Kiltless In Carolina

by Ashantay Peters

  “Don’t even think about sitting my butt on that nasty counter.” She grabbed a towel, half-opening it before he positioned her on the material. The towel’s rough nap kept her from a clean—or maybe not—surface, but she thought she’d rather sit on silk than coarse.

  He nudged her legs apart and stepped between them. “In about two minutes, you won’t be worrying about germs.” He grabbed a condom from his kit, sheathing himself before she blinked twice.

  To cover her shocked excitement, she rolled her eyes in a parody of her teen-aged cousin. “Talk, talk, ta—”

  His mouth covered hers, his tongue drove in, scattering her thoughts. He tugged her hips to the counter’s edge, his fingers gripping her tight. His erection lay poised at her entry.

  She squashed her chest against his, reveling in the feel of her soft boobs against his muscled chest. His tattooed dragon appeared to stalk as his muscles played under his skin. Arms that felt like steel bands wrapped around her, eliminating the little space between their torsos. Her dangling legs made her feel helpless, at his command.

  “Put your legs around me.” She crossed her limbs behind his back. He thrust into her wetness, filling her, making her gasp.

  “Oh, god. Graeme.” She licked his ear lobe and blew lightly across his skin. She’d have smiled in triumph when her action caused chill bumps on his shoulder except that rational thought was little more than a memory.

  He rolled his shoulders. “Do that again and I won’t be responsible for whatever happens next.”

  Isla tossed her head and settled her mouth next to his ear. Her inner vixen came out to play with a sultry invitation. “Is that right?” Deliberately, she touched her tongue to his ear lobe.

  He stood motionless, tense while she traced the curve of his ear. Moving slowly, she inserted her tongue into his ear while her fingers cradled his face and nape. Then she withdrew and puffed air over the wet surfaces. “You look like the responsible type to me.”

  She felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He hissed. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, whether from the room’s humidity or her actions, she didn’t know. Before she could blink, he snarled.

  “You are so asking for this.”

  Graeme’s cock filled her pussy. Her nipples, already tight, hardened in a way that made her think she could cut through structural steel. She tightened her grip around his lean waist, feeling his hips pumping.

  She clung tight, lifting her ass in response to his thrusts. An involuntary moan ripped from her throat. The towel under her butt no longer prickled but acted as an additional stimulant against her sensitized skin.

  He nipped at her neck and the soft spot behind her ear while his hands roamed across her back. His hitched breath and guttural moans echoed off the tiled surfaces.

  “Oh, god, I didn’t know,” she said.

  “I did.”

  Perspiration coated their chests. Low moans combined with the sound of bodies slapping against each other filled her hearing. She could smell their combined arousal, a basic restless animal scent. She tossed her head from side to side, straining for release.

  He reached between them, rubbing against her clitoris. Her toes curled. In turn, she massaged his balls while nipping and tonguing his earlobe. She reached around him clenching her fingertips against his tight, swiveling ass.

  Moments later, she found relief, arching in climax. He followed her with a hard thrust and loud yell. They collapsed against each other panting, their chests wet with sweat, still joined. She nipped his shoulder then soothed the spot with her tongue. After a moment, he touched her forehead with his, still breathing heavily.

  “I can’t budge,” he said in a low tone. “Don’t want to stir from this spot.”

  A sense of relief flowed through her, but she didn’t speak. Anything she said would give away her growing need for more of him.

  He covered her lips in a slow, wet kiss that perked her nipples again. Breaking away, he nuzzled her neck. “I hate to say this, but we have to get moving or I’ll be late.”

  His casual reminder made her feel as if she no longer mattered. She covered her hurt with a joke. “Sure. Move one girl out, move another one into place.”

  “You wore me out, woman.” He palmed the back of her head and planted his lips over hers. He withdrew and murmured, “Though I may be recovered later. If you want to come back and spend the night with me.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “May be recovered? Don’t know if I should take a chance.”

  “I’ll be ready, all right.” He lifted her from the counter and lightly slapped her ass. “Move it.”

  They soaped each other in the shower, engaging in touchy-feely and leaving her wanting more. Until Graeme flipped the water to cold.

  She screeched. “Are you nuts?” Jumping from the shower, she grabbed a towel and briskly rubbed herself dry.

  He shut off the water and flipped the curtain back with a flourish. Water sluiced down his body and her ministrations stalled as she took a long look.

  “No, I’m not crazy. Finishing off a shower with cold water is healthy. Gets the blood circulating.”

  “Who told you something so stupid? Siberian monks?”

  He grinned, showing dimples she hadn’t noticed before. Damn. She loved dimples. Her juices flowed.

  “I’m no monk, Isla. I haven’t had a woman for a while but that doesn’t mean I believe in celibacy.”

  She turned away to hide her emotions. What a fool to think he wanted anything more than a sex-filled weekend. He’d warned her he only wanted to fuck around, right? Yet she still hoped for romance. Forget that. She’d take what she could get and remember this weekend when her boobs rested around her knees.

  He positioned himself behind her, immediately enveloping her. “I didn’t jump all over you three times because I haven’t had any lately. You’re passionate. Giving. Willing to learn. And that’s sexy. Not even counting your killer ass.”

  She nodded, still not shifting to meet his eyes. “Thanks. I guess we need to get dressed.” She gathered her courage, turned and smiled. “Don’t want you to be late.”

  Isla saw his hesitation. His mouth opened and closed without speaking. He nodded, wrapped his towel around his waist and walked out.

  She cleared the steamy mirror and studied her reflection. Her skin glowed. Hair was a mess, but that was normal. She turned to the side and checked the ass she’d always considered too big. “Killer ass?” She smiled at herself.

  Minutes later her smile faded. “Shoot.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find my gran’s pin.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Pinned to my bra. You threw it across the room. Remember?

  He rubbed his jaw with two slim fingers. “Yeah, sounds familiar. We’ll have to reconstruct our actions later.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. Gran entrusted the pin to me this morning. It’s a family heirloom. I’ve got to find it or something bad will happen.”

  “Jesus H. Fine. What does it look like?”

  “A silver thistle. About so long.” She held out her fingers to show him.

  He glanced to the clock. “Three minutes and we’ll have to leave.”

  She was already on her hands and knees, checking around the bed and sweeping her hands under the nightstand.

  Although they both looked, the pin remained missing.

  “We really have to go,” he said. “I’ll put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door to keep the maids out. We’ll have more time to look later.”

  She knew she couldn’t ask to stay behind to search. She had a bad feeling she’d screwed up in more ways than one.

  They separated at the fairgrounds with a heated clinch and agreed to meet after the concert. Isla walked into her parent’s camp hoping she didn’t appear as dissolute as she felt.

  “Did you run into friends at the bathhouse, sweetie?” Her mother smiled.

  “Yes, I got a ride
to their hotel and took a hot shower. We talked.”

  “That’s nice. Gran left you one of her old outfits. I’d like you to wear it for her.”

  Her mother’s words were more a direct order than request. She didn’t expect to escape without donning the traditional garb.

  She changed clothes, grabbed her camera bag, and hugged her family before hurrying from the camp to avoid being asked pointed questions.

  She loved her family but sometimes a short exposure worked best.

  Chapter Seven

  The natural amphitheater was packed. Now that the sun’s position had dropped closer to the horizon, the day’s hot temperatures waned. Evening breezes helped dispatch the remaining heat.

  Isla sat in the audience to the side of the stage instead of meeting Graeme in the wings. She didn’t want to give the impression of being a groupie, though she’d have gotten great photographs backstage. A few too many musicians milled there for her comfort. Plus, she didn’t want to be ambushed by Scottie the Ginger-Haired Bastard.

  Graeme had said tonight’s performers would be contemporary groups using traditional instruments in new approaches. The band he sat in with was first up. She saw the changing of the guard with glammed up girls moving in and older folks, her parents and gran included, packing up their camping chairs and coolers.

  A light breeze played with her hair. The chances of seeing Scott here were low, as he’d always sneered at the non-traditional Scottish music. Graeme had told her more about the band he’d sit in with on their way back to the grounds. Now she wondered if perhaps Scott didn’t have the musical chops to carry off the sound. Loyal, she’d never questioned his opinions about music and hid her penchant for the fusion sounds.

  She checked her camera, wondering if she’d remembered to grab her charged battery from the camper. Riffling through her bag, she saw everything she needed and relaxed. Her nape tingled in warning. Keeping her head down, she scanned the area from under her lashes. A young man stood close by. His stare made her uneasy. He turned away in a quick, almost furtive motion. Her arm hair stood on end.

  Isla watched him slink away, wondering if she’d imagined the greedy look flashing across his face. Craning her neck, she searched for him, but he’d disappeared.

  Then the emcee bounced on stage and gave The New Balfour Boogie Boys a flourishing introduction. Young girls standing before the stage squealed. And when the band came onstage, she saw the reason.

  The band was mouth-wateringly handsome. Every single kilt-wearing one of them had strong bodies, boyish grins and knew how to swagger. Including Graeme, who’d entered last.

  Last but never least.

  Her pussy muscles clenched. When they’d left the hotel, his performance clothes were concealed in a carry tote. Good thing or he’d be performing in a more intimate venue—with her the sole audience. He wore a blue, green and black MacKay tartan kilt topped by a long sleeved white shirt with lacing at the throat and a small collar. A wide black belt with a pewter buckle encircled his slim waist. His white horsehair piper sporran sported two tassels of black hair. Once again the tall buckled black boots encased his calves.

  But his lusciousness didn’t stop there. The dark wavy hair she’d run her hands through earlier in the day flowed onto his shoulders. Floodlights accentuated his high cheekbones, full lips and lean face. Given the way the girls surged toward the stage like lemmings off a cliff, she wasn’t alone in creaming her jeans.

  She focused her camera and snapped a series of shots of everyone on stage, not limiting herself to Graeme.

  The drummer used his full drum kit to set a solid beat then Graeme joined in, his long fingers dancing over the chanter. One instrument after another added to building a wall of sound that blended a traditional reel with salsa and rock influences.

  Isla joined the dancing, clapping and whistling crowd after an innovative riff. She figured they hadn’t rehearsed for much more than two hours, and recognized Graeme’s musical ability.

  A female vocalist joined them for an evocative ballad. She danced around the stage, singing to each of the musicians. Using her telephoto lens, Isla verified the singer wore a wedding band, but swore the vocalist spent more time gazing into Graeme’s eyes than anyone else’s.

  The thought choked her. A few hours with the man and she was jealous? So not smart. No sense getting attached, though the sex had been incredible. She’d never had a guy plop her on a counter and pound away like he couldn’t get enough. Never felt so comfortable giving—and getting—head. Never watched the act in a mirror.

  Her breath shortened and her nipples were tight. Criminy. The weekend was about sex, nothing more. To prove her resolve, she focused her camera on everyone but the man who held her libido hostage.

  Then Graeme played a riff that begged for her attention and camera. He jammed to a fast-paced number, stepping in place, eyes closed and totally absorbed. His slim fingers caressed the chanter. His throat muscles, strong and corded, worked as he inhaled, releasing oxygen into the blowpipe. As he stamped his foot, the tassels on his pipes swung, as did the ones on his sporran. Her mouth went dry. She knew what lay under the bag and kilt, and the promise of more called to her like storm kelpies to a stricken boat.

  She snapped shot after shot, mesmerized with the passion in his face. Photo gold.

  The band finished their set with a flourish and performed two encores, the final a medley of folk, baroque, hip-hop, and light jazz. The musicians’ virtuosity blew her away.

  Graeme left the stage, exchanging back slaps and high-fives along the way. She picked up her camera bag, debating whether to join him immediately or give him time with his friends.

  “Isla!” Scott, standing beside his linen closet blonde, smiled and waved at her. Really? Was he self-absorbed or simply delusional in thinking she’d want to greet her ex-fiancé and his new girlfriend? Making the split decision to pretend she’d never seen him, she turned. And stepped directly in front of her family.

  Her mother enfolded her into a hug. “Gran, look here. You wanted to see Isla dressed in your togs and here she is. You’re on your way to the dancing, right?”

  “I…yes, I guess so. I was supposed to meet someone but I—”

  “Don’t let us stop you. We’re headed to the camper. Would you like Dad to take your camera?”

  “Well I don’t—”

  “Jamie, take her bag.”

  Gran grabbed her arm as her father took her camera bag. “Yer still wearin’ the pin, lass?”

  She knew her eyes had to be the size of Frisbees. The full-sized disc. “It’s in a safe place, Gran.”

  “Gud. ‘Member what I told ye.”

  Her mother hustled her small band away, leaving Isla’s head spinning. She hadn’t lied to Gran, had she? Not technically. Now she had to meet Graeme, get back into the hotel room and find the damn pin.

  She made her way to the stage steps, coming to a halt before a security guard holding a clipboard and an attitude.

  “Do you mind if I wait here? I’m supposed to meet someone.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I doubt that—”

  He raised an eyebrow and the stakes. “Name? Or you’ll have to leave.”

  “Isla McAllister.”

  He made a check mark and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go on. Your boyfriend has been out here looking for you.”

  Boyfriend? Not likely. She scrambled up the wooden stairs and entered a swirling mass of color, sound and too many people. Graeme stood close to the entry. He’d changed into a dark t-shirt with the words, “What’s under my kilt? How warm are your hands?” Her palms itched.

  Two women stood to either side of him. The witchy blonde desk clerk from the hotel had her hands wrapped around his right arm. A young blonde who looked like she blew bubbles as she exhaled had latched on just under his armband tattoo. A not-so-small group of women stood to the side watching and waiting their turn. The sight was enough to send her to the deep-fried Mars bar v
endor.

  Had she not been ticked and on the way to too clingy, she’d have laughed at Graeme’s looking like a human wishbone. She rubbed her chest. A couple bouts of sex and an invitation to watch the concert didn’t mean they were an item. Even if he’d told her he concentrated on one woman at a time. Men had lied to her before.

  She turned to leave when she heard his shout. “Isla, c’mere.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she saw him shake off the two women and take a step toward her. The hotel hag tried to reclaim him but he kept walking, ignoring her touch. Slinging his arm around Isla’s shoulder, he steered her toward the young blonde woman.

  “I wanted you to meet the person I had dinner with tonight. Isla, this is Jessie. Jessie is the cousin of my brother’s girlfriend.”

  “Hi, Jessie.” Isla smiled at the girl who blushed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know Graeme already had someone.”

  “Not to worry. We’re somewhat new.”

  “I’ll say,” the hotel hag said. “In fact, they didn’t even know each other yesterday.”

  “And you know this, how, Cassandra?” Graeme hugged Isla to him. “Actually, we were playing a pick-up game. You know how couples sometimes do. Sorry if you got the wrong impression.”

  Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt I made a mistake.” She leaned close to Isla. “Show up with him tonight and I’ll call security on you.”

  Isla’s muscles froze but she managed to answer. “And I’ll show your manager the note you slipped Graeme with your phone number. That tactic ought to get you a promotion.” Lucky she’d seen the note when she’d been searching for gran’s pin. She probably shouldn’t have tucked it inside the room’s Gideon Bible, though.

  Cassandra looked like she wanted to spit, but turned and stomped off.

  She hoped Graeme hadn’t heard their exchange. Criminy, getting into a cat fight was not on her agenda for tonight. Or ever.

  He hadn’t appeared to notice, engaged with Jessie who was apologizing for taking him away from Isla.

  “Not to worry, Jessie,” Isla said. “Why don’t you join us? Graeme told me he had a prior commitment, and I’d love to have a woman to hang with.”