Mac (Mountain Men 2)

“You’re not,” she pants, “half bad,” another pant, “yourself.”

I chuckle and spank her again, my cock pulsing inside her when my hand connects with her arse.

“I’m gonna come,” she groans. “Oh, God, Mac.”

“Come, then, darlin’,” I say, leaning over her so her back’s flush against my torso, thrusting in perfect time as she loses herself to her climax. Her breath hitches and she moans, wiggling her pert little arse at me as I continue to fuck her.

We move together as one, enjoying every minute of this. I love the way her pussy clenches around me, but most of all I love the way she loves this. She's unabashed with taking her pleasure, right alongside me. And I fucking love that.

I could fucking love her, if I let myself.

Could I? Jesus. I fucking feel it, anyway. I don’t know how or why, but this feels like so much more than a ruse.

I fight it, because I don't want to be weak about any of this. I need to stay firm on what my ultimate goal is. But can't there be another way? I feel like letting this woman go back home is feeding her to the wolves. I hate the idea of her arsehole father hurting her. I don't even want her bodyguard near her.

I shut all of this out of my mind as our rhythm slows. I bend down and kiss her shoulder, so grateful for her. So grateful for this time together. No matter what we do, I need to make sure that I keep her here with me.

We clean up and dress in silence. She seems preoccupied, like there's something on her mind. I’m sure there is, given what’s happened in the past few days, but I have to ask her.

“Are you worried about something, Bryn?”

She shakes her head, but doesn't reply. I don't reckon she's telling me the full truth. Of course she's worried about something. Probably her bodyguard, her father, wondering whether or not her mother's alright. She's got loads on her mind, especially now that I confirmed that she did see us in Inverness centre. Especially now that she knows that I'm a member of the Cowen Clan.

Whether or not it's part of my ultimate scheme come out, or whether or not it's something else, I know that I need to make sure she feels safe.

“Right, then, so we come back here after you get your things in town.”

She thinks about this. “I’d like that,” she finally says. “Are you sure I’m not wearing out my welcome?”

“Of course not. Did you see how eager my sisters were to spend time with you?”

She nods with a tentative smile, then frowns a bit. “Your father most definitely was not, though, was he?”

“Don’t worry about my father. He’s getting old, and senile. He can’t hurt you.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me. Her own father’s significantly younger than mine, having gotten married young. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have aging parents.

“Nan’s a hoot, she really is,” she says.

“Och, aye. You haven’t seen bloody anything yet with that one.”

She laughs out loud.

We head into town, just the two of us, and the ride’s a quiet one. I reach for her hand, and she holds mine.

“Sure there isn’t something on your mind?” I ask, when we’ve driven full minutes without her saying a word.

“Not much,” she says. “Just mentally preparing to finish that dress. I can't believe it's actually for your sisters’ mate. I have to admit I feel a little pressure now, to make sure I get it right."

“I’ve seen your work, Bryn, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve seen your work and it’s excellent.”

She tips her head to the side, and gives me a curious look. "How have you seen my work?"

Jesus, I fucked up. She isn’t supposed to know I’ve been stalking her on social media.

“Saw it yesterday at lunch, did you forget?”

“Forget what?” She eyes me curiously, looking confused.

“That you were working in the shop when I brought you the shortbread. And I may not be a fucking seamstress myself, but I know good work when I see it.”

She smiles bashfully. “Thank you.” She opens her mouth as if to say something else, then closes it abruptly and looks out the window.

I need to change the subject.

It’s a windy day, though bright and sunny. We talk about her days in school when she was just a wee lass, and I tell her about mine.

“Got in loads of trouble,” I say, shaking my head. “Got high marks, but almost got expelled for the trouble I got in.”

She laughs. “Why does this not surprise me?"

She tells me about her younger brother, and hints at her father’s expectations for him. “For someone relatively young to be a father, my father’s incredibly barbaric and archaic in his beliefs.”

She doesn’t have to say that twice. I know it to be fact as well.