Page 50 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

Then he started to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate and deep, hitting spots inside me that made me see stars. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as I rocked against him, meeting every movement with equal need.

“Harder,” I gasped, craving more, needing him to erase every last shred of doubt and fear lingering in my mind.

He didn’t hesitate. His grip on my hips tightened, almost bruising, as he picked up the pace, pounding into me with a ferocity that had the table shaking beneath us. The city lights blurred outside the window, Glasgow forgotten as pleasure built again, faster this time, coiling tight in my core.

“That’s it,” he grunted, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit with firm strokes. “Come for me again, baby. I want to feel this pussy squeeze me when you do.”

His filthy words and the relentless pressure on my clit sent me spiraling into another orgasm, this one even more intense than the first. My walls clenched around him, pulsing as I cried out, my body trembling with the force of it.

Sean followed moments later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep and came hard, his cock throbbing inside me.

For a long moment, we stayed like that, panting and tangled together, his weight holding me against the table as aftershocks rippled through us both.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the raw intensity of what we’d just done.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against my hair, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my cheek.

I traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling more centered, more present in my own skin than I had in years. The anxiety about tomorrow’s confrontation was still there, but it had receded to a manageable hum rather than the overwhelming roar it had been.

“Thank you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

“For the mind-blowing orgasms?” he chuckled, his hand stroking down my spine.

“For that,” I agreed with a smile. “But also for seeing me. The real me.”

He tilted my chin up, his eyes serious despite his smile. “I’ve seen you from the moment we met, Beth MacLeod. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The next day, we arrived at the MacLeod manor. The grand, imposing house stood exactly as I remembered it, a stone fortress of judgment and expectation. As we pulled up the long, gravel driveway, my hands started to tremble.

“Hey,” Sean said softly, taking one of my hands in his. “Look at me.” I turned to face him. His eyes were steady, calm, a beacon of strength. “We walk in there together, we state the facts, and we walk out together. We are a team. They have no power over you anymore.”

I took a deep breath, his confidence a welcome anchor. “Okay,” I whispered. “Team.”

We walked to the front door, and before I could even ring the bell, it was opened by Angus.

He was the picture of professional composure, but I saw the flicker of shock in his eyes as he took in the sight of me, not broken and alone, but standing tall, with Sean’s hand resting securely on the small of my back .

“Miss Elisabeth,” he said, his voice a carefully neutral murmur. “Your parents are waiting in the drawing room.” He gave Sean a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement before stepping aside to let us pass.

We walked into the drawing room. My father was standing by the fireplace, his posture rigid.

My mother was seated on the silk sofa, perfectly poised, a porcelain teacup resting in her hand.

She looked up as we entered, her gaze sweeping over me with disinterest before landing on Sean with the force of a physical blow.

A slow, condescending smile touched her lips.

“Elisabeth, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “You’ve brought your American amusement. How quaint.”

The old Beth would have risen to the bait, would have snapped back with a defensive, angry retort. But the old Beth wasn’t here today.

“Mother, Father,” I said, my voice calm and steady. “This is Sean McCrae. We have some information we thought you should be aware of.”

I didn’t wait for an invitation to sit. I led Sean to the sofa opposite my mother, and we sat down together, a united front. I placed the heavy manila envelope from Fury on the antique coffee table between us.

“I’m sure you’re both aware of the recent… media attention… surrounding my time in New York,” I began, my tone cool and professional, as if I were delivering a corporate briefing. “What you may not be aware of is that the situation was deliberately orchestrated.”

My father scoffed. “Orchestrated? Don’t be ridiculous, Elisabeth. You created that mess all by yourself.”

“Actually,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “I didn’t. The photo of me on the balcony at the Hillsdale gala was leaked to a tabloid by a woman named Kyra Monroe, the head of the gala committee.”

“And why, pray tell, would she do that?” my mother asked, a bored expression on her face.

“Because she was having an affair with a colleague of hers named Garrett Reeves,” I said, letting the words hang in the air. “The same Garrett Reeves who had been pursuing me, feeding information about my life in New York back to a ‘backer’ here in Scotland.”

I leaned forward and slid the dossier across the table. “And that backer, I believe, was Stewart Beauchamp.”

I watched as my father’s face went from angry to confused to utterly shocked. He looked at my mother, but her expression remained a mask of perfect, icy composure.

“This is preposterous,” she said, though I noticed her hand trembled slightly as she set her teacup down. “Stewart is a gentleman. A man of good breeding. He would never involve himself in such a sordid, American drama.”

“Wouldn’t he?” I countered. “Even if it meant securing the very generous ‘dowry’ you offered him to marry me? His best chance of getting his hands on the MacLeod fortune was to destabilize my life in New York and force me to come crawling back here.”

My father finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Where did you get this… information?”

“From a man Sean knows in New York,” I replied calmly. “A very successful and powerful businessman with extensive resources. His name is Fury Gracen.”

I saw the name registering something with my father.

He might not know much about my life, but he knew the world of business.

He looked from the dossier to me, then to Sean, and I saw his entire perspective shift.

This wasn’t just his hysterical daughter making wild accusations anymore.

This was a business problem. A conspiracy involving powerful people.

“And this… Fury Gracen… he provided this?” he asked, his voice now laced with a new, calculating concern.

“He did,” Sean confirmed, speaking for the first time, his voice calm and steady. “His team is very thorough. Everything in that file is verifiable.”

My mother stood up, her composure finally cracking. “This is a conversation for family, Elisabeth. I think your… friend… should leave.”

“No,” I said, standing to face her. “He’s not leaving.

He’s with me. And we are leaving.” I looked from my mother’s furious face to my father’s shocked and uncertain one.

“I came here to tell you the truth. What you choose to do with it is up to you. But my life is no longer a business negotiation. And I am no longer for sale.”

With that, I turned, took Sean’s hand, and walked out of the drawing room, leaving the heavy silence and the unexploded bomb of the dossier behind us.

For the first time in my entire life, I left that house not feeling like a defeated child, but like a woman who was finally, blessedly in control of her own destiny.