Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘You mean?’ In my very damp thong, my girl parts break out in a fluttery burlesque routine.

‘I’m gonna deflower you.’ His mouth says deflower, but his expression says defile. ‘Gonna deflower you so hard. Deflower you multiple times.’

‘I think the rules are you can only do it once.’ I pat his cheek as his expression morphs into a sort of fake disappointment before he pulls me into his arms, wriggling us around until I’m lying on top of him.

‘I suppose I’d better make that one-time count, then.’

I shiver in anticipation. A whole weekend with this man. But—

‘Are you nervous?’ he asks, probably reading my expression.

‘I already have plans for Friday night.’

His expression clouds for the shortest of moments. ‘Right. Well, I was gonna knock off early and take them to dinner before dropping them to the hotel.’

‘Did you need me to watch Louis?’ Because I can’t, but I can look contrite. There’s a strange sort of symmetry in how this will all work out this weekend. I’ll be stepping out of my comfort zone and onto a stage Friday night, then from maidenhood to womanhood the following day.

‘No, I didn’t want you to babysit. I wanted you to come along,’ he says, planting his hands full on my bum. ‘Shite, sticky.’

‘And cold. You should try wearing it sometime. Peeling it dry from your skin.’

‘You make it sound so appealing that I think I won’t, if it’s all the same with you. Anyway, as I was saying,’ he adds, ‘dinner to meet the olds? I can’t tempt you? I mean, I know it’s not necessarily the greatest start to the evening you’ll lose your virginity—’

‘You’re pretty sure of yourself,’ I say, bopping my index finger against his nose.

‘Darlin’, I hate to tell you, but you’re a done deal. It’s just a matter of when, then how long you want me to tongue your pussy before—’

‘So I’m easy now, am I?’

‘You spread for me as easy as honey on warm toast. You taste like honey, too. Nectar sweet and ambrosial.’

‘And as sweet as your words?’

‘Have I talked you ‘round to it? Dinner, I mean?’

‘I can’t,’ I reply, attempting to pull away from him unsuccessfully, his hands wrapping around my waist.

‘I’m not ready to let you go,’ he says, one hand now stroking my hair. ‘So you’re busy on Friday?’

‘Yes, sorry. But you don’t need me there.’ It’s hardly like Louis is an unruly child, and I’m sure he’s eaten at restaurants before. ‘I’m sure you don’t get to see them very often, and I’m sure Louis will be a dream.’

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ His expression is a sort of indulgent half-smile. ‘I want you to meet them.’

‘Oh? Well, I’m sure they’re lovely people—’

‘More realistically, I expect they’re an acquired taste.’

‘And I’m sure there’ll be other times.’

‘For someone so bright, you’re not getting it. I want them to meet you, too. If we’re going to do this thing properly, I want the works—familial introductions, basic genealogy, and everything.’

‘Oh.’ Oh, fuck. ‘But you can’t mean that, not now! We don’t know what’ll happen in the future, and we have to think of Louis.’ At this, I positively spring from his arms. He’s not thinking straight and being this close to him confuses me, too. He can’t want this, not with me. He has too much to lose.

‘Why can’t I?’ he asks, pushing to sit. ‘And why can’t you be good for both of us, Ella? What’s with the recurring theme?’

‘I just don’t think you can predict the future. You don’t know how you’ll feel about me next week or next month. Next year!’

‘You don’t trust me. Is that the issue? Did Will say something?’

‘No.’ Yes, but that’s not even it. I don’t trust myself not to fall apart when you decide I’m not enough. But I don’t say any of this as he stands, my cheeks heating as the heaviness of his dick slaps his thigh.

‘Just say it.’ As he steps into me, I step back—again and again until my back is plastered against the wall. ‘You don’t want to meet my parents because you don’t plan on staying around. Say it.’

‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ My words are plaintive, but I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t bring myself to tell him that I know I’ll never be enough. ‘I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin, for goodness’ sake!’

‘I ken that. I ken that you’ve held back from giving yourself to a man. I can’t say I understand why because you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever held.’ He presses his palms to the wall, caging me in. ‘A twenty-three-year-old virgin you may be, but have you ever stopped to consider that you’ve never been with another man because you were made only for me?’

I don’t know if it’s the heat emanating from his body, the weight of his fierce gaze, or the sincerity in his words, but the next thing I know, I’m crying, tears rolling in streaks down my cheeks.