KiltedForPleasure

by Melissa Blue

  When she spoke again, Victoria kept her voice low, “This is supposed to be a bloodthirsty play about ambition.”

  He didn’t take his gaze off the stage as the witches told a prophecy that would doom Macbeth. “It’s a play about fate, destiny. You choose your own path. He receives a prophecy about becoming king. What does he do? He kills to ensure it. He could have waited. He could have stood on the side of right and become righteous, yet he murders to fulfill his destiny.” Callan paused. “It’s all bollocks. The real King Macbeth was mostly revered. The play depicts him in a shady light to appease King James, who was, of course, related to one of his successors.”

  Victoria covered her mouth to keep in the laugh. “You’re so crotchety you can’t even let fiction be fiction.”

  The darkness couldn’t hide the flash of his teeth as he smiled. “I’m only pointing out the truth. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the play or that you shouldn’t either. By now you should know I like to say words like bollocks.”

  The carefree answer made her grin in kind. Lipstick be damned, she leaned forward and kissed him. She didn’t intend for it to mean anything other than a simple affection. He made her laugh, even when he was being surly. And maybe that was why her heart flip-flopped whenever she spent time with him. He wasn’t a happy man. It would have never crossed his mind to charm her into adoring him.

  She may accuse him of being crotchety, but he, often, opened up to her about why he wore a scowl. And, yet, she couldn’t accuse him of being an open book. The fine lines they crossed again and again made her heart pound.

  Why me? she’d asked him about why the Baird had set them up, and some part of her knew the answer. It was more than chemistry between her and Callan. Admitting the truth would doom her.

  She broke the kiss. “We should watch the play.”

  He looked at her, through her and sighed as though he could read her thoughts on her face. “Douglass isn’t stupid. He’s seen us together. He knows. All of it.”

  “What?” her voice was sharp and even with the few stares thrown her way, Victoria couldn’t lower it again.

  “I told him a long time ago. He adores you and will keep us and your arrangement a secret.”

  With any other man her shoulders would have tensed more, but she relaxed into her seat. Douglass might be a cad, but he was loyal. He’d stuck it out for a wife who didn’t want to be his anymore because he’d made vows. That heartbreak hadn’t changed him in all those years.

  Callan whispered, “And he knows I would lie for you, too. To Ian. To Tristan. But I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  The words made tension crawl up her spine. “That’s a fine line.”

  His head shake was adamant. “If you don’t work for my cousin, then you don’t work. You love what you do and I’d rather cut my wrist than let that happen. And Douglass knows. So I’d lie through my teeth to make sure that never happens. You’re safe, my dear.”

  This wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was the most Callan could ever give. She knew that in her soul. Being with him all these weeks, doing the things they’d done, the things they’d shared had been incredible, but Diana was still his wife.

  For weeks she hadn’t let herself think about that because the aching want for him to simply care for her would begin. A pointless desire because she’d still choose her career and he’d choose his deceased wife. Just because those truths made her want to clutch her stomach, her chest and then curl into herself didn’t change them.

  Pointless or not, a weight plopped down on her chest and refused to move. “Don’t say things like that,” she said.

  Some nameless emotion flashed hot and quick in his gaze. “Why?”

  She couldn’t risk her everything for a man who could never truly love her. So she smiled and lied, “Because nothing makes me happier than to call you a jackass. I can’t do that if you’re being sweet all the time.”

  For a moment he sat there watching the play and then he leaned into her, running his tongue down her neck. “I’m not sweet.”

  A man on stage intoned, “’Let not light see my black and deep desires.’”

  She lost track of Macbeth then because Callan’s hand moved to her thigh and slid up. It wasn’t the first time some part of her screamed say no. Instead they could argue, flirt and laugh until her lips turned dry from talking. They could do all those things as long as she did anything but let him pull her into his darkness, his attraction.

  She met his gaze. Every primal urge beating against her rib cage reflected back at her. Okay. This was her darkness too. Victoria needed him to tear down her walls and to make her not give a shit about anything but the sensation of his rough palm on her heated skin, her inner thigh and then her panties.

  His laugh was dark and lovely. “Do you want me to make you come during intermission? It’s the end of an act, lass. It’ll be dark but not enough that people won’t know what I’m doing to you if they look our way. I know how much you like being an exhibitionist.”

  Her lids had lowered, but she could see he told the truth. In their secluded booth, anyone could witness him teasing her neck with his tongue, but no one would know what his hand was doing. And that was the true allure.

  A wicked thrill danced down her spine and set her skin on fire. She put her hand over his. Her first thought was to stop him, chastise him but she’d soaked through her panties. The lazy way he caressed her couldn’t be ignored. She could end it and still be able to feel his fingertips. And because she had ended it he’d whisper soft, endearing words in her ear. Words that weren’t love but as close as Callan would ever get.

  This shit was torture.

  Victoria’s silence went on, and he started to pull his hand away. She closed her legs to trap him, and then covered her face in shame. No man had ever turned her this inside out that sex felt like an existential crisis. And still she yearned for his caress. “You’ve turned me into a monster.”

  “Then be my monster,” he whispered. “Open your legs a bit more, lass. We’ll have sex, here.”

  Why was he doing this now? That question skated through her brain before he pulled her panties to the side and then they were skin to skin. His middle finger pressed against her clit, wet from her arousal. This would require her to be quiet, to not squirm too much, to wish he could suck her nipples, hold her afterward…a slew of things she loved the most when it came to sex with him.

  Him. She just wanted him. His laugh, his smile, his gaze darkening as he plunged inside her, his grief—everything that was Callan. Not just a piece of him when he decided to give it to her, but all of him. Not just the pieces she let in because her career came first. She muttered a curse.

  When they had started this affair, she compartmentalized his feelings and hers. She could mentally tag them and file them away in their proper place. Lust, sympathy, annoyance, amusement, anger. Now she couldn’t.

  Finally, she said to him, “I don’t want the kink.”

  Frustrated with both him and herself, Victoria pushed his hand away and stood. Her legs had a wobble, but she didn’t stop walking until she was back at his car. She couldn’t do this with him anymore, with herself. Victoria would end it, had to, like she should have weeks ago when he looked at her with all his grief on display. Back when the first stirring of something more than lust had taken hold in her heart.

  Her senses awakened and the first hint of sandalwood made her stomach flip. Callan was probably confused by her reaction but hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. Shit, Victoria was confused, too. When had this screw up happened?

  She pressed her hands against the glass and leaned on the car for support, doing her best to catch her breath. But…

  But, what?

  He reached around her and unlocked the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so far.”

  And there he was being sweet again, thoughtful. She pressed a fist to her chest and shut her eyes. His monster. His. The first real lie he’d told her since they’d met. It wasn’t
rational but anger burned in her chest. She still wanted him naked and sweaty and inside her. He’d made her stupid and weak from their very first meeting.

  Victoria wished she could hate him for that, but her body still ached for him—just him and no undiscovered kink. After a moment of hesitation, she ripped open her door, hit the unlock button and then climbed into the backseat.

  She waited for him to follow. Her breathing sounded so harsh in the quiet, but she met his gaze when he stood at the back door. Oh, God. She was scared of what she’d see and terrified of what he’d see in her gaze.

  His blue eyes were filled with indecision and lust but lust won out. Callan followed her into the back of his Land Rover and slammed the door behind him. She could see the question forming in his mind before it could fall from his lips. She kissed him to keep him quiet.

  Callan pushed her against the backseat, and she tore at his shirt, yanking it above his head until his skin met her palms.

  “Victoria,” he groaned.

  She pulled him back down to her mouth and poured in all the unspoken words and turmoil. He’d used sex with her as his release from everything and she’d use it as hers tonight because her heart was her own. No one could take it. Sex—this had to be just sex.

  She found his zipper and freed his cock to prove her purpose. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he gripped her panties in kind, but he hesitated.

  “Yes,” she said before he could ask her if she was sure.

  He yanked her panties down, and she heard a rip of the material. She laughed because now he was her beast, her monster. “Yes.”

  He pushed her leg up until the heel of her stiletto stabbed the soft padding of the roof and then he devoured her pussy. She reached down and fisted her hand in his hair. Callan needed no guidance. He knew she liked for him to suck her clit into his mouth, to tongue fuck her and then lick her until ecstasy blanked her mind and the only sound she could make were half-sobs. The only difference tonight was that he used his fingers instead of his tongue to fuck her, curving them inside her and bringing her fast and hard into an orgasm that left her entire body shaking from the intensity of it.

  As she came down, he licked and then bit the inside of her thigh. She shuddered.

  He hummed. “You always taste delicious, better after you come.” He flattened his tongue and licked her slowly from her entrance to her clit. The sound he made this time was sensual and a little lewd. It made her clench from an aftershock.

  “Too bad,” he said. “There’s not enough room to spank you with my hand.” He rose between her legs.

  She glanced down and could see he held his cock in one hand. “Don’t care.”

  He rubbed the tip against her clit and then tapped it against her. “Let’s improvise.”

  He would, if she let him, but she didn’t want torture. She didn’t want punishment. Dammit. Victoria still just wanted him.

  She reached down and guided him inside her. “This.”

  The first stroke did the rest of the convincing. She raised her hands above her head and used the door as leverage to roll her hips, meeting his rhythm. The car rocked with their tempo. Her moans turned guttural as the next orgasm rode her hard and made her wetter.

  He stopped, catching his breath. “Victoria?”

  “Again,” she said, needing hard and hot and fast. Maybe that would burn away the twisting ache in her chest. She needed to not think and to have sex work a miracle of pounding away everything else.

  “Victoria,” he said again and this time his voice was soft.

  He sighed and the pounding transformed into a slow grind of his hips. There wasn’t much room but he didn’t seem to care about that. His focus turned to her and then her mouth. He bent down to kiss her. Not hard, not dark but tenderly. The tightness in her chest snapped and a sob broke through.

  He made a shushing noise and lengthened his strokes, going slower than before. “Let me give you what you need,” he murmured.

  She tasted the salt of her tears in their next kiss and shook her head. He hushed her again. “Let me love you like this, lass.” He pressed his lips to hers. “Please.”

  Another quiet sob twisted her stupid heart. Damn him. They had agreed this would mean nothing but entertainment for a few months, and here she was crying. Here he was touching her, caressing her to soothe her. Goddamn him.

  She took his face in her hands and kissed him quiet again. Any more words would undo her completely. He shifted, changing to a position that left her with no choice but to take him hard, deep and slow. His tongue swirled in her mouth, in sync with his dick. It was just too much for her to take. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let go, of everything. An orgasm rippled through her like a whisper, no less powerful, just soft and quiet, and it left her breathless.

  Callan stilled for a few heartbeats but she could feel his cock throbbing inside her, the hot spurt of his come filling her before he relaxed. He lifted his head only a fraction and began to kiss her tears away.

  It didn’t help. One damn bit. The damage was already done. She was in love with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He was a dobber, an utter shite and there was fuck all he could do to change it. So when Victoria demanded they drop by Baird’s to check on the older man, even for a faked sickness, Callan didn’t argue.

  She’d pulled herself back together after sex, but he couldn’t and would never forget the sound of her crying. The sound of him breaking her heart because he could never love her. He knew that was the reason for her tears. Victoria never cried, never broke even when he pushed her to the edge. And what other reason could it be after she announced she didn’t want kink? “I just want you” had been silent, and still he heard it because he knew Victoria. He’d caught the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Callan had written it off, but now…

  He flexed his fingers over the steering wheel and parked in front of Baird’s flat. This late, most of everyone had gone home and only residents’ cars lined the streets. He leaned forward and glanced up. The lights were still on in his uncle’s flat, which meant he hadn’t gone down to the pub.

  Like before, he helped Victoria up the stairs but this time he kept his eyes on the door. This time, he didn’t move his hand from her back when she knocked. He needed to touch her, continue to comfort her as much as he could. Maybe then the grinding in his stomach would stop.

  Since all his focus had pinpointed to her it took a minute for him to realize no sound came from the other side after she’d knocked four times.

  “Use your key,” she suggested.

  He knocked, waited and then unlocked the door. Baird was right where they’d left him on the couch. Callan’s heart skipped a beat. Even from the door he could see Baird’s skin had lost most of its color. Out of instinct, his arm flung out to stop Victoria and push her behind him.

  She took in his face, fear and worry widening her eyes. “What is it?”

  He crossed the room and with a shaking hand put it to Baird’s chest. Callan’s breath released from his lungs when his uncle’s chest rose. A moment later he noted the short shallow breaths as though Baird was fighting for air.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered her. “Baird, wake up. What’s wrong with you?”

  Baird’s eyes fluttered halfway open. “My left arm,” the older man rasped. “Hurts. Tried to sit up. Too dizzy. Couldn’t get to the phone.”

  Victoria’s heels clipped at a fast pace as she crossed the room. He helped his uncle onto his back in case he had to start doing CPR. “When did it start?” The words pushed through his tight throat.