thicker than this.’ Dragging his thumb now against the flesh of my bottom lip, he pushes it inside.

  Something dark and delicious instantly floods my veins. He’s talking about history and punishment; that much I get. What I don’t get is how I can be turned on, how I can be sighing softly as I fellate his thumb.

  ‘Khallas.’ He exhales raggedly, sliding a retreat. ‘I’m done with playing nice. I want you to remember tonight, the night you gave yourself over to me.’

  ‘Metaphorically speaking?’ I tease, snapping my teeth.

  He doesn’t exactly answer. Just smiles down at me looking sinister and sensual all at the same time. How does he manage that? And done playing nice? Does that mean he’s going to play naughty or just not . . . nice?

  He can’t mean he wants to punish me, that can’t be what this is about, surely? Not for travelling home with Matt. ‘. . . Because that’s not fair,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Life rarely is.’ He pouts, his too full bottom lip protruding, pillow soft. ‘If it were easy, it would be a slut. A better aphorism, I think.’

  Despite his tone and manner, and despite my confusion, something ignites deep inside. It doesn’t make sense; my head and body are at odds, much like his words and demeanour.

  ‘Not fair is Matt trying to worm his way into your underwear. Not fair is your refusal to acknowledge this, leaving your behaviour open to question, going home with him. Of course, I could take this to his door, speak to him man to man.’ He turns in a gesture of irritation, one shoulder towards the door. ‘Would that be fair enough for you?’

  ‘Don’t,’ I answer quickly.

  He turns back, one eyebrow raised and daring me for an answer.

  ‘Don’t go. I promise I’ve made it clear to him. Stay, please. Stay because I am yours.’ I place my hands on his chest and they rise and fall with each of his breaths.

  He covers them with his own as he tells me, ‘Then I stay on my terms.’

  His fingertips caress my jaw, brush down my neck and come to rest at the zipper between my breasts. As his eyes follow its descent, they darken as my bareness is revealed.

  ‘Inti hilwa . . . you’re beautiful.’ Pushing the jacket from my shoulders, I begin to wriggle free from the sleeves, starting reflexively as his hands cup my breasts.

  ‘Perfect,’ he murmurs, the mattress dipping as he lowers himself, pushing me backwards and onto my elbows. With every brush of his fingers, fire rises through my veins. ‘You make me ache,’ he whispers against my mouth, ‘make me mad.’ Kissing and tasting my jaw and neck, the momentum of his body pushes me flat against the bed. ‘I want to be inside you. Over you, feed you breath from my mouth.’ Kisses pave my torso, his fingers drawing down my sides to the elastic of my shorts. I raise my head as he laughs softly against the fabric. ‘Well hello, ducky,’ he drawls in a comically interested tone.

  I giggle at the change in tenor, his response to the cartoon print. My giggle trails off quite suddenly, my legs twitching as he runs his nose down the front seam, inhaling deeply.

  ‘God, I could drown in you.’

  My laughter evolves into a throaty moan, hunger rippling through my insides.

  Standing, he pulls off my uggs, throwing them over his shoulder with a look of disdain. As they thud against the wall, his fingers hook into my waistband, the material pulled down my legs in one swift motion, my hips jerking from the bed. Lying naked, but for a pair of stripy socks, his gaze passes over me, an inkblot of black swimming in heat.

  Resting the flat of his palms against my knees, he spreads me, whispering that he knows what I need. That I should bare myself to him. That I’m so ripe, so ready. Reaching out, his fingers part and slide against me as he kneels on the floor between my legs.

  ‘So sweet, kitten,’ he whispers, eyes fixed. ‘I don’t know whether I want to come here first or in your pretty, pink mouth.’

  I exhale a tremulous moan, his words both a shock and a thrill. His tongue then follows the path of his fingers, pushing inside. Fucking me.

  My hips rise from the bed, hands grasping his hair as he begins licking me with long, strong strokes. The sensation is so enormous—his words and his touch—I struggle under him as his hands tighten on my thighs. It’s too much, I can’t take it and yet, I want more.

  I whimper under the intensity, the vibrations electrifying as he pushes two fingers deeply inside. Drawing his tongue higher, circling, my body literally bows from the bed as, with relief, he sucks on my swollen clit.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he murmurs thickly, licking and kissing as I writhe helpless beneath him. My hands still twisted in his glorious hair, I’m unable to form the words. I pull at his body, trying to move him above me—I need him inside—but he resists. ‘I want to hear you tell me where you need me most.’ His fingers continue their dance, his words a warm breath over my exposed flesh. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Don’t make me beg,’ I whimper. Come on, actions speak louder than words. ‘You know what I want.’

  ‘It’s a shame greedy girls only get what they need.’

  His conceited tone goes unregistered for a beat as I’m driven so close to my peak.

  But then I groan in frustration as he stands, wrapping my legs around him, fruitlessly. Rising in my elbows, I watch him through narrowed eyes as he loosens his tie and begins to fold up his sleeves.

  Like he’s serious.

  Like he means business.

  Like he’s ready to give me what I need.

  Suddenly and inexplicably—they are, after all, only forearms—my stomach somersaults. His fingers touch my hips, motioning me to roll onto m
y front and I do, eyes closed and smiling, hanging onto the feeling mounting inside.

  He grasps my ankles, sliding my body down the bed and kneeling behind me on the floor. One knee between mine, he pushes my own further apart as he entwines our fingers together, gently drawing them down from the bed. I smile into the covers, reminded of making sand angels at the beach, thinking I must look the same as he pulls my hands to the base of my spine.

  ‘In the surrender to silk there is freedom.’ His voice is low and throaty as he leans over, plucking a scarf from several looped over the end of my bed. My heart rate spikes with excitement, definitely not nerves, as he wraps the silken length around my wrists. ‘In your anticipation of pain there is joy.’

  It’s impossible to know what he means. I don’t even consider responding before hearing my teasing words in the air.

  ‘I think you’ve got that the wrong way around.’ Surely in the anticipation of joy there’s a little pain, at least for me. I’m not the most patient person. I lay my cheek against the mattress in preparing myself for what’s to come.

  Experience tells me it’s going to be me.

  ‘No, habibti.’ His fingers brush the roundness of my butt then, agonizingly deliberate, he brushes between my legs.

  I close my eyes, absorbing the minutiae of our coupling: our breathing, mine rapid and shallow, his slow and deep. The appliqué woven into the bedding lying rough against my face. My breasts as they rub against the edge of the bed and the floor unforgiving beneath my knees. Immersed in the external sensations, I cry out as his fingers drive inside.

  Sensations coalesce and consume, I begin to whimper as I come undone.

  ‘Your expectation whirls around me. Relish so sweet.’ His whispered words are hot in my ear, his lips moving to my shoulder, grazing gently before the force of his teeth melt my torso against the bed. I moan and push against the heel of his hand for pressure, for more. ‘You’re a bit of a pain slut, aren’t you?’ he whispers, sounding half amused.

  Right now I’m inclined to agree. I think I’d agree to anything he said just to be pushed over that edge. Articulation, however, is a step too far. And I’m wholly uncertain about my expectations whirling as he does something completely unexpected.

  His hand smacks the left cheek of my arse. Very hard.

  ‘Ow!’ I yelp into the comforter, verbalization returning with the impact. ‘What the fuck, Kai!’ I struggle to rise, difficult enough in my current position, impossible once he plants a palm between my shoulders, catching my thigh between his. Prickling displeasure rises to anger as I struggle against him. ‘Stop that!’

  ‘You belong to me.’

  Smug. That’s how he sounds as he holds his hand to my stinging cheek.

  I struggle to close my legs as his hand curls around me and slides between my thighs. My torso sags against the bed, turned on and confused, my body is at odds with my head again as his fingers caress the wet ribbon of flesh between my legs. I make an inarticulate protest as his hand slides away. Stroking my heated skin, it comes to rest between my shoulders as the other draws down my spine. Then he slaps me again. Hard, and on the same cheek. In truth, the sound is worse than the actual impact, but I cry out, struggling to rise.

  My skin burns poker hot, my mind unable to process the sensations at all.

  ‘No,’ Kai murmurs, dragging his tongue wetly along my rigid spine. ‘I can almost hear your subconscious, and it lies.’

  His warm lips touch my neck and something inside me resists my struggles. I pause under his touch and whispered words, relaxing into his fingers drawing circles across my back. Neither a sigh nor sob, the noises I make are raw and full of need as his fingers suddenly plunge into me, my hips surging along with them. Something warm and wet touches my cheek—his mouth and tongue are caressing and soothing my smarting skin. My body melts further, my mind in pieces and no longer in charge as I ride his hand.

  Flesh strikes flesh moments later, harder this time, and I cry out, absolutely cry. My arse smarts, warming uncomfortably, my face is hot, flushed with the indignity of my position, and my heart beats like it would break free from my ribs.

  ‘Blood races through your veins, habibti. I see it rising through your skin. You’re on the edge, my darling, the very edge.’ His teeth close on the lobe of my ear, the burn across my behind evolving into a familiar ache. Growing. Spreading out.

  ‘Tell me to stop,’ he rasps. ‘Say khallas and I will, I swear.’

  I actually hear the whoosh of his hand this time, before the impact connects with my arse.

  ‘No!’ I call out, my voice raw, but rousing, my mind exploding with disbelief. This can’t be happening. I weep tears of rage and shame as I give in to something so frighteningly seductive, something I just can’t comprehend. But through my indignity and confusion, I glow, bursting into an insidious, delectable blaze.

  ‘No khallas? Then shout out.’ He kisses my neck, pinching the skin between his teeth, like a big cat taming a cub. ‘Then I want to hear.’ His fingers continue to move within me as I whimper senselessly, writhing and moaning beneath him still.

  Then his palm makes contact once more.

  ‘No!’ I repeat but even I can hear the change in tone. My mind deserts me. His erotic assault leaves me breathless in anticipation of his palm, each slap hardwired to my clit. My body is pushed forward, breasts hard against the bed as I begin to sob wet, hot tears against the covers.

  ‘Give in.’ He strikes me again, words exhaled through gritted teeth.

  I hear myself moaning, crying out, my skin burning with his lack of restraint. Striking and stroking, his mouth at my ear whispers endearments and praise. And all the while my mind is a blank, vacuous place, the throb in my behind echoing that building inside, and just beyond my reach.

  Slowly, I become aware of his hand loosening the scarf from my wrists. Rubbing my skin, he places my hands near my head.

  At the descent of his zip, something ignites inside.

  ‘You did so well.’ His voice, like his breath, is hoarse as his body covers mine. Pushing the hair from my face, he rubs his fingers through the tears on my cheeks before he’s inside me. Filling me. Filling my need.

  Instinctively, I push back against him, no longer shamed but numb. I’m just a thing, a thing craving this release. Delirious, I ignore my scrambled emotions, and as ever where Kai is concerned, my traitorous body responds.

  I burst from heated skin as he pounds against me, his fingers hard, almost lifting my hips, skin assaulting tender skin. The incomprehension sitting at the corners of my mind vanishes as I ascend to the place where all reason is gone, where I don’t exist. Where there is only sensation and hunger and need.

  ‘You’re mine,’ he growls, ‘say it.’

  A dark consuming ache rushes through me. I implode, explode, something, as a liquid, hot climax rips through my insides. Possessed, I beg for divine intervention, yell his name. Beg him to drive me harder into the bed.

  I’m aware of nothing else until I’m in Kai’s arms, cradled against his chest, whimpering, tears damp against my face.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rising from the floor, Kai places me on the bed almost with reverence, pulling the comforter to my shoulders. The mattress dips as he folds himself against my back, but I curl away, foetus-like as a sudden shame fills my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  How could I have allowed him to hit me? How could I have . . . come . . . at all?

  ‘How do you feel?’ His voice is soft, spent. All attitude having ebbed away.

  ‘You fucking hit me, how do you think I feel?’ I want to hurt. Lash out. Create a diversion, avoid even thinking about what I just allowed.

  ‘I think you’re deflecting.’ His tone is neutral, lacking accusation and the antithesis of my own.

  ‘Maybe I’ll smack you about then tell you you’re fine!’

  ‘Sweetheart, you’re lying. To us both.’ He strokes the pad of one finger along my arm, drawing my attention to the fa
ct that I’m shaking.

  Shock or the remains of my high?

  I move across the bed further, unease clawing at my throat. ‘Leave me alone.’

  Despite my words, dread blooms in my stomach as his weight slips from the bed. I bite my lips as something inside prevents me from calling out for him to stay. I’d say it’s self-respect but how can it be? I’m drowning in self-reproach, the manifestation of which is my burning, tender behind. Despair swells into huge, wet, hiccupping sobs as the bedroom door closes. I don’t have to try to drown out the sound.

  Misery, anger, and denial swirl blood red through my head. And there’s shame, so much shame. But there’s also no denying the orgasm I experienced. I can’t, though I try.

  My sobbing quietens abruptly as a realisation flits into my head. I place my hand against one cheek. The area is numb, yet at the same time incredibly sensitive. The symbiotic sensations of ice-cold and red-hot against my skin. More shocking than this realisation as I dry my tears, is the sense of satisfaction. Sated. I feel unburdened, somehow. Relieved.

  Oh god. I’m going to hell!

  Tightening my fists on the pillow, tears begin to flow once more.

  As the door opens, I hold my breath. The bed shifts beneath me, the warmth and scent of Kai like cool relief at my side. He moves the comforter further over my body, laying a box of tissues next to me, his hand covering mine.

  ‘Are you ready to talk?’

  His voice is neutral, but I shake my head and screw my eyes tight shut. I’d rather die than discuss this right now. I blow my nose indelicately and he moves closer, apparently not minding the mess. Hiccupping sobs have left me at the unattractive spasming-breath stage as I clutch a tissue to my chest.

  Without thought for appearances, I peer over my shoulder as words stutter from my mouth.

  ‘W-w-why did you h-hit me?’

  His reply, when it comes, is soft and resigned. ‘Because I was angry. Because all I could see was you and him. In a taxi. In your bed.’ He passes a hand across his head in a gesture of frustration. ‘But also because I knew you’d let me. Be into it. Damn it, Kate, do I really have to spell it out?’