The Good Bad Boy

by Raven McAllan

  By the time we got to the top of the stairs, I could swear my heart was racing, my knees knocking, and my mind buzzing.

  Noah pushed open the first door. “Guest room and en suite.” It was pretty but nothing to write home about.

  “Very nice.”

  He laughed. “Bland and safe. Just like spare room two.” He indicated the next door.

  It was true, and the only difference was one had blue accessories and one lemon.

  “I hope this is a bit different.” Had his voice deepened, or was I hoping? My pulse jumped as Noah pushed open the next door and stood to one side.

  “Decorated with us in mind.”

  I took a deep breath and walked the few steps so I was inside. Looked around and burst into tears.

  “Summer? Love?” Noah was after me in a second. “What’s wrong? Shit, I thought you’d like it.” He hugged me and well, I had to hug him back.

  “I love it,” I wailed. “It’s everything I want with you.”

  I felt him stiffen and then sigh deeply. “With me?”

  I sniffed. No more hesitating. “If you want me?” I rested my cheek on his chest. I was home.

  Noah stretched his arm out and grabbed a tissue from a box on the most gorgeous antique chest of drawers I had ever seen. “Blow,” he said. “Then say that again please.”

  I blew and looked around for a bin. Noah took my snotty tissue from me and dropped it in the bin I’d missed seeing. Now that had to mean something, right? I mean, someone else’s snotty tissue wasn’t a nice thing to hold even for a second.

  “I want you if you want me,” I said. “Utterly and truly.”

  “Really? Just like that? No strings or explanations?”

  “Really,” I confirmed. “Just like this.” I gathered up all my courage and kissed him. Proper, lip-locking, tongue-meshing kissing. It was far too long since I’d done that.

  Wow. Just definitely nipple-tingling, clit-quivering wow.

  Noah groaned, I moaned. He moved one hand to my breast, I moved one hand to the zipper of his jeans.

  Then it was a mad fumble and scramble to see who could get who naked first. I had no idea who did, but within seconds, we were both in our birthday suits. Noah flung the duvet back with one hand then picked me up and dropped me in the middle of the mattress.

  It made me giggle as I bounced and he scrambled to flop down beside me.

  “Oh God, Summer, I’ve dreamed of this.”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer. I was too busy trying not to come as he kissed and then sucked my nipples, and saints above, began to play with my clit. Oh Lordy, so bloody good. I think I moaned, but to be honest, I was drowning in the sensation so I had no idea.

  Somehow, I managed to find his cock and stroke it. It was Noah’s turn to moan now.

  “Fuck it, I want to be in you. Need to be in you, and I’ve no bloody condoms.” He moved away a bit and I took advantage of the fact to get onto my knees, take his cock into my mouth, and lave it.

  Not a boy scout then.

  “On the pill,” I mumbled around a mouthful of hot, hard, but soft as silk, male flesh. “Clean, and fuck it, fill me.” I took one long hard pull on his dick and let go with a plop. Better than an ice lolly any day.

  Noah didn’t hesitate, thank goodness, and had me on my back and his cock poised at the entrance to my channel faster than I could say climax.

  “Got to be now, love.”

  Just as well.

  He pushed. I clenched my inner muscles—thank goodness for Kegel exercises—and held him tight. Noah swore and laughed. I grinned and we set up that age-old motion of in, out, tighten, release until I felt him swell even more inside me.

  My nipples hurt in the best possible way.

  “Sheesh, now got to be, oh Lord, help please…” I was almost incoherent, sobbing, throbbing, and any other ing you could mention. It was pleasure, it was pain, it was…

  “Now!” Noah roared, and his hot, sticky release filled me.

  “Yes.” I let myself fly and saw stars as my climax hit me with all the subtlety of a baseball hit by a champion.

  Yeah, I was a screamer. Did I care? Not one bit. I moaned, groaned, and wriggled as well. Loved it all.

  Loved Noah.

  Bloody hell, I hoped I didn’t say that out loud. Not yet, anyway.

  He beat me to it.

  “Love you, Summer. Always have. Missed you, so, so much.” His voice was slurred.

  Had he fallen asleep? I squirmed around a bit so I wasn’t totally squashed and squinted up at him. For someone who sounded half-cut or totally sated, he appeared reasonably bright and alert.

  “I mean it.” He raised himself on his elbows and as his cock slipped out of me, he rolled over and took me with him.

  “Never let it be said that I, as a gentleman, let you, my lady, be on the wet bit.”

  Actually, it wasn’t wet, just a wee bit damp, but hey, I wasn’t complaining. Noah tucked me tight next to him and I put my arm over his middle with a happy sigh. This was how it should be and sod anyone who tried to make it different. Then my mad would come out with a vengeance and then heaven help them. No more a doormat, no more a scaredy cat, now a tigress.

  I hoped.

  “I love you as well.” I guessed I sort of mumbled it into his armpit—weird, yes, I know, but my face wasn’t that far away from it—because he tugged on my hair.

  “Say what?”

  I couldn’t really say you heard, because I didn’t know if he did. Anyway, a declaration of love should be heard, shouldn’t it?

  “Noah Joseph Jackson, I love you. I trust you and fuck anyone who tries to come between us.”

  He grinned. “The only fucking either of will do is with each other.”

  I spluttered. Trust him. “Well, yeah. You and me.”

  “’Til baby makes three?”

  He stroked my cheek. I melted all over again.

  “One day.” I wanted time for just the two of us first. “But not yet.”

  As he always had, Noah understood what I was saying. “Sounds good. Think of all the fun we can have practicing.” He moved so his hardening cock rubbed my belly.

  I pushed myself up to kiss his nipple. “Maybe we ought to start now?”

  Epilogue

  We went to the premiere. He got a standing ovation. I got a series of scowls from Tawny Teesa, whose name Noah told me was really Freda Smith. She did her best to get Noah’s attention and failed miserably.

  I watched the sex scenes without a blink and had to hold my laughter back when Noah whispered in my ear, “See? That’s the garlic,” and a bit later on, “Nails used there.”

  We had a laugh about how we’d had our tattoos done at the same place and talked about maybe us each getting the same one in the future.

  We met up with Simeon and Heather, and although Sim was a bit stiff with me at first, over the weeks and months, we’d got back onto our old footing. Finn was his usual self, but hey, I could, and did ignore him.

  As for a family? Let’s say I’m waddling well, and the way whatever it is kicks, he or she could be the next Scotland—or I suppose, England or Ireland star. Of course, I say Rugby. Heather is all for a cricketer and the men say football.

  But to be honest, be it a boy or a girl, we just wanted a healthy, happy baby who does whatever he or she wants to do.

  As for Noah and I?

  Happy was an understatement. Mind you, when he was filming sex scenes, I still checked he’d had a stash of garlic and long nails.

  The End

  www.ravenmcallan.com

  Other Books by Raven McAllan:

  www.evernightpublishing.com/raven-mcallan

  If you enjoyed this book, you may also like:

  A Dark Desire by Amber Morgan

  How Long Is Forever? by Erin M. Leaf

  Foolin’ by Allyson Young

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  BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER

 
DARLING DOC

  Naughty Forties, 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  What planet am I on? Taking the tram, which goes past the rugby stadium, when there’s an international on.

  Stupid. Mega stupid.

  Honestly, I deserved everything I got.

  An hour before kick-off, there I was, squashed in with what seemed like three token women, and a million blokes, either in kilts or wearing the All Blacks strip. Half the bloody carriage was doing the Haka—no mean feat when we were like sardines in a can—and the other half was singing “oh ye cannae shove yer grannie af a bus”, or in some cases “tram”.

  Okay maybe not everything. Definitely not the offer to share a bottle of Buckie—Buckfast tonic wine—notorious for getting you off your trolley in three swigs, or the chance to run away with a wee old bloke about eighty with three teeth, two of which were black, and a severe case of halitosis. Luckily, he got shoved to one side, and the last I saw of him he was carried away on a tide of blue and white.

  If it wasn’t bad enough, we were all sweating—neat whisky in half the bodies I reckoned. Then when the tram lurched to a halt, the doors opened, and half a dozen more blokes crowded in.

  Somebody pressed into me, and as the pole thing you hang onto unless you want to end up on the floor, and probably show your knickers was about an inch from my boobs, there was no way I could have given whoever it was any more room.

  Then holy hell, I wished I had.

  Something was pressed into the crack of my ass.

  Yeah… A long, hard, cock-shaped something.

  Definitely not everything.

  Oh shite. I had no idea what I could do. Talk about stuck between a rock (or is that cock?) and a hard place, and I wasn’t sure which was which.

  “Hell, I’m so bloody sorry.”

  Oh my blooming God. That voice was panty-dropping, salivating hotness. All of a sudden, I couldn’t give a toss what was pressed up against me.

  “It’s a water bottle, honestly,” the same sex on legs voice said. “I’ll show you when we get to Murrayfield. If I tried now I would be had up for sexual harassment.”

  “Ah, it’s fine.” Sheesh, I sounded like a breathless twelve year old. Time to grow up. “Don’t worry. If it was anything else it wouldn’t be in its original shape now, busy carriage or not.”

  He laughed. “Oh, feisty lady.”

  I stiffened. Blokes usually said that in a detrimental manner. He sounded impressed.

  “Nuh-oh, don’t hit me. That was a compliment.”

  How did he read my mind?

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Shit, talk about frosty voice, but honestly, what was he like? And I didn’t mean hot. After all, I still hadn’t seen his face. “I’m not so uncouth.”

  “That’s good then,” he said with a lilt to his voice that just got to me deep down inside. The tram slowed. “And here we are. Are you coming to the match?”

  The doors opened, and people began to push past me to get out. The pressure from behind disappeared as I held in to the pole in front of me and gradually found space to breathe.

  A water bottle waved in front of my eyes, and then a male body appeared.

  Dressed in a kilt that actually suited his shape.

  And oh my, what a shape. Hot as Hades. Mid-forties, I guessed, with long black hair in a plait and smoky grey eyes. I’m a sucker for both of those. Add in that smooth as chocolate velvet voice and, God almighty, an earring. Now if he had a secret tattoo, I’d be butter.

  “Right then, this is to show you I was telling the truth.” He dropped the bottle in my hands, sketched a wave, and got off the tram just as the doors began to close. I watched him walk away. Yeah, his rear was as hot as his front.

  And I had no idea who he was.

  Damn it to hell.

  The carriage now held a dozen people, and we all grabbed a seat. There were a lot of heartfelt sighs heard.

  I looked at the water bottle. Unopened and one of those designer ones.

  Now if this was one of those scorching romances I’ll own up to reading, he would have written his phone number on it.

  As it was a tram in Edinburgh, and the rugby took precedence over everything, he hadn’t.

  But even so, now I knew the bloke I would have shagged there and then, drank designer water and wore a kilt.

  I wondered if he was a true Scotsman?

  ****

  And that was my Saturday. Sunday was, as ever, playing catch up. I know a lot of people complained about the fact their GP’s—that’s General Practitioners or village doctors to those who refused to use the newfangled jargon and I didn’t blame them—didn’t work during the evenings or weekends any more. I came to the GP system too late to know what the “God, I’m on call tonight” was like, but I am ever thankful. Life is full on as it is without being called out because Mrs. X or Y has a problem I’d seen in surgery on Friday morning. Okay, yes, that is an exaggeration, but boy, believe me I do appreciate my weekends and evenings.

  Not just to go to yoga, or get half rat-arsed in the pub, (quiz night and we are a tad competitive) but also because I like just to chill. To go to the supermarket and not trust someone else to pick my veg or fruit. Dance until two AM (though those days are few and far between and always have been.) Just to be, and not worry. With the on-call rota you had no chance.

  Because even if you weren’t on call there was the chance someone would call a sickie and you had to cover.

  Whatever the general public said, this way was better, even when you do get asked, “I wonder what you reckon about a or b? Not as a consultation, honestly, I know you’re off duty, but … but just asking because I wondered…”

  At least, now most of the time, now we were awake, alert, and all with it. Not hung over, pissed as in mad, or just wanting to stop in bed for hot as Hades sex.

  By the way, I can’t remember what that is like, but I can wish. As for a wee bitty hint of kink? Ha, the last time anything along those sadly missed lines happened was when I tried to stop myself coming as I read a nipple hardening, panty dampening book by one of my favorite authors. One Doris O’Connor. It didn’t work, and well, spanking yourself because you disobeyed yourself isn’t quite the same as your Sir doing it.

  And I haven’t had a Sir for ages. Sometimes, life sucks, not a Dom.

  Sadly, on this Monday, with Rho, the other doctor who ran our village surgery on holiday, I was covering all sessions for the day—our locum not being able to help until Tuesday—and now it was the eight until ten surgery, and I was not a happy bunny.

  First off, it was bloody freezing. The heating in the surgery, having been on low to Baltic all weekend, wasn’t playing ball about cranking up. Which meant freezing nipples that seemed so hard they would able to push through paper. Add to that the practice manager was in a pissy mood about her boyfriend, a fireman who had gone on a “fundraiser” and sadly not got home “‘til six AM”. Sandie, with an ie—not to be confused with me, who is Sandy with a y—had clocked his balls with a baseball bat, and he was my first patient.

  Somehow, I couldn’t be sympathetic with him, and my prescription of ice and abstinence with women unknown hadn’t gone down too well. At this rate I’d be in violation of my Hippocratic oath.

  Anyhow, I got through my list of, luckily, minor ailments, and was about to shut down my computer and head to the local retirement home for a list of hemorrhoids and indigestion when Sandie rushed in.

  “One more emergency, and oh my God, you will never guess who it is.”

  That’s Sandie all over. I once said well, no not until I can see through walls, but she didn’t get it. And if you have to explain it sort of takes away any pleasure. So I just looked at her.

  “Don’t you want to know?” she said all over excited. “I mean well…”

  “Just tell me, eh? Than I can see whoever it is, hopefully deal with them, and then head to Mallens and deal with athlete’s fo
ot—not that there are any athletes—cramp, gout, and whatever. So go on spill the beans.”

  “Alistair McCrea.”

  She looked at me as if she had handed me the Holy Grail, or at least a million dollars. Sadly, the name meant bugger all to me.

  “Ah…”

  “For goodness’ sake,” she burst out. “I do worry about you. He’s the star of that new TV series, Satan Station.”

  Oops. That meant nothing to me.

  Sandie realized it. “Lord, woman, I despair. Devils, angels good and bad … murder, mystery, sex … no?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing. He’s hot stuff. And he’s here. To see you. Well,” she amended. “To see a doctor. That’s you,” she added helpfully. “Shall I show him in?”

  Of all the asinine questions. “Well, as he wants a doctor, not a heap of drool, aka my practice manager, it might be a good idea.”

  Seriously, this is what I put up with.

  Sandie just looked at me, blinked twice, and then laughed. “Oh, I get you. Well, he is drool-worthy. And oh his voice, think rich, dark chocolate, and sex. Lots of sex. You get to talk to him, look at him and…” She sighed a noise worthy of any prima donna and flapped her hands about for all as if she was shooing something, or somebody, away. “You might get to see his body.” Then for goodness’ sake she put one hand approximately where her heart was. “Talk about a raised heartbeat. Mine, not his.”

  “Examine him if need be, not shag him, Sandie,” I snapped. “Hippocratic oath and all that.”