Unwrapping the Best Man

As I listen to the crazed whimpers she utters, watch her skin pink up where she’s marked it with her own nails, her own fingers, I’m losing it. The urge to sink my teeth into every indent, every line, to tease her nipples between my teeth—soon, very soon. I fight the carnal haze that’s descending, thick and fast; only when I’m ready, when my sanity dictates, will I let go.

‘Pluck them harder...that’s it, baby, let go.’

The hypocrisy of what I’m asking isn’t lost on me and I bury the judgement in another power trip as she does exactly that, her uninhibited cry rippling through me, provoking one of my own. I touch upon lace at her hip and sweep my other hand beneath her dress, parting her legs to cup her. I feel her wetness, her pleasing warmth through the lace, and grit my teeth to stave off the heat.

She moves against me, her moan wild, and my cock literally weeps for it all.

‘Easy,’ I say through my teeth, but my smile when I can manage one is full of satisfaction that she’s losing it so completely while I remain in control. I lean back and look down over her; she’s not tall but with the gold stilettos adding inches to her she is the perfect height for me, for us. Here. Now.

My cock bucks against the sporran and I feel the cold air sweep beneath my lifted kilt, the pre-cum at my tip tantalisingly warm. It’s an alien feeling. I’ve never worn a kilt before, but now, here, watching her and having the freedom to stiffen up, no restrictive underwear to get in the way, to feel myself so eager, so ready...

I smooth my hands around her hips, hooking them inside the lacy waistband of her thong, and slide them down her thighs, her calves, her ankles. ‘Step out.’

Carefully, she does.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, looking up at her from this fresh angle and wishing her dress was still raised so I could see her in all her wet glory.

She looks down at me, her smile hot and needy. ‘Shouldn’t I be thanking you?’

I stand and open up the sporran, slipping the warm lace inside and making the reason for my gratitude clear.

Her lips make the perfect ‘O’ as the soft sound escapes and I want to tongue it. I want to kiss her so deeply the only sound she can make will come from deep within. But I daren’t. Not until I trust I’m still in control. That I’ve still got this.

‘Call it a gift of sorts.’

‘Do I get one in return?’

‘Hate to break it to you, baby.’ I lean close to her ear. ‘I’m not wearing any to give.’

When I step back, her eyes aren’t on mine; they are below my waist and the obvious effect she has on me. Her turn. I want the evidence of her need. I want to see it glisten in the moonlight, as obvious as the high colour in her cheeks, the fire in her eyes.

‘Lift your dress,’ I command. She does exactly as I ask.

‘Good.’ So good, my brain repeats for me. ‘Step wider. I want to see that sweet pussy of yours, all wet for me.’

My voice breaks and it’s so revealing. The way her eyes flash, her skin flushing anew, I know she’s heard it too. I curse the vulnerability, the exposure, even as I acknowledge that it turns her on more.

I wet my lips, imagine tongue fucking her, her hands clawing at my hair as I take her to heights she’s never seen before, heights I’m scared I haven’t been to either.

‘Show me what you’d like me to do to you,’ I say, blotting out the sudden fear.

Focus on the way this feels, not what it means to you, the fact that this is Caitlin, the only woman who has ever made you crave more and wish you were different.

Not true. The denial is fierce, memories trying to claw their way back to the surface that younger me failed to eradicate. But I’m not the teenager or the man I once was. And she’s not Eliza.

She’s Caitlin. Caitlin. I watch as she holds the dress in place with one hand and trails the fingers of the other lower. My mouth dries, my body pulses; my cock nags me to fist over it, but I refuse to.

I fold my arms, lock my stance and focus on her pleasure.

I keep my control locked in place.

Control which starts with her coming first...and only under my command.

CHAPTER FOUR

I’M HOOKED ON Jackson’s gleaming gaze. It’s so much more than I ever imagined, being here like this, with his need, his desire so obvious, and all for me.

I’m not just the Caitlin he teases at the bar, the little redhead who always brings out the protective big brother in him. He wants me.