Page 49 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BETH
The quiet hum of the Gulfstream’s descent was the only sound in the luxurious cabin.
Outside the small, oval window, a familiar darkness pressed in, punctuated by the glittering, rain-slicked lights of Glasgow spreading below like a diamond necklace tossed carelessly onto black velvet.
I’d seen this view before, but tonight, it didn’t feel like coming home.
It felt like the bars of a cage sliding silently, inevitably shut.
The sheer freedom of the last few weeks—the effortless solution to our canceled flight, the quiet luxury of the jet, the feeling of being in control of our own destiny—evaporated into the damp Scottish air.
This city was my past, a place of ghosts and expectations, and I could feel its gravitational pull trying to drag me back into the person I used to be.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, and it had nothing to do with the turbulence. This was the city where I was Elisabeth Fiona MacLeod, the MacLeod Menace, the Human Wrecking Ball. A character in a story written by others. Not me.
Sean, who had been watching me silently from his plush leather seat across from me, must have seen the shift in my expression.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to sit beside me, his presence a solid, grounding warmth in the pressurized quiet.
He didn’t say anything, just took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine.
His touch was an anchor in the storm of memories threatening to pull me under.
I squeezed his hand, grateful for the silent, unwavering support.
He wasn’t trying to fix it. He was just here, with me, as we flew willingly into the dragon’s den.
Checking into the Blythswood Square Hotel was a deliberate act of war.
I could have gone to my empty flat, a place that reeked of my failures and my last desperate days in Glasgow.
Or worse, I could have gone to my parents’ house, a silent admission of defeat.
But this hotel, with its chic, modern decor and its complete lack of personal history, was neutral ground.
It was our forward operating base, a place to strategize before the final battle.
The suite was magnificent, all clean lines, muted greys, and sweeping views of the city square.
But I barely saw it. As Sean dealt with the bellhop, I found myself drifting towards the gleaming, fully-stocked minibar.
My old friend. My go-to coping mechanism.
The tiny bottles of gin, vodka, and whisky gleamed like jewels, promising a quick, easy numbness.
The familiar whisper started in the back of my mind: Just one.
To take the edge off. You deserve it after that flight. After everything .
The urge was a physical thing, a magnetic pull.
My fingers actually twitched. It would be so easy to slide back into that comfortable oblivion, to blur the sharp edges of the fear that was coiling in my gut.
Facing my parents, facing Stewart… it felt like an impossible task.
Maybe I wasn’t strong enough. Maybe I was still the same fuck-up who had fled Glasgow in disgrace.
“It’s a nice view.”
Sean’s voice, low and calm from behind me, cut through the noise in my head.
I hadn’t even heard him approach. I turned my head, and he was standing there, watching me, his expression unreadable but his eyes full of a quiet understanding.
He wasn’t looking at the minibar; he was looking at me.
He saw the battle I was fighting. And he wasn’t judging me for it.
He came up behind me, pulling me back against his chest, as he rested his chin on my shoulder. His warm breath ghosted across my neck as we both stared out at the city lights.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my back.
That was all he said. No empty platitudes. No motivational speech about being strong. Just a simple, profound statement of fact. I’m right here.
And in that moment, I made a choice. I didn’t want the temporary numbness from a bottle.
I wanted the real, solid strength of the man holding me.
I leaned back into his embrace, letting his warmth seep into me, consciously turning my back on the temptation.
It was a small victory, but it felt monumental. It felt like progress.
“I know,” I whispered, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t name.
Sean turned me in his arms, his green eyes searching mine.
The air between us crackled with an intensity that had nothing to do with the confrontation to come and everything to do with us.
This wasn’t about escaping; it was about connecting.
His mouth found mine, and the kiss was slow, deep, and full of a profound tenderness that unraveled the last of my resolve.
“I need you,” I murmured against his lips, the confession slipping out raw and unfiltered. “Make me forget everything but this.”
His eyes darkened with desire, a hungry edge sharpening his gaze as he pulled back just enough to look at me. “I can do better than that,” he growled, his voice low and rough, sending down a shiver. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, Beth, you won’t remember your own name.”
His hands slid down my back to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him so I could feel the hard length of his cock pressing into my stomach through our clothes. The evidence of his arousal sent a rush of heat straight to my core, my body responding instantly with a slick ache between my thighs.
“God, I want you,” I breathed, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
“You’ve got me,” he said, his lips crashing back into mine with a hunger that stole my breath. His tongue delved into my mouth, claiming me with every stroke as his hands roamed lower, cupping my ass and squeezing hard enough to make me gasp into the kiss.
He backed me up until my thighs hit the edge of the sleek glass table near the window, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body.
With a swift motion, he lifted me onto it, spreading my legs so he could step between them.
My skirt rode up, exposing the lace of my panties, and his eyes zeroed in on the sight with a predatory glint .
“Look at you,” he murmured, his hands sliding up my thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where I ached for him most. “So fucking gorgeous, spread out for me like this.”
I whimpered as his fingers teased along the edge of my panties, barely grazing the damp fabric. “Sean, please,” I begged, my hips shifting toward his touch, needing more.
“Patience, love,” he chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with promise as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly dragged them down my legs. The cool air of the suite kissed my heated flesh, making me shiver as he tossed the lace aside.
He knelt between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them wider as he looked up at me with a wicked grin. “I’ve been dying to taste this sweet pussy again,” he said, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “Been thinking about it the whole damn flight.”
Before I could respond, his mouth was on me, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along my slit.
I cried out, my hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as he licked and sucked with a skill that made my vision blur.
He groaned against me, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through my core.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered, spreading me open with his thumbs, exposing my clit to his hungry gaze. “So wet for me already.” His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, and my hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate moan escaping my lips.
“Sean, oh god,” I panted, my head falling back against the window as he worked me with ruthless precision, alternating between gentle laps and firm suction that had me trembling on the edge in minutes .
“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, sliding two fingers inside me. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come on my tongue.”
His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his mouth and fingers, pushed me over the edge.
My orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing through me with such force that I screamed his name, my thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me.
He didn’t stop, drawing out every shudder until I was a boneless mess, gasping for breath.
But Sean wasn’t done. He rose from between my legs, his lips glistening with my arousal, and pulled me off the table into a searing kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue, the intimacy of it sending another jolt of desire through me as he ground his still-clothed erection against my bare core.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled against my mouth, his hands already working at his belt. The sound of the metal buckle clinking undone was almost as erotic as the promise in his voice.
“Yes, please,” I whimpered, reaching for him, desperate to feel every inch of him.
He shoved his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. I licked my lips at the sight, but before I could do more, he gripped my hips and positioned himself at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he commanded, waiting until my eyes met his. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much, raw and possessive. “I want to see your face when I fuck you.”
With one powerful thrust, he filled me completely, stretching me around his girth until I felt every inch of him buried deep inside. We both groaned at the sensation, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt as he held still for a moment, letting me adjust .
“Fuck, Beth,” he panted, his forehead pressed against mine. “You feel so perfect. So tight around my cock.”