Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘Touch yourself, sweetheart.’ His command is a whisper against my lips as he lifts my hand in his own and feeds it between my legs. ‘Make your fingertips wet, then touch your clit.’

I moan as my fingers slip under the lace, and whimpering with relief, I gather wetness from my seam, then find my clit. At the first touch, my hips jerk, but Mac doesn’t move; the weight of his cock balanced against me. Thick and heavy. Wide at the crown. How will it feel to accept it? To be breached by him? It’s fair to say I’m pretty obsessed.

‘What are you thinkin’ about, little girl? What’s got you panting so fast?’

‘You,’ I say breathlessly. ‘I get so wet thinking about you.’

‘You’re thinking about my cock. Thinking about the day I fuck you.’

I hear the hitch in his breath as he slides the lace of my thong aside, the tip of his cock coming in contact with my wetness and bumping my clit. It’s not a sentient thought—not wholly—as he pushes himself along my seam, more the demands of procreation or nature as I tilt my pelvis to accept him

‘Fuck!’ Mac hisses out, holding himself in place.

‘But you’re almost there,’ I half whine. Just another inch and I could’ve claimed it as an accident.

‘When I fuck you, it’ll be on my terms, little girl.’ His words are strained as if it’s taking some effort not to give in. ‘But you plead so beautifully, and fuck if that sound doesn’t drive me insane.’ I close my eyes, concentrating on my fingers frantically working my clit.

‘Your desperation fills my veins like a high, sweetheart. Maybe I won’t ever fuck you,’ he says, sliding back along my seam. ‘Maybe I’ll only ever feed you the tip as I feed on your desperation.’

‘Pussy tease,’ I moan out, and his hands tighten on my hips. To prevent any on-purpose accidents?

He laughs then, but it doesn’t last, the air filled with the sounds of our breathing and fast finger work. Of moans and curses and whispered demands and his running commentary as he touches himself.

Tilt your arse higher.

I want to see you touch your pussy.

That’s so fucking hot.

Hungry anticipation climbs through my insides as the tone of his breathing changes, his words becoming jerky and erratic.

‘Gonna come. Gonna paint you in hot jets of the stuff.’

As the sound of Mac’s harsh words coaxes me closer to my own orgasm, something hot and wet hits the cleft of my arse. Not a beat later, his body flattens me against the sofa as he presses the still hard length of his cock between my cheeks. Fingers gripping the sofa arm, he undulates above me, weighting me against my hand and grinding me against it, finally bringing us both to a climax that makes my heart pound. It’s not the only thing that’s pounding as I cry out, the burst of blinding heat and ecstasy like an implosion, forced from the weight of Mac’s body.

From somewhere in the distance, I hear his rough breathing. Or he could be chuckling. Maybe? It’ll make more sense to me in a moment or two.

‘Jesus, that was close.’

‘Was ‘tanstic,’ I murmur, my face half plastered to the leather, my hair, no doubt, like a bed of Medusa-esque snakes.

‘Here, let me clean you up,’ Mac says, rolling onto his forearm and wiping himself through his rapidly cooling ejaculate.

‘I’m not sure that’s helping.’ Pushing up onto one arm, I twist my head over my shoulder. Sure enough, there’s not a lot of cleaning going on. Plenty of mischievous smiles and flashes of teeth. And rubbing. But not a lot else. ‘You-you can’t possibly still be hard.’ Doth mine eyes deceive me?

‘Not exactly.’ His dark gaze flashes to mine for a beat before dipping to his artwork again. ‘And not still hard.’

‘Were you in the middle of saying something about Louis earlier?’

‘Hmm.’ As though pouring cold water on his loins, Mac leans back. ‘Aye. My parents are travelling down this weekend.’

‘Oh. I can go and stay with my friend?’ I make a mental note to call Jules. His parents will need the bedroom, and to be honest, it’ll be easier for me. Friday night is the culmination of all my dance class learning. The thought suddenly makes me feel a little ill. Excitement mixed with terror is a strange kind of feeling.

‘Slow your roll. They’re coming down to take Louis to Legoland. I’ve booked them a hotel in Windsor as Dad doesn’t like to drive in London. A hotel will be more convenient for them, while also, in a delightful coincidence, it’ll mean we’ll have the place to ourselves. All weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Not oh, ohhh . . .’ His delivery is almost comical, all sparkling eyes and perfect teeth. ‘As in oh my God, Mac, your dick is so fucking wonderful, can I ride it again.’