Chapter 22 #2
His eyes widen. “Wait, did you just say my name right?” He glances down at himself, then back at me. “Now? Out of all times, you pick now ?”
“I’ve been practising hard. La ch lan went to Lo ch Ness. When he saw the Lo ch Ness Monster, he said, ‘O ch aye the noo!’” I deliver the tongue twister like I’ve just nailed a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded.
Lachlan stares at me for a moment then lets out a full-bodied laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole face.
The hat wobbles dangerously but somehow stays put.
“Nobody actually says ‘Och aye the noo.’ That’s pure tourist nonsense.
But...” His grin softens. “Good pronunciation of ‘och.’ I’m impressed. ”
I reach out to straighten the crooked hat then trace the taut lines of his abs, his skin hot beneath my fingertips, muscles tightening in response. His breath hitches.
“Now that I’ve impressed you with my pronunciation,” I whisper, fingers drifting higher, through the dark hair on his chest, “how about I impress you with something else?”
I lift the hat with a flourish and settle it back on his head. Then I wrap one hand around the base of his cock, marvelling as he stiffens even more in my grip. My other hand cups his balls, giving them a slow, teasing squeeze.
“You’re all mine now, captain.”
Then I take him into my mouth, and the groan that rips from him—raw, desperate—sends heat pooling deep and urgent between my thighs.
Monday
“Do you have blonde hair?” I ask, peering over my board.
“Nope.”
I flip down all the yellow-headed cartoon faces, the plastic tiles clacking into place.
Finn and I are sprawled on his carpet, deep into a game of Guess Who?
while Lachlan freshens up after work. Funny how different things are now.
In the early days of looking after Finn, I’d make a quick exit the moment his father came home.
Now I stay for dinner each evening like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Finn doesn’t even comment on it anymore, just expects it.
And Gus, who usually parks himself at my feet during mealtimes, seems equally convinced I belong.
Finn taps his chin, staring at his board. “Hmm... do you wear glasses?”
“Yep.”
He flips down the characters without glasses, gives a little sigh, and drops his chin into his hands. Not exactly the picture of enthusiasm, which isn’t like him.
I push myself upright. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
“It’s Monday.” He lets out another sigh, this one worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, and rolls onto his back like life is just too heavy to bear. “That means chilli.”
“Oh yeah? Well, not tonight. Because guess who’s making dinner?”
Finn peers up at me, brow furrowed. “You?”
“Me. And I’m not making chilli. I’m making pizza.”
He blinks, then flips onto his stomach and scrambles up, his whole face lighting like I’ve just promised him a trip to Disney World. “Pizza? Homemade pizza?”
“Yep. Dough and everything. Want to help me make it?”
Finn squeals, and Gus lifts his head, ears pricked, gaze darting between us like he’s desperate not to be left out.
Footsteps creak on the landing and then Lachlan fills the doorway, hair damp from the shower, looking ridiculously good in a long-sleeved white T-shirt and dark sweatpants.
“Da!” Finn bounds over to him. “Blair says she’s making dinner! Is that okay?”
Lachlan strokes his beard like he’s giving it serious thought, even though he and I already agreed this. “Hmm. Breaking tradition, are we? I suppose...” His lips twitch. “I’ll allow it.”
Finn whoops, and Gus joins in with a couple of happy barks.
“Shall we get started?” I ask Finn.
“Yes!”
Wednesday
Lachlan’s bed rocks with a relentless rhythm as he drives into me from behind, his grip fierce on my waist, fingers biting into my skin.
Each thrust sparks through me, winding the tension tighter and tighter until I can barely keep it together.
A moan slips free before I can stop it. He feels so damn good, so deep like this.
“Shh,” he growls in my ear, slowing just enough to make me ache. “How many times do I have to remind you to be quiet?”
I glance back over my shoulder. “Sorry. I just can’t help it.” I tilt my hips in shameless invitation.
He rumbles low in his chest, then shifts. His hand presses between my shoulders, guiding me down until I’m braced on my elbows, ass tipped high. The new angle has him slamming deeper, and with every hard thrust I come apart.
The moan that tears out of me is louder this time, helpless as my climax crashes over me in waves. My body clenches around him, every nerve ending on fire.
“Blair!” he tries to scold, squeezing my ass, but the breathless way he says my name betrays him.
He picks up the pace, hips snapping harder until, with a broken groan, he comes hard inside me.
I feel every pulse of him, milking him for all he’s worth until we’re nothing but trembling limbs and ragged breathing.
Later, tangled in his sheets and held close against his chest, reality creeps back in. “I should go,” I murmur.
But when I shift to move, his arm tightens around me, possessive. “No. Stay with me tonight.”
“But Finn?—”
“I’m up before he is. You can slip back then.”
The warmth of his bed, the strength of his embrace... it’s too tempting to resist.
“Okay,” I whisper, sinking back into him.
Saturday
“Logan Fraser, get your sister’s foot out of your mouth this instant!” Douglas bellows across the chaos.
I’m at a table with him and Struan, watching the mayhem in the ball pit unfold. The familiar cocktail of warm plastic, sugary snacks, and overheated kids hangs in the air, underscored by a symphony of squeals and crashes.
Logan releases Rosie’s ankle with a guilty grin.
All four kids are deep in some elaborate shark game, with Logan taking his predator role very seriously.
Finn surfaces nearby, giggling as he “splashes” through the multicoloured balls.
Isla, meanwhile, perches on the edge, apparently the designated lifeguard—not that she’s doing much to stop the shark attacks.
“So, Blair,” Struan says, leaning closer to me. “Is our boy Lachlan still being his usual grumpy, moody self with you?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Um . . . no, actually. He’s been . . . fine lately.”
Douglas and Struan exchange a look.
“He has been in a good mood lately,” Struan agrees. “Almost like he’s finding some kind of release that’s putting him in a better state of mind.”
My cheeks flame as the implication hits home. Oh God. They know. They absolutely know what’s going on between us.
“What did I miss?” Lachlan asks, returning with a tray laden with juice boxes and cups of the barely drinkable coffee.
“Um...” I clear my throat, avoiding his eyes. “Well, I think the secret is out.”
Lachlan looks from Douglas to Struan, both smirking like they’ve uncovered the scoop of the century.
“Brilliant,” he sighs, setting down the tray.
Friday
My fingertips trace lazy patterns in the hair on Lachlan’s chest, his heartbeat racing hard beneath my hand. We’re a tangle of limbs on his bed, both of us still breathless from the night’s exertions.
“Well,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, “someone was particularly enthusiastic tonight.”
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “Aye? And what about the lass who was gripping the headboard like her life depended on it?” His fingers trail down my bare arm, teasing.
I’m about to reply when footsteps sound in the hallway. We freeze, listening. The soft pad of feet, moving closer to the bedroom door.
“Shit,” Lachlan whispers, lunging for his pyjama bottoms.
I dart for the bathroom, snatching my robe from the floor as I go and pulling the door shut behind me. It’s pitch black inside—I don’t dare risk the light.
The handle rattles. “Da?”
I go still, hardly daring to breathe, as Lachlan answers in that gentle, soothing tone he uses only with Finn. I can’t make out the words, but his low murmur fills the silence.
I edge back a step and bump the counter. Something wobbles, then topples—a shampoo bottle, maybe, hitting the tile floor with a dull thud. I wince, braced for Finn’s small voice: What was that noise, Da?
But there’s only Lachlan’s murmur, calm and reassuring.
A few long minutes tick by before the bathroom door cracks open.
“Blair?” Lachlan whispers. “The coast is clear. Bad dream, but he’s settled now.”
I exhale finally and slip back into the bedroom. “That was close.”
“Aye.” But his voice is strained now, the easy intimacy gone, replaced by tension.
I hesitate, then whisper, “Maybe I should head back to the granny flat tonight. Just in case he wakes again.”
He nods, though reluctance flickers across his features. “Probably for the best.”
The words hang heavy between us, a stark reminder of how quickly passion can turn complicated with a six-year-old down the hallway.