No Ordinary Gentleman

“I’m not pished.” The worst Scottish accent whispers against my ear, my chest moving against hers in a chuckle.

“You’re not? Then you must be stoatin’,” I retort using both the Scots vernacular and the accent. “Or howlin’. Maybe hammered.” The Innuit might have fifty words for snow, but the Scots probably have more for the inebriated. “Sootered. Rat arsed.” I tighten my hands on her arse. “Ruined.”

“Oh, you’ve been holding out on me.” A smile leaks through her words as she rocks over me again. I resit the urge to press up into her. “Roll those r’s for me.”

“You mean like Cooper does?”

“Cooper was my Uber driver.”

“Minx.” I press my lips to her neck and threaten a bite.

“Horny minx,” she corrects. “Not a drunk one.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning.” Pressing my hands to her shoulders, I push her back until I can see her face. Flushed cheeks and dark eyes, lips as red and as tempting as Eden’s apple.

“No. I won’t,” she promises, her words ghosting over my lips. As her mouth meets mine, I breathe in her needy, ragged groan.

So much for plans. For connections that are more than body parts. Yet this feels inevitable. So much more as I reach the heat of her, running my finger along the seam of her jeans. Somehow, the way her lips tease mine seems so much more intimate than my finger between her legs.

“I want you, Alexander. I want you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I draw my finger up her body to the first button on her shirt, twisting it between my forefinger and thumb, working my way from top to bottom before setting the edges aside. Her bra is almost silver and gossamer thin, her nipples rosy and hard beneath the fabric. I want what she wants—what her halting breaths want. But instead, I draw my finger down her breastbone, causing her to move against me with a long, drawn-out breath.

“Touch me, please.”

My belly tightens as she undulates above me, dragging me with her along that knife-edge of temptation. Without answering her, I reach behind her, dipping my finger into the glass. I run it across the soft swells of her breasts, following the smoky trail with my tongue. Hooking a finger into her bra away, I release her hardened nipple, taking it into my mouth.

“That feels so good.” Another flex of her hips, one this time I push up into, desperate to feel the heat of her yet knowing I won’t. My balls fit to burst. It takes me a moment to process her next taunt. “Or should that be your grace.”

In answer, I use my teeth, groaning as she bucks into me, making my dick ache like nothing else.

“Be good,” I growl. So much for deference. She pouts as I cover her wet nipple again. But not for long as I feed my whisky-flavoured finger into her mouth. Her eyes are dark as she swirls it with her tongue. As she sucks.

“I don’t want to be good,” she says as I trail the wet digit down her chin.

“Then you won’t get what you need.” Against my better judgement, I know I will. I’ll tell myself I’m doing it for her, that I’m taking nothing for myself. Nothing but the pleasure she brings. “But you have to follow the rules, darling.” And if I want to earn the right to call her darling in the daylight, so do I.

“Oh, that sounds kinky,” she says, her eyes lighting up like a child seeing her first Christmas tree.

“Only for the first time.” My mouth hitches at one edge because I’ve never been interested in exploring the kink of self-denial.

“And there’s the devil’s smile.” Cupping my cheek, she brings her smiling mouth over mine again, her kiss wet and messy, liquor and Holland flavoured.

“And you know what lurks behind the devil’s smile,” I answer with just a hint of a taunt.

Her eyes gleam as she answers. “Only my favourite thing ever. Well, with the exception of this.” I grit my teeth and groan as she rocks over me again, bringing her lips to my ear. “It’s his tongue.”

Screwing my eyes tight, I promise myself another time where I get Holland a little drunk. Sometime soon. Sometime I can join in.

“I love this part of you,” she murmurs, pressing her mouth over my neck. Over my Adam’s apple. “And this,” she adds, drawing her hands down my chest. “And this.” Her voice drops as she reaches for the outline of my cock, wrapping her fingers around the shape of it through my jeans.

Unguarded Holland is a sight to behold. A treasure I don’t deserve, but one I’m trying to earn.

“That’s against the rules,” I censure, forcing myself to lift her hand.

“There are rules?” She almost shimmies over me, a motion that does wonderful things for her tits.