Page 24 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)
I’m flying between the trees, splashing through a creek like I’m a fox and it can hide my scent and curving around a huge gorse bush.
Crouching behind it, I catch my breath and take in my surroundings.
I can still hear the waves on the beach; I’m not far from his cottage.
A rock hits a tree close to me and smothering a shriek, I’m off again.
The setting sun is turning the trees into shadows and that strange exhilaration is back, my nipples hard, rubbing against my tank top.
Another howl, closer still.
I lean against a huge oak, trying to keep my frantic breaths silent. The noise of the forest dims and then all I can hear is my heartbeat, pounding in my chest, echoing in my head.
Lucas is not catching me. I abruptly change direction, heading toward the beach again and-
“Got ye, wicked little thing.” His arm is around my waist, granite hard and his breath hot in my ear.
Screaming, I kick and fight and he laughs breathlessly, throwing his suit jacket on a fallen tree and bending me over it, so high that my feet are dangling.
Another slap makes me yelp. “What? Nothing to say now?”
“How about feck ye, ye arrogant- OW!”
He’s yanked down my jeans and knickers to my knees and his hand against the bare skin of my arse feels like fire. “Hold onto the log.” His fingers drift down, sliding between my thighs and I’m shocked to feel how wet I am against his hand.
One finger slides inside me and his thumb circles my clitoris.
“So fecking wet,” he growls, licking up my throat like a cat.
“So slick and hot. Do ye need more? Do ye need me to rough this pussy up? Make ye sore…” Another finger pushes inside me and I yelp.
Silent, stoic Lucas is a filthy talker during sex, oh, my god.
“Make ye scream…” He picks the right time to get chatty because his words are making me as hot as his fingers.
He pulls his hand away and slaps my pussy. Hard. “I’m gonna pound into ye, your nipples rubbing hard against the wood and you’re gonna take it.”
There’s a pause, he’s waiting for me to say something and I dinnae understand the noise coming from my throat but it sounds like a cross between a whimper and a “yes, please.”
I feel the thick head of his cock slide into my opening, and then he shoves his hips forward and I scream for real this time as he pushes all the way inside me.
So high that I can feel him in my throat.
Burning and stretching me, the wool of his pants rubbing against my sore arse as he pulls back slowly, only to slam into me again.
Again, the leisurely slide out until the tip of his cock is holding me open and then slamming into me again. Over and over. I’m a mess, the entire world narrowed down to the feel of his cock stretching me wide and his filthy whispers.
“Breathe, lass. You can take me, you’ve done it before. This greedy wee pussy sucking me in.” It’s all white noise against the shower of sparks circling inside me and my legs kick up, coming hard, I’m arching and moaning and squeezing him inside me.
“That’s my good lass. Push back against my cock, let me in.
That’s just the first one.” His thumbs pull my cheeks apart and he groans.
“So fecking wet. I’m gonna make ye watch next time, this pretty pink pussy, so wet and slick that it’s dripping down your thighs.
Only a bad girl-” He shoves inside me, hard and chuckles at my shriek.
“Only a wicked, wee lass comes like this, thrown over a log, your snug cunt squeezing down on me.”
His voice is sin and darkness and every word pushes me into another orgasm, white hot, deep red, back and forth until something explodes in me, melting me and I dimly hear him groan, flooding me, our come dripping out and he pushes it back inside with his finger, pushing alongside his cock and the new stretch makes me tighten up.
“Next time,” he chuckles breathlessly, “next time I’m gonna be in your arse and my fingers inside your cunt. And you’re gonna love every second of it.”
All I hear is ‘next time’ and I smile stupidly.
He’s not leaving. There’s a next time.
When we can both breathe again without gasping, he gently pulls out of me, pulling my knickers and my pants up, pressing his hand against my center. “I can still feel ye. Warm, and wet. I want all that come to soak your jeans.”
“You’re a filthy talker, Lucas Stewart,” I murmur drowsily, “I find it very attractive.”
His chest jolts against me as he laughs, and after zipping up his pants, he sweeps me up with one arm under my knees. My heart seizes. Oh, my god that was amazing. Picking me up with one arm and grabbing his suit jacket with the other? How strong is this man?
“Wrap your arms around me, Cat.”
As he walks slowly back to the cottage, I rest my head against his chest. “So, I’m guessing you’d like to date me?”
Smothering a chuckle against my neck, he gives me a bit of a bite. “I’m gonna date ye so hard, then marry the feck out of ye.”
“Bold, aren’t ye?” Oh, sweet lord my heart is glowing.
The back door is still open and the warm light from the kitchen is shining out into the little terrace. He finally sets me down on the granite countertop in the kitchen, hands on either side of me, forcing me to look at him. “I was always gonna come back for ye, Cat. When I’d served my four years.”
“What if I’d gotten married?” I’m lying. There hasn’t been anyone for me since he left.
“I knew ye were waiting for me, just like I was waiting for ye.”
Kissing his lips, his jaw, his forehead, I breathe back a sob. “There could not be anyone else for me. I knew it.”
“I’m gonna tidy ye up.” He ignores my sudden blush, “Then, I’m gonna take ye home and announce my intention to court ye to your parents.”
“This is probably the best time to do this, because my Da’s just soft enough right now to not shoot ye.”
We dinnae move right away, his arms around me, my legs wrapped around his waist, basking in the pool of light from the kitchen pendant.
***
Having a stramash - Scottish slang for starting a fight.
Bessie - Scottish slang for a bad-tempered woman.