Chapter Forty-Six
Gretchen
After the thrilling and unbelievable operation a week ago, I've had a hard time coming down from that high.
Kirk and I have enjoyed mind-blowing sex in the meantime, but things do seem to have settled down.
I almost wish they wouldn't. What if our relationship was based solely on excitement and danger? But no, I don't believe that.
This morning, I wake up with a sexy Scot beside me, as usual.
Kirk is still asleep, so I close my eyes and reminisce about how drastically my life has transformed.
No more virtual assistant. I'm now the CEO of Kirk's stunt man business, which leaves him with more time to create insane stunts that will awe and terrify the populace.
The man himself stirs and rolls on top of me while still half asleep.
I nip his nose playfully. "Time to rise and shine, Mr. Balfour."
Kirk flips us both over so I'm now beneath him. "I love a good morning fuck."
"You're insatiable." My body's already responding to his hardening dick pressed against me. "And crude too. Not that I mind."
"Oh aye, ye love my filthy mouth," he growls against my neck, his stubble scratching deliciously on my sensitive skin. His Scottish brogue is often thicker in the morning, before he's fully awake. And he loves to spout Gaelic just as he's waking.
I thread my fingers through his silky hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "Absolutely I do love your dirty talk."
Kirk slides his calloused hands down my sides, making he shiver in the best way. "Let's get filthy together, gràidh."
The weight of his muscular body pins me to the mattress. It's still surreal sometimes---waking up with this man, in our swanky flat, with my life completely transformed. A few months ago, I was taking notes and scheduling meetings for people I never met in person.
Kirk pushes his hand between my folds to caress me intimately. Yes, we now always sleep naked---together. While he uses one finger to tweak my clit, I grow wet so quickly it's almost criminal.
"Oh God yes," I moan, wriggling my hips. "Devour me, Kirk. Eat up every last bit of my cream and---oh shit baby, whatever you're doing, please keep it up."
He's just about to thrust his dick between my folds when a loud fist bangs on the front door. He sits up and groans. "Mhac na galla. Who the bloody hell would knock on our door at this hour?"
I shrug. "Let's go find out."
While that fist pounds again, we hastily pull on some clothes and shuffle out to the front door.
My hot Scot swings it open. "What do ye want, Thane?"
The master distiller hands Kirk a bottle of whisky---Dùndubhan Masterpiece, naturally. "You are cordially invited to the Highlands Games which will begin at ten o'clock this morning. This will be the liveliest games we've ever hosted. Even Archie and Kenny plan to attend as contestants."
I perk up at this news and hurry to stand beside Kirk. "Highlands Games? You mean with all the caber tossing and hammer throwing?"
Thane breaks into a grin. "Aye, lass, and much more. Haggis hurling, the stone put, weight for height." He winks at Kirk. "Even the Clachneart."
Kirk's entire demeanor shifts at the mention of whatever the hell a "Clachneart" is. The stuntman's eyes light up like a kid who's just been told Christmas is coming twice this year.
"The Stone of Strength?" Kirk says, his brows lifting. "Ye know I haven't attempted that since I was twenty-three."
"And ye nearly broke yer back then," Thane reminds him with a snort. "But that was before ye became the indomitable Kirk Balfour, stuntman extraordinaire. I think ye might manage it now without crippling yourself."
"What exactly is this Stone of Strength?" I ask.
"It's a massive boulder," Kirk explains, growing more animated every second. "Ye have to lift it to waist height, then carry it as far as possible before dropping it. The stone at Dùndubhan weighs nearly three hundred pounds."
I blink at him. "And you tried to lift that thing...when you were twenty-three?"
"Tried and succeeded," Kirk corrects me, puffing out his chest. "Made it fifteen paces before my legs gave out. Broke my bloody ankle when I fell."
"Are you kidding me?" I blurt out, already picturing Kirk in a crumpled heap beneath a boulder. "And you want to do this again because...why?"
"I'm stronger now, that's why. And because Tam said I couldn't do it again without killing myself."
Of course. A challenge from his older brother. I should have known.
Thane laughs. "Tam's already registered for five events. He said something about showing his wee brothers how it's meant to be done."
Kirk squints at his brothers from afar, then squeezes my ass. "What do ye say, Gretchen? Fancy watching your man win the day at the Games? I know it'll make ye randy."
I squint my eyes like a cowboy in a western movie and huff. "I fancy watching my man not get crushed to death by an enormous boulder."
Kirk laughs again as he pulls me against his rock-hard body. "No one's been crushed to death in at least five years, mo ghaol."
"That is not reassuring." But I can already see there's no talking him out of this. The competitive fire has been lit, and nothing can extinguishing it now. But I hope he was joking about the crushed-to-death comment.
"We'll be there," Kirk tells Thane, taking the bottle of whisky. "Though I imagine we'll need this afterward, not before."
"Aye, best save it for celebrating your victories---or drowning your sorrows when Tam and Neil beat ye at every event." Thane winks at me. "Bring a camera, lass. The sight of these obstinate men in kilts throwing heavy objects is quite the spectacle."
Once Thane leaves, I face Kirk with a raised eyebrow. "So is this what happens when Balfour men get competitive? They risk life and limb to prove who's stronger?"
"It's tradition, gràidh. The Games have been part of Highland culture for centuries."
Kirk's lopsided smile makes me want to drag him into the nearest bush and screw his brains out.
"And the boulder lifting?" I ask. "Is that an ancient tradition too, or just a modern way to court spinal injury?"
Kirk gives me his patented cocky grin and crushes me his hard chest. Then he glides his hands down to cup my ass.
"The Clachneart has been a test of strength in the Highlands since before written records.
My great-grandfather could carry it twenty paces.
My grandfather, eighteen. My father, sixteen. Tam's record is seventeen."
Since I clearly cannot talk him out of this foolishness, I cave. "Okay, tell me about the other sports on display at the Highland Games."
"Well, there's tug o'war," he begins, "and also hammer throw, shot put, weight for height, hill race, haggis hurling, keg toss, sheaf toss, and maide-leisg.
That's when two men press their feet against each other while pulling on a stick.
Eventually, one lad will wind up getting lifted off the ground. "
"What?" I ask, with sheer confusion. "Why on earth would anyone do that?"
He shrugs. "To prove who's tougher."
Thane pats my arm. "Dinnae fash, Gretchen. No one has ever died from participating in the games."
"Uh-huh." I can't produce any real words. My bafflement is all-consuming.
As the whisky maker walks away, Kirk shuts the door. "Relax, lass. You'll enjoy the games, believe me."
"Sure, whatever."
He kisses my cheek, then leads me back to the bedroom so we can get dressed properly.
Kirk seems unusually cheerful, but I suspect that's because he's raring to go at the prospect of winning every event.
He assured me that will be the case. And yeah, believe him.
Having seen Kirk Balfour leap off a huge mountain and survive, despite equipment malfunctions, I will never again doubt him.
"This is Kirk Balfour's turn to triumph, lass." He kisses me hard and quick. "If anyone can trounce an entire crowd of Scots, it's the stunt man. Aye?"
"I will, naturally, root for you all the way." I wince. "But don't be surprised if I shriek in horror when you're doing hazardous things. I love you too much to be blasé about that."
"And I love ye all the more because of that." He kisses my forehead. "Now, are you ready?"
"Highlands Games, here I come."
Kirk escorts me out of the flat and the building.
He parked the Porsche along the curb, as he often does, which makes it easier for us to make a quick getaway.
I've grown quite fond of that sports car.
One of these days, I really need to ride Kirk like a bucking bull while straddling him in this Porsche.
He gazes at me with his brows crinkled. "Something wrong, lass?"
"No, nothing. Just daydreaming."
Kirk grins. "About sex, aye?"
"How did you know? Please don't tell me you're psychic. Not sure I could handle a crazy stunt man who's also clairvoyant."
"Oh, it isn't hard to tell when you're horny, Gretchen. Yer nipples tighten so much I can see it through your shirt."
Oh, damn. Was I that obvious? Kirk Balfour always gets me turned on with the slightest provocation.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.