Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
STRUAN
Never when I woke up this morning did I picture my day turning out like this.
Me, flat on my stomach between Ainsley Reid’s thighs, two fingers buried inside her while my tongue works her clit like it’s the only thing I was put on this earth to do.
She’s so hot and tight around me, and Christ, she tastes unreal—salt and sweetness and something uniquely her that I already know I’ll be thinking about for weeks.
I’ve imagined this. God, have I imagined it—hand wrapped round my cock in the shower, or lying in bed after a restless night, picturing her legs thrown over my shoulders, her breathy moans.
But the reality? No dirty daydream I’ve ever had comes close to having her here, writhing beneath me, her thighs trembling against my ears, every sound she makes wrecking me from the inside out.
My cock is so hard it’s almost painful. Every pulse of her pleasure has me grinding down into the mattress, and I don’t care how pathetic that probably looks. Not when she’s making those sounds.
“Struan—” Her voice breaks. “I’m going to—”
“Aye. Come for me, Ainsley. Let me feel it.”
I curl my fingers up, finding that perfect spot inside her, and her body clamps down around me in hard, frantic waves.
She lets out this wild, broken cry—pure need and pleasure—and it goes straight to my cock like a live wire.
Jesus, I’m leaking pre-cum into my boxers like it’s my first time with a woman.
If this is what it’s like making Ainsley Reid fall apart, I never want to stop.
She finally collapses back onto the bed, utterly spent. Flushed cheeks. Messy hair. Bare skin glowing. A beautiful disaster, and she’s in my bed.
For a second, I wonder if that’s it. If we’re done. Because she looks properly wrecked, and maybe I should be a gentleman about this. Lie here with her in my arms and count myself lucky.
But Christ, I’m greedy. All I can think about is having more of her.
Then Ainsley lifts her head just enough to find me between her legs. Her green eyes are hooded, dark with heat, and she crooks a finger at me—the universal sign for come here.
I crawl up the bed towards her, and before I can settle beside her, she’s pushing me—none too gently—onto my back.
“Let’s get these off, Mr Walker,” she murmurs, fingers hooking into my waistband.
She makes quick work of my joggers, dragging them down over my hips with a determined wee tug. My boxers are all that’s left—straining, barely holding me back. When her palm skims over the bulge in them, I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. Bloody hell.
Then she pulls my boxers down too, and my cock springs free—eager, shameless, ready for whatever she wants to do with it.
She studies me for a moment, head tilted, and I’ve no idea what she’s thinking.
Then she smiles. And it hits me right in the gut.
“My turn now,” she says.
Three words. Just three wee words, and somehow they make me harder.
She wraps one small hand around my cock and pumps slowly—once, twice—her thumb swiping over the head to spread the pre-cum down the shaft. My hips jerk before I can stop them, and I let out a groan that sounds embarrassingly desperate even to my own ears.
Then she shifts lower . . . and takes me into her mouth.
Hot. Wet. Perfect.
Every rational thought leaves my body in a rush. Releasing me with a pop, she licks up one side, then down the other, then she swirls that devilish tongue right under the head before sinking down onto me again, slow enough to make my eyes roll back in my skull.
“Fuck . . . Ainsley . . .”
My hands clench uselessly at the sheets. Every muscle in my abdomen draws tight as a bowstring. She hums—a smug little sound that vibrates through every inch of me—and starts bobbing up and down in a rhythm that’s both torturous and brilliant.
Her hand works what she can’t fit in her mouth. When she looks up at me from under those lashes, it’s nearly game over. Then her other hand cups my balls with this careful, perfect pressure that makes my vision blur.
Christ. I’m not going to last.
Here’s the thing: I’m not usually the type to worry about stamina. I’ve had plenty of practice over the years, and I know how to pace myself, how to hold back, how to make sure the woman I’m with has a good time before I let go.
But with Ainsley? All that hard-won control is crumbling like wet sand.
Just when I think I’ll lose it far too soon, she pulls off and wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. A wicked smile curves those kiss-swollen lips.
“Condom?” she asks, sure of herself in a way that makes every nerve ending in my body stand at attention.
“Aye—in there.” I gesture towards the bedside table while trying not to combust entirely from anticipation.
She pulls open the drawer, finds one, and tears the packet open, her eyes fixed on mine. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but apparently everything Ainsley does is hot now.
She rolls the condom down my cock with fingers that linger just long enough to drive me mad. And then she climbs astride me—gorgeous hair spilling everywhere, tits heaving above me—and wraps her fingers around me, guiding me to her entrance.
The first slide is heaven.
Hot. Tight. Perfect.
I groan as she sinks down onto me, inch by inch, until our hips are flush and I’m buried so deep inside her I swear I can feel her heartbeat.
For a second, neither of us moves. The moment’s too big for anything but breathing each other in.
Then Ainsley leans forwards so we’re chest to chest, and she starts moving in slow circles that nearly end me.
She sets the rhythm. Takes what she wants at the pace she likes. All I can do is hold on to those lush hips for dear life while trying not to embarrass myself.
Her hair brushes across my cheek with every thrust forwards. When our eyes meet, it’s electric—all want and wonder and something else I’m not ready to name.
She rides me harder. Faster. Little gasps spilling from her lips. My hands grip tighter at her waist, and when I roll my hips up to meet hers, we both cry out together in a tangled mess of pleasure.
I’ve had good sex before. Course I have. But nothing’s ever hit like this. I don’t know what’s different about her, but whatever it is, I’m hooked.
It builds fast between us: fire licking low in my belly until there’s nothing left but white-hot need.
“Ainsley,” I groan—a warning maybe, or just a plea—but she only leans down so our foreheads touch, staring right into me as heat surges up my spine.
My balls tighten. That sharp, impossible pressure building—
“Ainsley—”
And then I’m gone.
Coming hard, hips jerking up into her as she clenches around me, pulling every last drop from me. She cries out too, her whole body tightening, trembling, her pussy spasming around me, milking me through it until we’re both shaking, breath punched out of us in broken, desperate gasps.
When at last it ebbs, she collapses against my chest, and we just lie there. Clinging to each other. Panting.
The house is quiet. The bed’s warm. And Ainsley’s soft and sated in my arms.
I could stay like this forever.
We’re a glorious tangle of limbs when Ainsley finally lifts her head from my chest. She squints at the clock on the wall, then lets out a groan.
“Shit, Struan. We’re going to miss our lunch booking.”
For a solid five seconds, I just stare at her in confusion.
Lunch? Right. Plans. That thing people do when they aren’t too busy losing every brain cell to the woman beside them.
Honestly, after what just happened, I barely remember my own name. I completely forgot we were supposed to be at the Glen Garve Resort approximately—I glance at the clock—five minutes ago.
“Ah.” I make an apologetic face. “We’ve already missed it. We’re due there right now, and it’s a bit of a drive. Plus, we’re completely naked.”
She rolls off me and I immediately miss her warmth. “I hope you’re planning to call and grovel,” she says, arching a brow, “and not just leave them hanging.”
“Aye, course. Maybe I should ask if we can reschedule for next week?”
She narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “Is this your way of locking in a second date?”
“Might be,” I say, all casual-like.
“Well, then.” A little smirk plays at her lips. “Yes to another date . . . but only if you go phone them now.” She nudges me with her foot under the covers like she’s shooing out an unruly dog, but there’s this secret delight in her eyes.
I grin wickedly as I swing my legs out of bed and stand, noticing how her gaze drops—very blatantly—to my cock. Soft now, aye, but she’s looking at it like she’s replaying exactly what we just did. A tiny, satisfied smile tugs at her mouth.
Christ, I could die happy right now.
“You think they’ll accept ‘Sorry, I was shagging the hot single mum next door’ as an excuse?” I ask, stretching my arms above my head.
She snorts then reaches over and slaps my bare arse. “Just hurry up and go!”
I’m halfway to the door when she adds, low and teasing, “And Struan? When you get back, if you fancy it, maybe we could go another round?”
I turn to look at her. She’s propped up on one elbow, the sheets pooled at her waist, hair a wild tangle, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had made flesh.
Jesus Christ.
If that isn’t motivation to sprint stark-bollock naked downstairs to grab my phone, I don’t know what is.