Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

My skin feels alive and electric, everything outside this moment insignificant or irrelevant. It’s too much—I can’t take it. I want him to stop, to never move from between my legs again, but I can articulate none of this.

My breathing is rapid, my chest heaving as he slips one finger inside me. He sucks me into his mouth, and I detonate. There isn’t another word for it. Not one powerful enough. Everything goes white around the edges, blinded by heat and ecstasy.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ I place my hand on his shoulder, once I remember I still have hands, noting the one still twisted in his hair.

‘I need you inside me,’ I pant as he licks his way up my body. ‘Please, no more waiting. I need you to own me.’

‘Now you’re talkin’,’ he whispers, his tongue flicking out to lick my kiss-swollen mouth, painting me in my own arousal.

Then I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me to his bedroom. And I don’t complain about being too heavy. Not once.

Mac lays me on top of the dark grey quilt. I’ve been in his bedroom before but never with him. A king-size bed for a king-size man. Whitewashed woods and pale rugs, but that’s not what I’m looking at now. Not as he loosens the buttons on his shirt.

He toes off his boots, then his belt buckle clinks, the leather whooshing as he pulls it free from the loops. Who would’ve thought those sounds would have such a visceral effect. My nipples stand to attention, and I think I might sigh as he hooks his thumbs into both pants and black boxers, sliding them down his legs.

The sight of him naked in this darkened bedroom is raw and erotic. A broad chest and arms the size of some girls’ waists. Abs that look like one of those wooden instruments kid’s play in school. Is it a glockenspiel?

‘What are you smiling at?’ he asks, smiling himself.

‘I’m wondering what sound you’d make if I touched your abs.’

‘Give me a minute and we’ll find out,’ he whispers hoarsely.

‘Shush, stop speaking. I’m taking inventory,’ I reply, running my eyes across his powerful V and the long line of his thighs. The powerful V of his hips. The seat of his power. I’d read the description once in a romance book. By the looks of things, Mac could break me in two. And God, I want him to.

‘Saving the moment for posterity?’

‘Totally committing your magnificence to the annals of history.’

Even in the darkness, his eyes shine . . . the moment before he takes himself in his hand. He begins to jack himself slowly, the muscles of his forearm flexing for a beat. ‘Such dirty ideas.’

‘You like the sound of that?’ I giggle at how shocked I sound.

‘Not the history bit. But fucking your arse?’ He tips his head back making a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan. ‘Plans for another day.’

My heart stops right there—a break in the wiring. Shock, it seems. It’s not what he says, but the reaction it elicits in me because, as my heart stops, a fierce beating between my legs begins.

‘Fuck me, you like the sound of that, you dirty girl.’

I don’t answer. At least, not verbally as he pins me with the hottest look, his hand working his cock slowly,

‘What am I going to do with you?’ His words are a reminder of promises, the realisation like fingertips against my skin.

‘You promised me something,’ I reply, trying hard not to join him by slipping a finger between my legs.

‘Anything.’

‘You promised me you’d deflower me. Hard.’

His smile falters, flickering to life a moment later, though it’s slow to grow as he places one knee on the bed. Sliding my legs wider, he insinuates himself between them, placing the head of his cock at my apex. I know I’m shaking—as much as the result of my earlier orgasm as from nerves.

Without speaking, Mac reaches out, trailing a hand down my face. With his forearm next to my head, he reaches down to open me fully, and as if I’ve done this a million times, I open instinctively, even as my heart beats with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Distantly, I’m aware I’ve reached this edge before. Distantly as though the previous time was a dream.

‘This might hurt,’ he whispers, his voice rough as though everything has suddenly become serious.

‘You’ve done this before?’ Might this make it less special, for one of us at least?

‘Not for a long time,’ is his cryptic reply, his lips taking mine in a kiss.

As I taste myself on his lips I wonder how it can be an aphrodisiac as I moan into his mouth. It’s all such a delicious diversion, too, as he slides between my legs. Despite being swollen from his attentions, every inch of me aches. My skin crawls with my need for him, my insides empty and desperate. I’ve never wanted anything so badly, never felt so greedy, my body moving of its own volition—moving with the rhythms of nature as I push against him, my fingers clawing at his back, and urging him on.