Chapter Seventeen
Gretchen
Holy shit, he's going to do this crazy stunt.
My heart pounds hard enough to make my pulse thunder in my ears.
I can't breathe. Can't move a muscle. Can't tear my focus away from the man on the motorcycle who's probably about to get killed.
Please, please, please don't fall off the bike, you crazy incredible man.
"---seven, six, five---"
The countdown continues, even as I grow slightly faint.
And suddenly, it begins.
Kirk revs the engine one more time, then barrels across the dirt and grass until he's left the ground behind and is soaring across empty space, high above our heads.
It's no joke. The front tire launches from the edge and the rest of Kirk, bike and all, arcs right into the gaping emptiness above the river.
The crew and the assorted bystanders collectively shut up, the only sound now the roar of the engine.
Kirk Balfour and his bike have become a silhouette against the sky, as if he's decided the law of gravity is more of a polite suggestion than an actual rule.
For half a second, time stands still. The world seems like a painting now---a man, a bike, airborne over the churning waters of the River Ashray, as the cliffs drop off beneath him. I can't move or even exhale, and I'm pretty sure he's going to die.
Then, as if in slow motion, the back tire hits the far bank. The whole motorcycle shudders, and Kirk nearly slips off the bike. But somehow, he keeps his balance, careening away from the landing crater and straight up the far slope.
I swear the crowd exhales as one, while I nearly faint.
Somewhere at the edge of my vision, I notice Thane Buchanan is laughing so hard he almost drops his phone.
The lunatic on the bike pulls a sharp, show-off wheelie at the very top, then lets the bike idle down.
Both his legs are swinging wide as he slows to a stop.
And then---because this is Kirk Balfour, and he's even cockier in person than in the viral videos---he sets the kickstand, then stands up on the seat to spreads his arms like he's about to take flight.
And he bows in my direction.
My knees buckle. I drop into a crouch with my hands braced on the ground. Only now do I realize I didn't breathe from "five" until now.
I push up and onto my feet, shoving my way past the camera crew. Kirk almost falles off the bike, but he somehow keeps his balance.
And then I'm running, around a pile of lights and two very startled Scottish cameramen, to the battered ground where Kirk has just come to a stop.
My shoes squish in the sodden dirt. My hair has mostly fallen out of the bun I'd jammed it into this morning.
The wild man I adore rushes over to me, drags me into a hot clinch, and kisses me like the world is about to end.
I can't breathe, and I don't give a damn.
Don't care how I look either, or how crazy I must seem.
I needed to see and feel him, alive and in one piece, with my own eyes.
Finally, we peel our lips away from each other.
Kirk turns to the side, sliding one arm around me. He uses the other to wave at the adoring crowd.
Damn, I need him to do filthy things to me. Like, right now. Here on the grass.
The man who gave me palpitations a minute ago smiles down at me in the sweetest way and whispers to me, "What should we do now? Celebrate with everyone else? Or..."
I fist his shirt in my hands and hiss, "Hot sex now. That's an order. Red-hot, naughty as hell, mind-blowing sex that'll make me scream. Got it?"
"Aye, lass. Your meaning is as obvious as a supermoon on a clear night."
"Good." Whatever that means, I don't give a hoot. "Now let's get moving."
He strides along the muddy cliff, holding my hand, and skirts the edge where we both could fall into the churning waters.
But Kirk doesn't trip, not even a teeny bit, not even when the terrain grows quite steep.
We've just reached the bottom of the cliff where there's a sandy bank and the water burbles more than it rushes.
Kirk hops into the river and marches straight across it without missing a step.
"Where are ye going, Balfour?" a Scottish man's voice calls out. "You'll miss the celebration."
"Dinnae care," he shouts back. "Got other things on my mind, Buchanan."
"Aye, something beautiful and sexy."
Kirk grunts, though nobody but me can hear it.
Once we've reached the distillery, Kirk still doesn't speak.
He's like an erotic robot determined to pleasure his mistress no matter what.
If a tornado destroyed the whole forest, I doubt he'd slow down for even one second.
When we reach his car, he flings the passenger door open and drops me on the seat, then marches around to the other side.
He barely gets settled into the driver's seat before he revs the engine and drives us away.
We're going home, I presume. But I soon learn that's not his aim.
Kirk takes us down a bumpy gravel two-track that features a lake and ends where an old stone bridge arches across the water toward a tiny island that has a tiny derelict castle to match it. The bridge doesn't look like it could hold a car. It's too narrow.
The stuntman whisks me out of the Porsche, sweeping me up into his arms once again.
I glance at our surroundings. "Is this your castle, Kirk?"
"No."
He strides across the bridge at a brisk pace and doesn't slow down until we're inside the open area within the castle walls.
Then he sets me on my feet, stripping my clothes off swiftly, and gets rid of his own garments just as fast. We both stand here stark naked, but I'm still waiting for the mind-altering sex to start.
I lift my brows. "What now, sex god?"
Kirk's eyes go dark with hunger as he stalks toward me, his naked body as magnificent as the ancient stone castle. The chilly air raises goosebumps all over my skin, but I'm burning up on the inside, molten with need after witnessing his death-defying stunt.
"Now," he growls, closing the distance between us, "I'm going to make ye come so hard ye'll forget yer own name and where ye come from."
My breaths have become quick gasps as he grasps my hips with his calloused hands, lifting me effortlessly.
I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as he pins me against the cool stone wall.
The rough texture scrapes my back, but I couldn't care less.
All I can focus on is the stiff length of him pressing against me and warmth of his hardening dick.
The downy hairs of my folds have already grown slick and hot for him, and my cream dribbles down my thighs.
The aroma of my own cream wafts around us.
"Please," I whimper, threading my fingers through his hair. "Oh God, I need you buried deep inside me, so deep your dick will push against my walls."
"Ahh, mo leannan, patience." He licks his way up my neck and down again, trailing hot kisses along my collarbone, growling and grunting all the while. "I mean to taste ye first."
Before I can protest, his lips are on my breasts, his rough tongue circling each nipple until they're stiff and aching for more. I arch into him, desperate for more contact. The contrast between the cold stone at my back and his burning skin against my front is the most exquisite torture.
"Kirk," I cry out as his mouth travels lower, his hands gripping my thighs to spread them wider. "I can't---I need---"
"Tell me what ye need, lass."
"You. Inside me. Right now. I need it rough and wild and totally untamed."
His chuckle vibrates through my skin. "Not yet, lass. Not until I've had my fill." He drops to his knees, my mound now directly in front of his face. "Gonna devour ye like the mad Scotsman I am, and you'll beg me for more."
I start to speak, but then he latches his mouth to mine while his tongue delves between my folds, and he rasps his tongue over my clit without mercy.
I cry out, tangling my fingers in his hair.
He lust is relentless, and his stubble rasps my sensitive skin as he devours me like he's starving and only my cream can satiate him.
The wet sucking sound of bodies merging echoes off the castle.
I can't contain the sounds that escape from my throat---desperate noises I've never made before.
Our love making shifts into animalistic humping, grunting, and pounding.
I'm so damn wet that my juices dribble down my thighs and onto my knees while the man who has his dick inside me goes on pummeling me.
"Kirk---oh God---I can't---" My words dissolve into incoherent gasps as he slides two fingers inside my ass, curling them in that perfect spot while his tongue works magic on my clit. My legs tremble, and I'd collapse if he weren't holding me up with his other arm.
The stone wall rasps against my back, but the subtle pain only heightens the sensations. I'm suspended between discomfort and the most intense gratification I've ever experienced, trapped in the ecstasy of the best sex in history.
"Let go," he commands between licks. "Come for me, gràidh, come for me now."