Blindsided

by Amy Daws

  Without thinking, I yank the needle out of what I’m quite sure was his shaft and quickly lift the kilt to inspect the damage. My gasp draws everyone’s attention when I see…

  Mac’s bare penis.

  And balls.

  And well, whatever parts of a naked man’s crotch might exist down there because the idiot isn’t wearing his boxers! Why isn’t he wearing boxers? He knew I was going to be eye level with his kilt! Was he trying to get a rise out of me? God, he is a cheeky bugger, and he deserves a severe walloping for this one. Or perhaps a tiny poke to the penis?

  No, that’s taking it too far, Freya.

  “Would you mind lowering my kilt so the entire Harris clan can stop staring at my cocker, woman?”

  I drop the kilt and turn to look around at everyone who’s blatantly watching the spectacle.

  “Why the fuck aren’t you wearing boxers?” I screech accusingly while sitting back and replacing the pin into the cushion on my wrist.

  Mac’s jaw drops in disbelief as he cups his dick over his kilt. “You don’t wear bloody boxers with a kilt. Free ballin’ is the biggest perk to wearing a kilt!”

  “Pardon me for not realising you wanted to rub your balls all over the lucky and legendary Clan Logan tartan,” I mimic his voice from earlier, and his eyes go lethal on mine, actually scaring me a bit. “Look, I’m sorry! But if you were wearing boxers, then the damage wouldn’t have been so severe!”

  “Excuse me for thinking my cock and balls could take in a bit of scenery for a bloody moment. I didn’t know you were going to attempt manhoodslaughter!” His voice hitches to a high-pitched nerve-wracking tone. “Christ, I think I’m bleeding.”

  “I’ll, erm, go get you a medical plaster.”

  “You’re going to need gauze, woman. And maybe a very big cast. You should well know the state of me by now. A plaster would hardly cover my bloody pee hole.”

  “Would you stop shouting!” I exclaim, standing up and stomping my feet. “I can’t think when you’re shouting like this.”

  Mac’s face contorts. “Aye, sure. I’ll be sure to address you like a lady when MY BLOODY SHAFT STOPS HEMORRAGING BLOOD!”

  I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  And then…the weeping begins.

  It’s hours later, and Mac is curled up in my bed in the foetal position, holding a bag of peas on his groin. He only cried for an hour after I drove him back to my flat. At first, I thought he was so mad he’d want to go back to his place. But he said he expected me to wait on him hand and foot for this egregious offence, so here I stand, at his bedside…just waiting for him to request a sponge bath at any moment.

  Mac moans as he hands me his thawed peas.

  I exhale. “Are we still in a fight? Or would you let me finally have a look at it?” I state with exasperation. “If it still hurts this much, I think we should take you to A&E or at least have Indie or Belle come over to look at it. They are doctors after all.”

  “Enough people have seen my cock and balls today, thank you very much,” he harrumphs, draping his inked muscular arm over his face in true Mac dramatic fashion. “And we’re still in a fight.”

  “What can I do to make this up to you?”

  He shrugs and lowers his arm. “Just lay here and talk with me until I fall asleep.”

  My face lightens instantly, and I can’t help but smile at the big, goofy idiot. I lower my head and kiss his forehead before taking the peas into the kitchen. I shut off all the lights and slip into bed beside him.

  We’re lying on our sides facing each other when I say, “What do you want to talk about?”

  He sighs heavily. “Remind me what your boobies look like. It’s been hours, and I’ve forgotten already.”

  I hit him with an unamused stare. “If I show you my boobs, will you stop moping?”

  He shrugs sadly.

  I sit up and lift my nightgown, giving my breasts a hearty shake before lowering it and snuggling back under the covers.

  He smiles like a kid on Christmas morning. “That was very thoughtful of you, Cookie.”

  “I live to serve,” I repeat his words back to him.

  His eyes drift down to my kitty cat night shirt. “How many kitty night shirts do you own? It’s alarming that I’ve never seen a repeat performance after this many sleepovers.”

  I glance up at the ceiling as I attempt to count. “Maybe a dozen? Not sure. But this one has a mini cat-sized one to match.”

  “You and Hercules have matching pyjamas?” Mac asks, his face lighting up with amusement. “My God, I have to see this. Where is the awful creature?”

  I exhale heavily. “It doesn’t fit him. Plus-sized fashion clothing for cats isn’t really a thing.”

  “It should be.”

  “I know,” I state, my brows pinching together with that statement. “I’ve made him a couple of things myself, but whenever I dress Hercules in them, he just goes limp. It’s really funny. I actually started an Instagram profile for him, and it’s full of videos of him getting dressed up and keeling over.”

  “Shut it.” Mac laughs and stares back at me. “How many followers do you have?”

  “Sixty-four thousand!” I giggle. “It went kind of viral after my first post. I’ve never told anyone I run it, and no one I know ever sees Hercules to identify him.”

  “That hilarious,” Mac states with a pleased smirk. “You should make more plus-sized cat clothes.”

  “I’d love to,” I reply with a smile. “I have a whole notebook full of sketches for the cutest little outfits. I even have dog options drawn up too because, well, people love their chubby dogs. But I never have the time to sew for fun anymore.”

  “You should make it a job then,” Mac says simply.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you have the eye to design, then you should be doing more than just altering Sloan’s and Leslie’s creations.”

  My giddy mood deflates. “They consult me on their designs a lot. I contribute more than just the alterations.”

  Mac frowns, and he reaches out to cup my cheek. “I didn’t mean anything by that, Freya.”

  “Then why did you say it?” I ask, pulling my head back.

  He reaches out and holds my hand on the bed. “I just think you’re extremely talented, and if making pet clothing makes you happy, then nothing should stop you from having the confidence to go out there and do it. Your unique brilliance deserves to be seen.”

  His words are everything I’ve tried to tell myself many times before. Even in university, when we did group design projects, I always had ideas but deferred to the more outgoing person in our group. Confidence gets things done. Reticence never gets off the ground.

  “I’ve thought about talking to Sloan and Leslie about bringing a pet line into the boutique,” I say softly, looking down at Mac’s big hand on my small freckled one. “So many of our clients are obsessed with their pets. You should see how many carry them in their handbags.”

  “See?” Mac says, giving my arm an encouraging squeeze. “You’re full of ideas. You have the confidence to do this, I know you do. And selfishly, I want you to do this so you’re never near another man’s genitals with a needle ever again.”

  “Shut it, you,” I say and narrow my eyes at him. “You were distracting me with your cuteness.”

  “You think I’m cute?” Mac asks, his brows tweaking excitedly at me. “I thought you’d only fancy me if I had a cheese hut.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know you’re cute.”

  He resumes holding my hand, combing his fingers through mine. “And you know you’re cute…right?”

  I take a deep breath, letting the words sink in because they mean so much more than just physical beauty. Knowing I’m cute is the equivalent to having confidence, and I need the latter more than the former. Hopefully someday, I’ll learn how to answer this question without hesitation.

  “I know I’m cute,” I state finally, hoping eventually I’ll belie
ve it one hundred percent. I shake my head, ready to turn the focus back to my patient. “And what about your future? What will you do after football?”

  Mac’s brows lift. “Hopefully, I have a couple more years left in me, at least. I wouldn’t mind being one of those old geezers on the pitch who die of a heart attack right there on the green.”

  A groan erupts from me. “That’s a horrible thought.”

  Mac shrugs. “I’m just joking mostly. Actually, my dream job after this football life is over would be something in the world of gaming, where I could combine my computer knowledge with my football knowledge.”

  I blink back my shock. “Pardon me, but did you just say computer knowledge?”

  Mac rolls his eyes. “I have my degree in computer science, Cookie. I’m not all brawn.”

  I sit up, staring down at him with my jaw open. “You what?”

  He shrugs and turns onto his back. “My mum would have flogged me if I didn’t get a degree in something useful to fall back on. One bad injury and my career could be over in the blink of an eye. Honestly, I’m shocked I’ve made it this long without anything horrible happening.”

  My brows lift as I absorb this very new information. “And computers are your thing?”

  He shrugs again like everything he’s saying is so simple. “Computer stuff was always easy for me. Even as a wee lad, I liked knowing how things worked behind the screen. My dad used to bring old computers home from work whenever they got upgraded, and I was always taking them apart and putting them back together.”

  “Huh,” I say and smile proudly at my best friend. “Maclay Logan, computer science specialist. You’d be the hottest computer nerd at whatever firm you end up with, you do realise.”

  He laughs and rolls his eyes.

  “I’m serious. The Javier lookalikes will think you’re the stupid one because you’re just too pretty to be smart too, so you’re going to have to prove yourself on the first day.”

  “Okay, boss,” Mac says, reaching out and tweaking my side. I giggle and fall down onto his bare chest. My hair spreads out over his pec as I press my ear to his heart.

  “I think that’s really cool, though,” I say softly, allowing the drumming of his heart to soothe me. I spread my hand out on his stomach and slide my finger along his softened abs. “And I’d love to see your caricature as a footballer in a video game.”

  “Right?” Mac says excitedly. “It’s the only reason I got all these tattoos.”

  I burst out laughing, burying my face in his chest with delight. “You are such an idiot.”

  His body shakes beneath my head as he laughs, and soon enough, I see the blanket covering his groin begin to rise.

  I sit up on my elbow and stare down at it, then back up at him.

  He shrugs. “You called me an idiot. I told you mean girls are my thing.”

  I bite my lip and eye him speculatively. “Well, maybe I’ll call you a big faker because my tiny little poke clearly didn’t cause any permanent damage.”

  He waggles his brows suggestively. “You better go down there and inspect it. Our next lesson can involve a bit of naughty nurse role-playing.”

  My eyes light up. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!”

  I leap out of the bed and dash into my walk-in closet. After a moment of digging through a box in the way back, I slip out of my kitty night shirt and into something that Mac is sure to fancy.

  When Freya emerges from her closet, I swear to Christ, I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  “What do you think?” Freya asks, smiling proudly as she does a spin in the most scandalous nurse’s outfit ever created.

  It’s a red fishnet-netted negligee that’s much too short to be a dress. Really, it’s just a slip that barely covers the tiny matching knickers she has on underneath. It’s completely sheer except for the white medical plus signs that are stitched over the tips of her wee nipples. On the top of her head is a matching white and red nurse’s hat that I can barely even focus on because her legs are on full display and her breasts are nearly spilling out of that getup.

  “Why do you have that?” I ask, sitting up to stare at her properly and trying to keep my tongue in my mouth.

  “I bought it for Halloween one year when I was having one of my outbursts, as you like to call them.”

  “You were going to wear that tiny getup out for Halloween? Are you mad?”

  Freya shrugs. “I was at the time. I was sick of seeing all these skinny women at Halloween parties flounce around in their tiny little costumes while bigger girls were dressing up like Shrek. I wanted to feel sexy.”

  I stand up, my heart rate throbbing inside my chest. “Well, I fucking hope you didn’t wear that getup in public.”

  Freya’s jaw drops. “And why is that?”

  “Because your bloody knickers are hanging out!” I exclaim, my voice going to a strange, high-pitched, manic place.

  “Coming from a man who wears a kilt with no boxers, that’s really rich,” she snaps. “And this getup is no different than what the thin girls wear on Halloween.”

  “If you were mine and wearing that, I would shag you all night so you were too weak to go out and show everybody my property.”

  “Your property?” Freya lets out a peal of laughter. “Well luckily, I’m not your property so you don’t need to worry about it.”

  “You are mine,” I state, stepping closer to her and grabbing her by the arms. “You’re mine for the next month, and I’d be grateful if you would be willing to accept that.”

  I breathe heavily down upon her, my cock thickening inside my boxers at the feel of her in my arms when she looks like this. Christ, I want her. I want her so bloody bad I can taste it. But for some strange reason, I need to feel some sort of security in what we are. I know we’re just friends, and I know the sex is temporary, but I want it to feel real while we’re together.

  Freya swallows nervously. “Well, if I’m yours for the next month, then does that mean you’re mine?”

  “Aye, of course it does,’’ I snap. “Why would you doubt it?”

  “Are you still having your weekly lunches with Cami?” she asks and crosses her arms over her chest defensively. She’s trying to look tough, but all the change in posture does is push her breasts together and give me the urge to lean down and motor boat my face between them.

  Finally, I focus on what she just said. “I called Cami and told her we couldn’t meet anymore.”

  “You did?”

  “Aye, Cami and I are just mates, but I’m not going to be shagging you and running off to see her. What’s the fucking point in that?”

  “Well, why did you need to see her at all if you weren’t still sleeping with her?” Freya asks, her brows pinched together in an adorable way as that gerbil spins rapidly inside her mind. “What was the point of you two getting together every single week?”

  “I don’t know.” I exhale heavily and grip the back of my neck. “She was therapy I suppose.”

  “Therapy for what?” Freya asks pointedly.

  I pin her with an unamused look. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with my best mate for the better part of a year, and I guess I needed someone to talk to about it, all right?”

  Freya blinks up at me in shock. “You talked to her about me?”

  “Of course I did,” I growl, feeling annoyed that all this had to come up. “Who else would I talk to about it? Roan? He’s so wrapped up in his own love life he can’t tell where his unit ends and hers begins.”

  Freya looks down, clearly bewildered by what I’ve just said, but after a split second, she looks up at me again. “Well, good. So we’re exclusive for this arrangement then. Fine. Now that that’s all sorted,” she states, her chest rising and falling with deep, laboured breaths, “can we have sex now?”

  “Finally, we agree on something,” I growl, and she launches into my arms just as I take a step towards her.

  I lift her up, and her legs wrap around m
y waist as I squeeze her lush arse in my hands. My thick cock angles upwards like it has muscle memory and knows exactly where it wants to burrow in all night long.

  My cock is fine, by the way.

  Aye, she poked me properly, to be sure.

  But considering I got a chubber while she was yelling at me in the shop, I figured there was no long-lasting damage. I’ve just been milking it for attention until now.

  I bring her over to the bed and shed my boxers and her knickers in one swift tug. I move to get on top of her, but she quickly grabs me around the waist and rolls us so she’s on top.

  “I want to try this way,” she says, biting her lip nervously.

  “Aye, let’s do it,” I reply with a smile.

  She positions herself over top of me, and I grab her thighs to stop her. “Condom.”

  She shakes her head. “I want to feel you.”

  I hit her with a look. “What are you talking about?”

  She nods. “I started the pill a few days ago.”

  “You did?” I exclaim, sitting up on my elbows and staring back at her in shock.

  She nods. “But it’s not one hundred percent effective yet, so just pull out before you come, okay?”

  “Aye, sure. No problem,” I state, placing my tip right on her slit. “Christ, I’ve wanted to feel you like this all bloody week.”

  “Me too,” Freya cries, nodding and looking down as she slowly, deliberately, damn near painfully lowers herself onto my shaft.

  “Good fucking God, you feel incredible,” I growl, clutching her thighs and biting my lip because I need to get control of myself if I want to make this good for her.

  “So do you, you fucking liar,” she groans and swivels her hips on top of me. “Your dick was fine, and you made a huge scene just to torment me.”

  I can’t even attempt to fight back my grin. I’ve never smiled in bed with a woman. I quite like it if I’m being honest. “My cock may have been fine, but the emotional trauma—”

  “Shut up,” Freya says, giggling so hard I can’t help but shake beneath her with my own laughter in return.

  My pleased smile falls as she begins to really ride me. She’s good at this. She’s flexible and taking me in deeper than when I’m on top. Her eyes close, and her head falls back as she grinds down on me with her sweet, perfect pussy.