One Dirty Scot

by Donna Alam

  ‘Did I wake you?’ His fingers seek to confirm his apology with a light squeeze.

  I see we’re back to the correct endearment, at least.

  I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out; my throat dry. I can’t remember when I last had something to drink. Sometime yesterday? It was light then, anyway. Now it’s mostly dark, though the room is tinged with blue, everything shadowy, a sort of pre-dawn light. I shiver, suddenly feeling a little cold, reaching behind me for the sheet, though it isn’t in reach.

  Rolling over to face him, I can see why. The bedclothes are all heaped at the foot of the bed.

  ‘I needed to see.’ I hear his smile, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I can see the suggestion of it hiding in the corners of his mouth. ‘Make sure you’re real.’

  ‘I’m real cold,’ I answer, rubbing my eyes. ‘You pulled the doona—the quilt—off? What was that flash?’ I grasp at the disjointed reason for my waking. Lightning? Before my question is fully formed, I see the answer in the phone in his hand.

  ‘I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Pervert.’ I stretch my legs out along the bed, yawning, while trying to keep my mouth closed.

  ‘Takes one to know one, and my darling sings a sirens song.’

  There doesn’t need to be much light in the room to see his eyes tracing the outline of my body. His carnivorous smile. Those gleaming white teeth.

  Not sure if that was a compliment or a jibe, I ask, albeit haltingly, ‘Did I hear you call me Mrs. Khalfan?’ Did I dream it?’

  ‘Too soon?’ Another smile, this one sheepish, almost.

  Evading the question, I recall a fragment of a conversation we’d once had. ‘I thought Arab women didn’t change their names after marriage?’

  ‘And?’ His tone is gently mocking. ‘When did you become Arab?’ He rests his phone-holding hand lightly against my waist, as usual, reading my mind. Or possibly my face, though I try to keep my expression blank. ‘Don’t you want to be Mrs. Khalfan?’

  I close my eyes, thoughts pulling together immediately. The answer is, yes. I do. Really I do. I’d just prefer to avoid the negotiation of all the obvious obstacles between now and then. If we could just get married, live in a bubble made just for two. After all we’ve been through, is that too much to ask? Besides, I’d planned one ruined wedding already recently. A less than stellar experience, for sure.

  ‘Is it very wrong to want you to take my name?’ He reaches out, pressing a finger to the crease between my eyes.

  ‘It is a bit prehistoric,’ I say, aiming for a more neutral expression. I won’t tell him I’d planned on taking Shane’s. What would stop me from taking his?

  ‘So then I’m a caveman, because you’re mine and I want to belong to you. Two halves of the same whole.’

  My heart flutters at his words, unexpected tears springing at my eyelids as the bed dips under his weight. Leaning over me, he uses his thumb to wipe away their evidence.

  ‘Hey, no tears. It’s a new start, and it’s time the world knew.’

  Dark, wet hair clings to his forehead, water beading at the slight bristling on the side of his face. His eyes are warm, so different from yesterday. As he leans over, kissing my brow, I get a whiff of toothpaste and expensive bathing stuffs.

  ‘You’ve showered.’ It sounds like an accusation.

  ‘That I love you.’

  ‘You’ve showered and I’m so feral. God, I must reek.’ When was the last time I’d seen the inside of a shower, again?

  Sudden kisses bloom across my skin. ‘That you’re mine,’ he growls, the slight reprimand implied. Why tell me off, when it’s him I’m trying to protect?

  His mouth works its way to the top of my breast where he bites; not hard, just a lingering nip and, I swear, my thoughts fall away, disintegrating into the ether. He’s my Achilles heel, only not, because in the place of weakness, I find strength. When he hurts, pushes me, I find passion and bliss. I find love. And me.

  I moan quietly, teeth clasped tight to my bottom lip. ‘I am yours,’ I whisper, aiming for words without breath. ‘Getting married won’t change that.’

  ‘You’ve started worrying before we’ve even begun.’ Along with his rebuke, he pushes my back flat to the bed. ‘Enough.’

  ‘God, I love it when you’re all commanding and bossy.’

  My tone drips with sarcasm, causing Kai to glance up from pushing the piled bedding from the end of the bed. One elegant eyebrow raised in question, he doesn’t respond but moves closer, stretching his long body next to me. The towel at his hips loosens slightly, the soft, downy whiteness only half-concealing his hardened length.

  ‘My, is that a loofah you have in your towel, or are you just pleased to see me?’

  As he begins to chuckle, I quickly grab his phone from the pillow, swiping open the camera app and holding it out of his reach.

  His is not the reaction I’d imagined. He loosens the towel, his cock beautiful and vulgar, springing free.

  ‘Well?’ Lying back against the pillows, he adjusts his legs, widening them a touch.

  I swallow thickly, the sound echoing in my ears over the sudden silence, the sight of him lying there like an erotic centrefold. On display. For me. My heart begins to pound from the possibilities, the pressure of making a wrong move.

  ‘Dick pics?’ I ask uncertainly. Is he up for this?

  ‘I believe the preferred lexicon is cock shots.’ He uses an unnecessary emphasis on the word. I’m shocked enough as it is. ‘And you started it,’ he purrs dangerously, glancing into his lap and taking his own heaviness in hand.

  I’m definitely not ready to end this, but how do I continue? My eyes follow his satin sleek length reacting against his palm. God, I love it. Love him. Watching him holding—stroking—himself makes me feel all weak and . . . needy. And reminds me to have a peek at his phone library sometime.

  ‘Unless you’re playing cock tease.’

  Oh, I want to tease it, all right, I just haven’t decided how.

  According to Cosmo and the like, I think he’s supposed to enjoy it more than, well, me. It. This. My sudden plan: going down on him. Maybe if I had to recall a time before Kai, I might agree with the magazine. But with him? The sense of power that comes from the feeling of him twitching beneath me and dancing to my tune. I’d be mad to turn that opportunity down.

  His breath catches a little and I realise I’ve zoned out, staring at his junk. As my eyes rise, he lowers his dark lashes, hiding the flash of knowing.

  Fuck a duck. I might not be drooling, but I am wet just looking at him.

  Struck by a sudden inspiration, I climb between his open legs. Making as though to take a photograph, I hold the phone first this way, then that, looking for the best angle. I hunker down, settling on my elbows—very close-up style—as he runs his thumb over a pearly taut tip.

  I click, and before he has time to react, grab his thumb and take it into my mouth, sucking it in deep.

  God, his groan. It resonates between my legs, deepening as I hold his phone aloft, taking a picture as I move my attention to his swollen head. Wetting my lips, I push them over him.

  I’m so buying a selfie stick.

  His hand falls away and I replace it with my own, licking, wetly coating the rest of him. I work him slowly with both mouth and hand, torn between watching my actions and just watching him. Each time my eyes rise the length of his chest, his own have grown darker, hungrier, the muscles in his abs flexing and contracting against my phone-holding hand.

  I moan around him as I move faster, the sound vibrating through my lips, making him twitch. Wetness leaks between my legs and I drop the phone, unconsciously pushing my hand there, sliding fingers through my slick seam. His mouth falls open, his breathing now rapid and rough and matching my mouth.

  ‘Fuck,’ he grunts, ‘I want to see.’ I hum deeply, pushing down further, gasping a little as his wide crown touches the back of my throat. ‘Get up here.’

  One hand under my arm, he p
ulls me upright, my mouth releasing him with a wet pop. Crushing me to his chest, his mouth is at my neck, hot and insistent kisses trailing to my jaw.

  ‘Don’t.’ I smile, tilting my chin up, away from his mouth. ‘Morning breath,’ I sort of whimper as his teeth graze the lobe of my ear.

  ‘Shh,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t move your hand.’ Pushing my chest from his, he grabs his phone again, taking a shot of my two fingers tight on my clit.

  Then, lifting my hand from between my legs, he feeds them into his mouth. And takes a shot.

  His hand between my legs, fingers splayed. Snap.

  Twisting his wrist, he plunges two fingers deep inside. Snap.

  Snap, snap, snap. He watches my face, the camera in one hand, the other still between my legs as I writhe above him, riding it. I reach out and grab his shoulders as my legs begin to twitch, his fingers beckoning me on, the avid look on his face consuming me.

  ‘Don’t come, not yet,’ he whispers quite coolly.

  My gaze shoots to his, the echo of yesterday’s tone making my heart jump. His eyes are darkly dilated, lust stealing the flame, but not cold and aloof.

  ‘Don’t,’ he repeats, his fingers still inside me as his phone holding hand finds my hip, stilling me.

  Just the mere suggestion of his command twists my insides, sends me to that place; the place where it’s all about him. It’s such a heady high, one in which I’m compelled to concentrate on. To not come. I want so much to lose myself in this moment, to fall over the brink, because what he asks of me is unfair. He asks that I lose myself to him, not in him, when the very tone of his voice, his demand and control, makes me crave. Pushes me to the opposite effect.

  I whimper my protest, grabbing his forearm in both of my hands, my insides tightening, my clit pounding like a drum.

  ‘No, sweetheart. Not yet,’ he replies on the breath of a laugh. The sadistic shit.

  I close my eyes tight as his thumb begins massaging my clit and . . . is that his little finger uncurling between my butt cheeks? Pushing down against his hand, I exhale a strangled moan. A conflicted moan. A moan begging for release.

  His phone stops clicking, falling to the bed as he pulls me against his chest. I twist away, running my tongue over my teeth, reminded that my mouth feels like the bottom of a cockies cage.

  My nan had a cockatiel. He was a bit of a sadist, too.

  I hold my head at an awkward angle, avoiding the clashing of our lips. Man, I’d kill for a shower. I’ve forgotten the last time I was clean. I certainly didn’t shower yesterday. Not between all the drama, and the massive amounts of jet-lag induced sleep.

  ‘You’re thinking again.’

  ‘Shouldn’t make things hard for me, then.’ My answer is a kind of breathless whine.

  ‘I’m always hard for you.’

  I groan. I’d meant it as part-protest to his awful pun. Funny how it sounds more like encouragement.

  My mouth inaccessible, his hot, insistent kisses trail instead against my neck before moving to my breast. His tongue circles my nipple in a hypnotic rhythm, making me forget my questionable hygiene, forget everything.

  ‘Get on my cock.’

  His forehead rests against my breastbone, his hands clasping my waist as he coaxes me into place, watching between my legs as I slide over the length of him. He exhales a shuddering breath, his hands gripping me tighter, but I’m no puppet as I begin to move. More shallow movements at first, then increasing tempo and depth at my leisure, drawing my body slowly upwards, before pushing down deep and fast.

  The noises he makes border on painful, his head falling back as I ride him. I relish his look, the mixture of pleasure and pain, as I contract my muscles around him. Still strung tight by his fingers, the ripples of my own orgasm begin to crest. I crash down against him, again and again. Images begin to flicker in my head—the phone in his hand. My mouth on him. Our bodies where we join, skin to skin. The images begin to blur around the edges, like negatives. I grind against him, dark flashes behind my eyes as I cry out. Catapulted into oblivion, I come explosively.

  Unable quite yet to return—to come down—I circle my hips to draw the moment out, skin to skin. His breath hitches as his thighs begin to twitch. Tell-tale signs not needed as he rasps that he’s coming, that he can feel every inch of himself tight in me. That I’m the best he’s ever had.

  My head rests on his shoulder. We’re a twisted mess of sweat-shining skin and rumpled sheets. My fingers stroke the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck, his arms resting on my waist and winding around my back. Drawing me closer, he breathes in deeply, exhaling one word.

  ‘Heavenly.’

  I snort into his shoulder. I expect his nose must be bunged up from the flight.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ he chastises on the breath of a soft laugh, my insides reacting around him, causing him to shift. ‘I’m serious. When we’re fucking—’

  ‘Oh, you’re always serious about that,’ I say, running my hands through his hair.

  His hands tighten against me in a silent reprimand. ‘It’s more than sex. It’s . . .’ He closes his eyes, leaning back his head. ‘Like it’s meant to be.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Come on then, let’s see them.’

  Morning is in full swing; birds chirping, the sun high in the sky, but we’re still in bed, and that’s fine by me. I’m curled in Kai’s arms, my head resting on his chest.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘What? My phone?’

  ‘No, your dick, you arse,’ I say, deadpan.

  ‘So demanding, kitten. But which is it to be? Both are available for your tender hands, anytime.’ His tone is amused, though there’s an undercurrent of something else as he sides his hand lower, taking the aforementioned heavy appendage in his grasp. That’d be his dick in his hand, not his phone, by the way.

  I pull my lips together, my mouth watering slightly. There’s just something so sexy seeing him hold his own cock. Holding. Stroking. Running his thumb over the tip.

  ‘You enjoyed watching,’ he purrs, watching me.

  Swallowing my consternation at being called out, I mumble some semblance of a rebuttal. ‘Any more than two rubs constitutes a wank, you know.’

  ‘Are you complaining?’

  ‘Are you deflecting?’ My voice sounds strangled.

  ‘Feel free to take over anytime.’

  ‘Come on.’ I swallow thickly. ‘Give it to me. The phone,’ I reiterate as the light in his eyes rises in degrees as his hand continues to stoke almost languidly. I keep my gaze on his with great difficulty; awareness of his actions sparking a response between my legs.

  ‘It’s a private collection. I’m not sure you’d approve.’

  ‘As the subject of those images, you’d have to give me some kind of release—’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ he interjects smoothly. ‘But I’m almost certain you’ve had your release. I’m pretty sure I heard you screaming it, experienced the pleasure of it milking my— Ouch! That’s highly sensitive material, kitten. Take care.’

  ‘To sign—a release to sign! Hand it over, I just want a peek, for god sakes!’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think you’re hiding something.’ I fold my arms and pull that face. You know the one, you’re up to something and I know.

  Reaching out, he briefly twists a lock of my hair between his fingers.

  ‘That sounds like a distinct lack of trust.’

  ‘That isn’t it,’ I answer quietly, my gaze falling away. Not for long, as his finger tilts my chin.

  ‘Then tell me why?’

  ‘Because, well. Can’t I just want to look . . . at them?’

  He seems to regard me with a mixture of amusement and doubt for a moment before he pulls his phone from the nightstand. Still holding it out of my reach, he adds, ‘No deleting any, okay? At least not without discussion first.’

  I nod in acquiescence and grab it quickly before he cha
nges his mind, flipping straight to the photo app. Last time I looked, the images were mostly of me. And PG rated. This time, not so much. Fuck me! Well, there are a few close to me being fucked, but as an active participant in those moments, I shouldn’t be surprised.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Have you done this sort of thing before?’

  ‘What?’ My gaze rises fleetingly from an image of my back; the light in the photograph softly focussed, practically black and white. My spine is highlighted, almost pronounced, the silhouette of my body like an hourglass. ‘Pictures?’

  ‘I’m loathed to bring it up, but when your ex turned up at your apartment, back in Dubai? He said he had pictures of you, I think . . .’ His words trail off almost uncomfortably.

  Like a sudden cold stone in my stomach, I realise what he’s referring to: Shane on my doorstep with his worthless apologies, expecting me to be grateful and forgiving. Instead, he turned up in the middle of a terrible row Kai and I were having. I was almost naked, wearing nothing more than a sheet.

  I’ve seen it all before, have a few pictures of her somewhere.

  Right before Kai went for him.

  ‘Would it bother you?’ I try not to look at him, continuing to absently flick through his phone.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said no.’ His reply is quiet, his eyes downcast. ‘You’re mine now. It’s that caveman thing. I wonder if I could induce him to part with them.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ I ask immediately. And horrified. ‘Surely they’d be of no interest to you?’

  ‘I don’t want to see them, habibti.’ He rubs one finger across his nose. ‘Okay, maybe I do. Call it sick curiosity, though I meant more for you. For your peace of mind. That and I’d hate to think that he might still be looking at them.’

  ‘Then let me put your mind at ease,’ I answer, biting back a measure of chagrin. ‘He probably has a couple. Pretty tame ones. I was . . . topless sunbathing. So, in theory, he might not be the only one who took pictures. But that would be flattering myself as mine weren’t the only boobs exposed.’

  ‘Topless bathing? I’ve got to get you to France.’ He chuckles, suddenly looking thoroughly amused. ‘That sounds so unlike you.’