Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

I can’t believe I’m doing it as I slide my hand under her elbow, encouraging her to stand.

‘I want to taste you.’ My tone is pure gravel, my need real as I turn her, pushing her back up against the wall where I just was. I lick the elegant column of her neck, suck and nuzzle every inch of her with my lips and flicking tongue.

Ella gasps and whispers my name when I alternate softness with a little pain as I reach her nipples. A nip of teeth, a brush of stubble, as my mouth passes to savour one breast then the other. As I pull back, her hands seek my head, urging me back into place and confirming my suspicions. She might like a little slap with her tickle, a thought that sends a surge of heat from my toes to the base of my spine.

‘Please . . . I need . . . ’

‘What do you need, darlin’?’

‘Please, touch me.’

‘Like this?’ I whisper, placing the heel of my palm between her legs, rotating it slowly.

Her back arches, and her mouth opens in a silent plea.

‘Or like this?’ I slide down her body, hooking her knee over my shoulder.

‘Oh, God,’ she squeaks, her nails scraping the wall behind her. ‘You can’t mean to—’

‘Eat you out?’ Like that’s even a proper question. ‘Or fuck you with my tongue?’

Her skin is soft and slick as I kiss her, just once, as I would her mouth. Tongue her. Slide my fingers along that glorious pink ribbon of flesh.

‘You feel like fucking heaven,’ I whisper, kneeling before her like a penitent. ‘I’m going to worship every bit of you, starting with your cunt.’

Her body trembles, and she releases a breathy moan. ‘Th-that’s so bad, Mac.’

‘So bad it has you wet.’ I slip my finger inside, and she lets out the best fucking sound, somewhere between a sigh and a stuttering moan. A sound that’s full of need and wonderment. ‘So what does that make you, Ella? If my words are bad, and they make you cream like this, what does that make you?’

‘B-bad,’ she stammers in half-breaths as I slip my finger in and out of her, the lewd sound of her wetness such a fucking turn-on. ‘I want you to make me.’

I chuckle darkly. ‘I’ll make you beg.’

‘Yes!’

‘And I’ll make you bad. I’ll fill you with my cock until you’re cursing and praying for more.’

Ella whimpers, her palms flat against the wall, but there’s no more time for talking, not as I lift her knee higher. Flick her clit with my tongue. Slide my fingers deeper, curling them. Whimpers turn to moans as I spread her knee wider against the wall, opening her up as I lick her long. Cover her stomach with my forearm to prevent her from sliding down the wall.

I know I’m good at this—tonguing a woman to the edge—but I can’t seem to keep Ella there, her tight walls clamping on my fingers much quicker than I’d have ordinarily planned. But that’s okay because this isn’t the main course. Not by any stretch of the imagination. She’s mine tonight, and I mean to make her feel it everywhere.

I know the moment it happens; the way her body tightens, the way her pussy pulses against my tongue. The way her hands pull my hair as she cries out unashamed, long and loud. The way she pushes my head away as my mouth seeks her heat, the crying not abating as, slowly, so slowly I realise the noise is no longer her, but my son’s.

13

Ella

I hear them in the morning, Mac and Louis—the running of water, the whir of the coffee machine, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. But I don’t get out of bed, even though I’m desperate to pee. Instead, I lie still and feign sleep, my head filled with a melancholy sort of happiness. My pussy aches with need and remembrance, and as long as I ever live, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way Mac looked at me as my towel dropped to my feet. His gaze burned me inside and out. That I hadn’t been shocked or embarrassed is testament to this. Unashamed, I hadn’t thought to feel anything other than desired, lost in the longing in his eyes.

One thought leads to another until a montage of images plays through my head. The feel of him in my hand, and the taste of him on my tongue. How he’d looked as he’d lifted my leg, spreading me shamelessly. The way his tongue had flicked out, caressing my flesh. His taunting expression suggesting I was in for a rare treat. And he wasn’t wrong—the man certainly knows what he’s doing. I was wholly unprepared for the intensity, and while I might still be a virgin this morning, at least I can now officially say I’m able to orgasm by someone else’s hand. Or hands and tongue, as the case may be.