Hot Scots Christmas

by Alam, Donna

  ‘Maybe,’ she replies with something more breath than a laugh. ‘What about you?’

  ‘You want to know if I’ve imagined . . .’ I trail my hands across her body, coming to rest them just short of her inner thighs. ‘If I’ve remembered, cock in hand? Heard your soft mewls and imagined your sweet pussy, relived the night again?’

  Her breath hitches and she pushes into my hands, letting out a breathy, ‘Yes. ’

  ‘No. Not a bit, titch.’

  ‘Liar,’ she says, laughing softly. At least until I slide my hand into the front of her pants.

  ‘If you’ve an objection to being bent over the table, you’d better show me where you prefer to fuck.’

  Moments later our feet are crunching over the weed-choked gravel as we make our way to what was once, I know, a line of stables, that were remodelled some years ago into a row of holiday homes. I hang back a little to admire the view, the sight of her arse in those leggings doing fuck all to ease the strain in my jeans.

  ‘Four cottages.’ As we stop at the first door of the old stable block, now painted a weather worn red, she turns, raising her voice against the rising strength of the wind. ‘I’d say they’re a recent addition to the property.’ Turning back again, she stands on the tips of her toes, reaching to the top of the door frame.

  ‘I don’t care if it’s a fucking midden so long as I get inside you.’

  ‘What was that?’ She twists her head over her shoulder, the suggestion of a smile tweaking her lips.

  ‘I said let’s get you inside.’ Or words to that effect, I reply, as she produces a key.

  The door creaks as it opens and we’re immediately in the front room where the possibilities seem suddenly endless. A sofa to bend her over. A coffee table where she won’t hurt her knees while she sits and sucks my cock. A small dining setting from which to eat her out. But it seems we’re not stopping as she takes my hand, pulling me down a short hallway. And into a bedroom.

  The pale curtains are drawn and the bed is covered with an off white duvet that looks recently made. A half-full water glass stands on the bedside table, a phone charger plugged into the wall socket as a pair of pink socks lie abandoned on the floor. Like the rest of the place, the room is clean and lacks an air of abandonment.

  ‘Somebody’s been sleeping in this bed,’ I say, teasingly testing the suitability of the mattress, chucking myself down. I’m not sure why, but her relaxed air seems to dissipate. Her shoulders stiffen; she looks ready to bolt.

  ‘I—I suppose that was your attempt at a wolfish grin?’ she says, folding her arms, her feet planted wide. Which is better than turning on her toes.

  ‘See these?’ I flash her my best knicker dropping smirk, tapping my front teeth with my index finger. ‘All the better to eat you out with.’

  ‘I think you mean, all the bigger t—to—’ She stops with a jolt, possibly just realising what I’d actually said.

  ‘To eat you out with .’ I prop my weight on my elbows and pat the mattress by my hip. ‘So why don’t you be a good girl and hop on over here and sit on my face.’

  ‘C—cocky much?’ She blushes looking anywhere but at me, and for some reason I feel like I’ve been given a gift. More than just the girl in a tight t-shirt and bright blue wellies. Besides, this is no girl, but a woman. One with secrets and mysteries ripe for discovery. Does she know what she likes? Has she discovered it all yet?

  ‘And you love it.’ They all do secretly, in the bedroom, at least. I sit up when it becomes clear she’s not up for throwing herself at me. ‘Don’t be shy. Get over here.’

  Her legs brush against the bottom of the mattress as she steps closer, almost as though she’s taken my words as a dare. ‘It’s just different in the dark,’ she murmurs, almost as though to herself. ‘Feels safer.’

  ‘Let not the light see my desires.’

  ‘You like the dark, too?’

  ‘I was quoting Shakespeare,’ I say, smiling at the idiocy in that . ‘Impressed yet?’ Her return smile has the look of relief as I take her hand, pulling her in between my splayed legs. ‘I don’t mind the dark. Though my desires may be shameful, I have no shame.’

  ‘Shameless,’ she repeats, raising her hands and feeding them into my hair. Her fingers are light on the nape of my neck, causing me to repress a shiver. ‘I’d like to experience that.’

  My response is to push my hands under her t-shirt, shoving it upwards. Her breath hitches and her hands still in my hair for a beat before she lifts them, allowing me to peel the fabric the rest of the way. Dropping it to the floor, I place my hands against her tiny waist, sliding my thumbs up and down her soft skin.

  ‘Then you’re about to come on the right man. I’m imagining all kinds of shameless things right now. Bad, wicked things.’

  ‘I can’t help noticing where you address these . . . thoughts.’

  My eyes flick upwards to her face. ‘To your tits? Aye, well, what can I say?’ My gaze returns to the area in question. ‘They’re partly the cause. You’ve got great tits, Fin.’ On the small side, though big enough to make me want to taste them. Wonder what colour her nipples are? It was hard to tell in the dark, which leaves me guessing right now. Sitting straighter, I try to peek down the front of a satin bra that’s almost the colour of her creamy skin, then I quickly glide my hands up her back, loosening the clasp.

  Her breath stills.

  ‘Fuck, yeah. Pink.’ Like a fool I sit staring when she drops her arms and the straps follow, falling from her wrists. My gaze is unmoving for a long, loaded beat, drawn to the shallow rise and fall of her breath.

  ‘You’re so fucking pretty.’ My hands cup the top of her ribcage, thumbs stretching to caress rosy nipples. She smells of something soft and feminine—some kind of floral scent? And her nipples are like ripe berries, the kind you long to pop into your mouth.

  And I’m not known for my restraint.

  My heart beats like a drum as I lean in and touch her with my tongue and lips, sucking the hard bud into my mouth as she lets out a gasp, pressing into me. Pulling back, I test my theory from that night that she likes things a little rough, and bite down none too gently.

  Holy Christ ; the best kind of reaction. Her back arches and her mouth opens in a silent plea, her nails digging into my shoulders, making me hiss a short curse.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispers,

  Fuck that. ‘Do it again,’ I say around her nipple, blowing the stiff peak. ‘As hard as you like.’ I have both of my hands full, doing what a man does, given the opportunity. Namely, lap suck and nibble while wishing he had two mouths.

  ‘Touch me.’

  I still at her soft demand, her words sending a brush of anticipation dancing from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. She doesn’t have to ask twice; I have my hand in her knickers before she takes her next breath.

  Her skin is soft and slick as I run a finger between her lips.

  ‘Christ, you feel like silk. I want to lick every part of this. Lap you all up.’ The latter comes out as a growl, and as I slip my finger inside, she lets out the most glorious sound, somewhere between a moan and a breath; a taut, needful sound. ‘You like the sound of that. You’d like me to fuck you with my tongue, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Rory,’ she gasps, her forehead coming to rest against mine. Her breath is sweet and warm against my face as she says, ‘As much as I love your dirty mouth, please stop talking and just fuck me.’

  She stumbles and I catch her by the elbows as I hastily stand.

  ‘Bossy. I like it,’ I say, sliding a hand behind my neck to pull off my shirt.

  My smile is as wide as my eagerness right now. Shirt abandoned to the floor somewhere, her eyes are greedy on my ink. At least, until I drop to my knees and push my thumbs into the elastic waistband by her hips. Her eyes turn heavenward as I peel the band slowly; placing gentle kisses against her skin.

  ‘No, I don’t ever think of fucking you in the hallway, or recall the taste of your sweet cunt.’
>
  She shivers and lets out a little moan; it’s a dirty word they all secretly love. Still, I shouldn’t overdo it; no good letting her know all the things I want to do to her, hence the tightening of my lips against her hip.

  ‘Tell me more.’ Her hands push into my hair, pulling the ends. My mouth comes away from her skin with a slight pop and I’m gratified to see a mark. ‘Tell me it’s not just me.’

  ‘Those fucking tights.’ I shake my head ruefully. My thumbs still under the waistband, I run them around to her back, pulling both leggings and knickers under her cheeks. ‘This arse. What I could do to this arse,’ I say, running my fingers against the crease. Parting her cheeks, her muscles tense.

  ‘M—more than last time?’

  I raise my head slowly. ‘You mean when I covered you in spunk?’ She rolls one corner of her lips inwards, though it doesn’t stop the sound.

  ‘Titch, what did I tell you last time about those noises?’ The noises that make my cock twitch and my balls heat.

  Her lashes almost caress her cheeks as she blinks slowly. ‘But I . . . didn’t say anything.’

  ‘If you want to hear more, you’ve got to stop interrupting.’

  ‘Stop interrupting or . . .’

  ‘Or else I’ve got a really good plan for your arse.’ My eyes fall to her leggings, more specifically, to the soft V between her legs. ‘Now, where was I?’ I say, trailing one hand up her side as I lick the skin just above her pubic bone, reaching up to simultaneously give her nipple a soft tweak.

  ‘Oh! ’

  ‘You’ve done it now.’ It’s impossible to keep the smile from my voice as I spin her from the waist, pushing her forwards into the soft down of the mattress. Quicker than you can say spunk monkey , I’m up on my feet and pulling off her wellies and dropping them to the floor. And a pair of cashmere socks. Whipping the leggings down and off her legs, I press my body over hers.

  ‘Has anyone ever spanked you, Fin?’ One of my tamer choices for this pert derrière. I brush the hair from her face as she twists her head over her shoulder, her objections stilling under the subtle pressure of my groin against her spine.

  ‘No?’ she replies a little breathlessly, her alarm melting into the mattress.

  Could this be any more perfect right now?

  ‘You don’t sound so sure.’

  ‘N—no. I’ve never been spanked.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ I say, trying not to sound too excited as my hands take stock of her hips, pulling them up from the bed. ‘I think you’ll enjoy it. I know I will.’

  The first slap is just to get her attention, her whole body jolting in my hands.

  The second, on the opposite cheek, carries a little more force and she gasps, her left cheek becoming a little pinker than the right. I raise my hand again, hesitating this time—a pause just to be sure. Is she into this? As she pushes backwards, arching her spine, I have my answer and bring my hand down again.

  ‘Rory, fuck! ’

  Again and again; sharp taps and sharper stings, not so much that she’s sore, just mewling and flushed a glorious pink. Arms are stretched out above her head, the duvet is balled in her fists, but just as I think we’re almost done here, I notice the pale slice of skin where her wedding band once lived. I try to ignore it. And fail, raining down my hand once again.

  By about a dozen smacks, she’s wet. So wet her enjoyment begins to coat her thighs. I point it out to her as I run my fingers across her slick pink ribbon of flesh, whispering that she should touch herself while I watch. I grab a couple of condoms from my wallet and strip off the rest of my clothes, because when this fuck is over, we’re going nowhere.

  The sight of her fingers working frantically between her legs is fucking epic and I almost forget why I’m standing here in nothing but latex and my birthday suit. Rousing myself, I place one knee on the bed, spreading hers wider, and as I press the head of my cock against her, she gasps.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I slide back and forth against her slickness, making both our legs weak. Her cheek is pressed against the bed, her eyes open and the colour of polished lapis. Pushing forward, I watch as my cock disappears into her body; a sight like nothing else.

  ‘I wish you could see what I see, titch. Daytime fucking has its definite perks.’ Hands against her hips, I slam into her that last inch, pushing myself to the hilt. Her reaction makes me want to pound her harder, faster. Shame this isn’t what I have planned.

  ‘This. Now this is something I’ll be thinking about again and again.’

  As I pull out almost to the tip, Fin’s eyes roll closed and she lets out the best fucking moan; sweet and desperate, her muscles clenching again as though to stop my retreat. With a snap of my hips, I slam back in, shunting Fin a little way across the bed.

  ‘You’re gonna make me come.’ Quicker than I’d like if she keeps on with the noises and internal gymnastics. ‘Make me come before I’m good and ready.’ I curl my body around hers as I whisper into her ear, sliding my palm down the length of her as I pull back . . . and smack her arse one more time. She yelps and then moans as I immediately slam back inside. ‘And if you do, I won’t be happy.’

  Though, seriously, what man isn’t ecstatic blowing their load?

  I seal my threat with a sucking kiss to the top of her spine.

  Slide out slowly. Rotate. Repeat. One of the best things about doggy is definitely the visual, watching your cock disappear into someone, inch by slow inch. And before that thought is fully formed, I’m pounding into her, again and again, not able to get close enough, and no longer capable of restraint. My hands are so tight on her hips, no doubt there’ll be bruising, but beneath me, Fin’s body responds in time with my own. I can feel the moment it happens, the moment she reaches her peak, her hands almost bloodless amongst the twisted sheets, her body rigid, her arse grinding into me as her muscles taunt and tease.

  I slide my hands under her body for leverage, her nipples hard against my palms, and in that moment, my thoughts are no longer sentient as need hits me like the sudden whip of a lash. I want to devour every soft inch of her; possess her body and mark it as mine. My movements are wild and frantic as I push inside her—deeper, harder—her sharp gasps and writhing body only increasing my sense of desperation. Despite my earlier protestations, it’s like I can’t get there quick enough, everything blurs at the edges, my focus drowned out by one thing. This orgasm, now barrelling through me thick and fast.

  Fuck me.

  I place my head against her shoulder as the white noise retreats, the sense of satisfaction almost overwhelming as I feel her pulsing around me. Her breasts are still in my hands, rising and falling with her rapid breath, my heart beating against the skin of her back as I try to catch my own. If I stand, my legs will be a wee bit wobbly; I can admit to myself, at least.

  ‘It was not quite a marathon, but no’ quite a sprint.’ My words are murmured into the soft skin of her neck. ‘And not bad for starters, at least.’ Her answer, when she makes it, makes me grin.

  ‘I take it that’s a reprieve for my ass?’

  Twenty-Four

  Fin

  It’s early morning and still dark as I wake, struck by a strange sense of longing yet a hazy sense of fulfilment. I’m warm, snuggled up in a comfortable bed and feeling pleasantly tangled, both in the physical and mental sense. It’s another day, but as I stir awake, it feels different somehow. I can’t recall the last time I’ve woken feeling so . . . content. As I stretch out, the sleepy haze covering me clears and a sense of what the fuck prevails, because it’s not only the bedding that moves with me, but also an arm settles solidly around my waist. A moment later the arm hauls me—and there’s no other word for it—against a warm, solid chest.

  And I suddenly remember I’m not alone in this bed.

  Oh, fuck. I’m not even in my own bed; the comfort factor should’ve been my first clue.

  Rory. Hell’s bells. Do I have no restraint when it comes to this man?


  The man in question rolls us both, pulling me until almost the entirety of my body is either against his chest or between his legs. And I’m not the only one that’s rigid, though in my case, I literally can’t move. Shocked, yes, but I couldn’t move if I tried, squashed tightly against an expanse of muscle and rock hard morning wood. Then wrapped like a mummy in strong arms, though barely any sheet.

  Echoes of yesterday begin to flit through my mind. And in between my legs. In the kitchen of the big house; here in this bed. I’m surprised I’m not in bits. But the whole situation is disturbing in so many other ways.

  Firstly, I’ve slept right through the night. Something I’m still only managing with the aid of sedatives. And I’ve slept a whole night without registering his presence—and I’m the lightest of sleepers, usually. And third, I’m not a cuddler, so why is it I’m wrapped around him like a pastry blanket around a pig?

  God, the situation is so surreal.

  Yes, so the minute I saw him on the beach, it probably meant I was going to fuck him. Again. I hadn’t meant to. Okay, I probably had, but I hadn’t planned on staying, going as far as to plan my exit around the early morning tide times, even if this meant I’d sort of be leaving him in my place. Wouldn’t I?

  Stupid waking fail.

  Tentatively, I move my arms slowly, pushing up onto one palm and one forearm either side of his waist. The bed dips a little and I freeze. Not that I’m trying to creep out—I don’t think—especially as it looks like I’ll be seeing him again.

  Okay, so maybe I won’t be seeing as much of him as I am right now.

  What I mean is, I guess I’ll be seeing more of him fully clothed.

  Working.

  Not that seeing him right now isn’t good.

  In fact, there’s an awful lot of goodness to see.

  From my precarious position, my eyes track up his body, not quite reaching as far as planned. Blame his stomach, not mine; the fact that he’s all hard ridges and muscles, and that his chest is impossibly firm. I know I shouldn’t let my gaze venture further down . . .