Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘This is so awkward,’ she sort of groans, turning away.

‘And your proposition would’ve been easier?’ I grasp her elbow. ‘One pop an’ your virginity is no longer? A timeline for fucking, and everything else stays the same?’

‘You’re being crass on purpose,’ she accuses. ‘And I thought it would easier. Our roles wouldn’t have been redefined. Like now. Right now, I don’t know whether I should let you touch me because I’m desperate for you to, or if I should turn the other cheek because of Louis.’

‘I don’t favour one cheek over another,’ I return, spinning her around. Her palms slap the granite countertops as I plant my own firmly on her round arse. ‘They’re both pretty fantastic. I can’t wait to slide my cock between—’

‘Be serious,’ she says, straightening.

‘I’m always serious about fucking, even when I’m playing.’

‘Isn’t this confusing to you?’

‘Men aren’t so complicated,’ I answer, pushing my body against hers. ‘I want you. All. The. Fucking. Time. But,’ I add with a sigh, ‘that doesn’t mean I don’t get your point.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘How about we keep things as they are,’ I reply, a sudden plan forming in my head. ‘For now, at least. From seven until seven, you’re Ella, Louis’s au pair and my friend.’

‘And the other twelve hours?’

‘You’re the woman I’m fucking into oblivion.’

26

Ella

Seven a.m. to seven p.m., I am Louis’s au pair. Seven p.m. to seven a.m., I’m Mac’s make-out buddy. And I’ve yet to see his bed. I’m not complaining because the man’s tongue is magic. We eat dinner together, then play a board game or watch TV. And once Louis is soundly sleeping, Mac is on me, often with my thighs around his head. Or else I’m on him, writhing in his lap while he tortures me with his lips. Tonight, he started at my neck, and I’m pretty sure there isn’t one place on my body he hasn’t yet kissed.

But I do wonder about blue balls and what the female equivalent is. Because that can’t be far away. I might have orgasmed more this week than my entire life combined—which is bloody fantastic—but I’ve never been left before with such an ache inside me. Achy and empty, desperate to be filled.

I don’t know how long I can go on like this.

‘Louis has plans this weekend, which means we have plans.’

My attention span is in bits, fragments remaining only where he touches me. At this point, all I’m wearing is my black lace bra, which my nipples are currently hooked out of, and a tiny matching thong. My underwear choices are getting pretty desperate in my attempt to get him to put more than his tongue or fingers inside me. And he loves it all. Seems Mac has a bit of a lingerie fetish.

‘That s-s-sounds interesting,’ I reply, now on my knees, my upper body draped over the arm of the sectional.

‘S-s-say that again,’ he teases, his wet tongue flat and swiping the skin on each side of my lace covered slit.

‘Take them off, Mac, please. I need to feel you tonight.’

‘In good conscience, I can’t,’ he says with faux seriousness. ‘They’re far too lovely a frame for the cheeks of your arse.’

‘I don’t want my bum framed.’ I want you to lick me to orgasm, I don’t say.

‘It should be framed and hung in some gallery somewhere. On second thought, the place would be full of dirty bastards abusin’ themselves while they stare.’

‘You’re an oddball, Mac Adams. You want to hang my bottom like some hunting trophy?’

‘Not exactly,’ he replies, dragging out the words as his fingers run the length of my cleft. ‘What I want to do with your arse is slide my cock between the cheeks until I come all over them.’

‘That sounds . . .’

‘Shush,’ he growls. ‘I haven’t finished yet. When I’ve wanked myself stupid and I’m right on the edge, I’ll slide myself out . . . ’ He sighs happily.

‘And?’

‘And you remember how I said your taste in underwear is pretty spunky?’

I don’t so much answer in the affirmative as moan as he licks then bites both cheeks. ‘You want to cover me in it,’ I assert.

‘Not want; going to. Gonna cover your spunky knickers in—’

‘No need to elaborate.’

The sound of his low chuckle is seductive, and the sound of his belt buckle loosening makes my insides clench. With the rustle of denim, I feel the weight of his dick on my right bum cheek a beat before his body covers mine.

‘Give me your mouth,’ he rasps, his lips at my ear.

As I turn my head to meet him, he captures my mouth with his own. As difficult as it could be from this position, his kiss is a measure of his possession. His ownership of me. Flicks of tongue and nips of teeth, it’s not long before I’m whimpering my desperation for him.