Chapter 14 #3
I’m furious at his father’s pressure on him, and I know for a fact that he doesn't want me here.
I also know that pleasing him matters to Leith, and I wonder how far he'll take it.
I wonder what it means to please his father.
What I want to tell him is that his father is a man who will never be fully pleased, so he might as well not even begin to try. I would know.
I frown when I text him again. Well I'm not sure how your perfect father could've done the perfect thing at the perfect time, with just the right amount of force, with being perfectly perfect. But I happen to like imperfect people myself.
He reads the text I sent him. And breaks out in a grin so beautiful it makes my heart melt. It's the type of smile that makes a girl disintegrate, her resolve evaporate. I hate that I melt like a pile of sugar in the rain, but all I want to do is make him smile at me like that again.
“Come here,” he says, drawing me over to him.
He cradles the back of my head with one of his strong, powerful hands.
His fingers flex, sending shivers of awareness down my spine.
His second hand comes to my waist, then slowly slides down until he cups my arse.
He squeezes me there, too, and heat pools at my core.
“Bloody hell,” he grates in my ear. “I don't know if you'll be the death of me or if you’ll teach me how to truly live. But I’m willing to find out.”
Captured between his hands, held in a spell only he can cast, I go up on my tiptoes and bring my mouth to his.
He’s a man who likes to command a situation, but I control every second of this kiss.
I wrap my hands around the back of his neck.
Bring him closer, and when his mouth parts open in surprise, I slide my tongue against his.
The touch of his tongue with mine makes him moan.
I love this, the feel of him in my hands, the way his body responds to mine, the way he doesn't even bother to fight the heat that flares between us.
He slides both hands down my sides, then up beneath my top, until his palms explore my naked skin. He quickly divests me of my top, and whips it against the wall as if it's in the way. Next, my bra.
When I’m standing in front of him bare-chested, he pulls his mouth off mine so he can bring his lips to my breasts.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls, before he captures my nipple between his teeth and sinks his teeth into the tender bud. My head flies back, my mouth parts, and he suckles the place he just abused. My knees wobble at the intensity of the feeling. I need him to stop, and yet I'll die if he does.
He thumbs my second nipple while he laves the first, until my legs feel like jelly and blood pounds between my legs, making my pussy throb with need.
With rough, impatient yanks and tears, he rips the rest of my clothes off and leaves them in a pile.
A fire crackles in the fireplace as he leads me to the couch.
“Fucking bedroom’s too far,” he growls. “I want you now.”
Does he really want me? Or does he just need to prove that he owns me? The doubts in my mind quickly come to a stuttering halt as his heated gaze meets mine.
“Strip me,” he orders, his eyes aflame as I lick my lips and nod. “I want to feel your hands on me.”
I want to see him, to kiss and adore and touch his naked flesh, to feel his muscled strength and beautiful body succumb to my touch. I love that he gives this to me.
My fingers fumble at his waist, as I unlatch his belt and tug it through his trouser loops. I hand it to him bashfully, and he gives me a teasing look as he coils it up and places it on the sofa.
I've never wanted to speak to someone so badly as I do him. There are so many things I would say to him. So many questions that I would ask. But it's tedious having to write to him, and things don't always come out the way that I mean them to.
I want to ask him what happened to his brother.
I want to know what he thinks about his future.
I want to ask him about his childhood, ask him what type of parents he has, ask him if he has any aspirations beyond this beautiful place.
I want to ask him his favorite food, his favorite color, and if he's ever been to the beach.
Does he want to marry? Does he want children? If so, how many, and what are their names? Does he dream when he sleeps, and daydream when he’s awake? What does he think of literature, socialism, and does he ever wonder what it’s like to walk upon the moon? Has he ever had a near-death experience?
And does he want to know… about mine?
But right now my only thought is stripping off his clothes, and feeling his skin against me.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt over an undershirt, a surprisingly sexy look.
He looks all rough and tumbled lumberjacky.
I bunch the fabric at his belly, and give it a quick tug to take it out of his trousers.
He opens his arms up in front of me to help me with the job, a surprisingly childlike gesture so rare from him it makes my heart thump madly.
I chuck my chin to the ceiling so he knows to lift his arms, and when he does, I drag the fabric up over his torso, over his head, and then over his arms until he’s bare-chested in front of me. I ball the shirt up and throw it into the corner with my clothes.
If the book I'm reading is any indication, the tattoos along his body all have meaning.
I'm not exactly sure what they are, but I know some have to do with initiation rites, clan loyalty, and the crimes that he's committed. If I could speak, I’d ask him about these, too. I run my index finger along the ink on his shoulder, a circular tribal tat that puts me in mind of the runes. I look up at him questioningly, wondering if he’ll understand what I want to ask.
He lifts my hand, and kisses the tips of my finger.
“You want to know what these mean,” he says, a statement, not a question. "Don't you?"
I nod. “This one’s the clan thistle. It’s part of our family’s heritage.” He frowns, looking at his arm until he locates another. “This means I was inducted as a Cowen Clan member at the age of fifteen.”
I wince, but if he notices, he doesn’t show it. Fifteen? Such a child. He was only a child.
And his eyes grow sad when he points to a small heart with a drop of blood at the very end. “And this is in honor of my brother. We all got this one after he died.”
I wrap my arms around his strong, muscular back, and tug him over to me. I kiss the heart tattoo.
“Go on, then, lass,” he says, nodding to his trousers. “Take ‘em off next.”
I reach for the button at his waist, and quickly unfasten them, shoving them down his narrow hips until they pool around his feet. He steps out of them, standing in front of me, the rigid length of his cock visible even through his boxers. His legs are strong, and powerfully muscular.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, as he kneels beside me. The sofa beneath me is soft and warm, as the flames in the fireplace continue to crackle and lick at the grates. A wind howls outside, but in here it’s toasty warm.
“Want a drink, lass?” he asks quietly, pushing to his feet.
I nod.
He brings back the whole bottle. I know that he needs this, some way of letting go and finding peace with whatever it is that plagues him.
He takes off the cap and takes a swig, then bends the bottle to my lips.
I eagerly gulp it down. He smiles approvingly, but doesn’t place the bottle down himself.
He jerks his chin at me, his voice a low, seductive growl. “On your back, my bonnie lass.”
I shiver in delight, curious what he’ll do to me. The man is an enigma, filled with so many questions with no answers.
I obey, lying back down against a bed of cushions, as his gaze roves over my body.
I feel as if we're on the cusp of something…
But I don't know what. I don't know if it's because of my past, what I've experienced, or the belief that I don't deserve anything beyond the present. No future, nothing to look forward to, so much has been taken from me, I’ve given up hope that good things are in my future.
But we have tonight. And I’ll enjoy tonight. It might be all we have.