Unwrapping the Best Man

She does it, turning her head to look at me. ‘Better?’

Fuck, yes.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she says, eyeing my need, goading me.

My lips quirk. Goading me, she’s fucking goading me, even when she’s at my mercy. I shouldn’t love it but I do. It’s so her.

I step forward and palm her arse cheeks, so soft and warm as I circle over them, gripping and kneading, exploring and spreading, eyeing her tightly puckered opening and knowing what it is I want, what I have planned.

‘Admiring your handiwork,’ she murmurs.

‘I’m admiring you...’ I spread her arse wide to emphasise my point ‘...before I take you.’

Her breath is a hiss in, her head lifting as she rocks back, telling me how much she likes it, how much more she wants. I dip one hand to her pussy, finger-fuck her deep and she tightens around me, her, ‘Yes,’ loud enough to echo around the room, but I don’t care if anyone else hears. Not now. I’m too lost to this. To her.

My fingers are saturated by her need and I drag them up, between her crack, and tease them against her opening, easing the tip of one finger inside as she moans and thrashes, and I have to use my other hand to grip her steady.

In and out, I ease. Sweat beads over her skin, along her spine as she starts to mewl, mewl like a fucking kitten, begging as her head falls forward, her eyes on the floor as she forces me deeper inside her. Thank fuck she can’t see my face. I know how unguarded I am in this moment but hell, Caitlin like this, for me, her wrists bound, her body mine; it’s more than hot, it’s...it’s...

I quit my mind, I quit the motion and spin away. I’m shaken. Torn inside.

It’s just sex, Jackson—sex.

‘Jackson.’ My name is a plea. Hell, she thinks I’m doing this to tease her. What would she say if she knew the truth? That I’m too shaken up by her.

I unbutton the collar of my shirt and several more, desperate to ease the tightness in my throat, my chest, but it’s all a placebo effect. I know it has nothing to do with the shirt an

d everything to do with what this is doing to me, to her, to us.

I unfasten the sporran as I head to the chest of drawers and tug it away from my waist with more force than it requires and the straps whip against the antique wood.

‘You’d think you were uptight about something,’ she says, always with the teasing, and it only serves to highlight how very different this is. How very different she is. No other lover would dare to tease me now. They play a role, a submissive role to all intents and purposes. Though I’m no Dom. I’m just a control freak in bed.

But her confidence, her knowledge of me, her ease around me...not even Eliza projected this kind of...this kind of what?

Vibrancy, relaxed arrogance, easy appeal...

I flick open the sporran and take out a condom, feeling her eyes on me, inquisitive, searching.

‘I’m clean,’ she says into the quiet. ‘We have to be, don’t we?’

She means for Blacks. Testing is a must. My mind tries to torture me with all the partners Cait may have had... May? Okay, has had. And it’s a healthy reminder that this is all it is for her too—more sex. A bit of fun. Nothing serious, nothing more.

I look to her, still bent forward, her breasts waiting for me to cup, her upturned arse daring me to return and I swallow. ‘What about birth control?’

She nods, her eyes below my waist again as she takes in my dogged need beneath the kilt. I should strip the rest of my clothing away, but I’m used to being clothed while my lovers are stripped bare. It’s another piece of my control, my delayed gratification, and I’ve never needed it more than I do right now.

I toss the condom back on the side and stalk towards her.

She traps her lip in her teeth once more and her arse gives a little wriggle of its own. Like she knows that’s exactly where I’ll start. That it wasn’t an empty promise. I plan to fill her from behind while my fingers take her from the front; I want her filled to the brim with me. Only me.

‘You’re not going to strip?’ she asks as I come up behind her.

My one-sided grin gives her my answer. ‘I think you like me in a skirt.’

Her laugh is a flirtatious lilt and as I trail one finger down her spine I feel it ripple through her, the next coming from her in a breathy whisper. ‘You should wear it back home.’

My cock beats its own answer, desperate to thrust inside her. I use it to block out the reference to home, to where this cannot happen, and flick the kilt up. My erection lands against the warm skin of her arse and she rocks to caress it, trying to take some control and tease.