Chapter 34 #3
“I’m leaving, have a lovely night!” I call over my shoulder, attempting to smile. I keep walking toward the exit.
He catches up in three strides, his hand wrapping gently around my elbow. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I manage, my chin doing that awful pre-cry wobble. I bite my lip, but it’s trembling anyway.
“Why are you leaving without saying anything?”
“Because I don’t want to stand there smiling like an idiot while you and Maren—” my voice betrays me, cracking embarrassingly “—catch up on old times or whatever.”
His jaw tightens, that muscle pulsing in warning. “For Christ’s sake, Georgie. I danced with her once because I was trying to be a gentleman. Everyone was watching, including your brother. What was I supposed to do, tell her to piss off?”
Two servers stall as they pass, rubbernecking. He glares at them until they scuttle off.
“What am I doing here, Patrick?” My truth tumbles out.
“I’m Jake’s sister who does the boring computer stuff at your company.
I’m supposed to what, laugh along while Maren puts her hands all over you?
Act like it’s hilarious? That’s the deal, right?
We’re nothing official, so I don’t get to have feelings about it.
But it’s not fun for me. It’s confusing, and honestly, right now I’d rather just be alone than pretend everything’s fine. ”
I wish I was one of those women who could handle this gracefully. Who could watch the man they love with someone else and just smile mysteriously. But I’m not. I’m soft and easily wounded, and I know that probably makes me exhausting to be around, but it’s just... who I am.
I know this is really about me feeling desperately out of place tonight, drowning in a room full of important people.
And maybe the champagne—more than I usually have—is making everything feel bigger and more painful than it should.
Making me say things I’d normally keep locked inside where they belong.
“Lower your voice,” he says, strain making his accent thicker. “Half the bloody staff doesn’t need front-row seats to this conversation. My office. Now.” He doesn’t wait for an answer; he turns and takes me with him.
Staff scatter out of our way, suddenly fascinated by walls and their own feet. One young waiter pivots to face the wall rather than make eye contact.
He herds me into his office. The door slams shut, rattling the Highland landscapes on the wall.
He spins on me, kilt swinging with the violence of the movement. “What the hell was that? Making a scene in front of the staff?”
I clutch my purse against my stomach. “You’re the one who stormed after me.”
“You left in the middle of the ceilidh without a word. You were clearly upset.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Christ, Georgie.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Of course I noticed.”
He takes a step closer, frustration carved into his face. “What exactly did you expect me to do out there? Pretend Maren and I have never met? Cut her dead in front of half the bloody island? I’ve got history with her, aye, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget my manners.”
“No, of course not. I just… don’t know where I stand. You look so at home with her. Like you fit. And I’m just—” the fight drains out of me “—Jake’s awkward kid sister you’re being careful with.”
“Kid sister?” His voice drops. “If I thought of you as a child, Georgie, do you think I’d be losing my mind over you the way I am? Do you think I’d be bloody risking big things in my life?”
“You’re not losing your mind. You’re perfectly in control, as always.”
He laughs, short and humorless, then closes the gap until I can feel the heat where his chest meets his shirt. “You think this is control? Watching you all night in that dress and not touching you because your brother’s in the room? That isn’t control. That’s torture.”
My breath stutters. “You told me I look ‘nice.’”
He drags a hand through his hair, looking at me like I’ve lost the plot.
“I’ve been avoiding looking at you all night because if Jake saw my face, he’d know exactly what I was thinking.
You want to know why I didn’t ask you to dance?
Because the second I laid a hand on you, the whole bloody room would see.
Your brother would explode, and this thing between us would go up in flames before we’ve even figured out what it is. ”
“What is it?” My voice is small now.
“I don’t bloody know.” His chest heaves as he backs me against his desk. “All I know is when you’re upset, I want to fix it. Even when you’re being irrational.”
“I’m not being irrational—”
“You are about this.” He reaches up and cups my face. His thumbs catch tears I didn’t realize I’d let fall. “You’re being jealous for no reason.”
“Patrick—”
Before I can protest, before I can make a case for my feelings, his mouth is on mine.
His hands tangle in my hair, pushing me backward until the desk edge digs into my thighs. The kilt brushes my bare legs, wool rough and solid against my shaking skin.
My hands go everywhere, grabbing his shoulders, his chest, his brooch. I knock into his sporran and it swings wildly. My palm slides down and accidentally cups it.
Oh God. I just grabbed Patrick’s sporran. I’m an idiot. Luckily, he hasn’t caught on.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the desk. Papers go flying, a pen clatters to the floor, but he doesn’t stop kissing me. His hands push my dress up until it’s bunched around my waist.
I fumble with the front of his kilt, fingers catching on buckles and leather straps and what feels like seventeen layers of pleated wool. “This thing is—oh my god—so ridiculously heavy.”
His lips curve against mine. “Stop laughing and just get your hand under it.”
Challenge accepted. My fingers slip under the thick wool, finding hot skin, hard muscle, then oh. Oh. My fingers close around the hard length of his cock, and I break the kiss with a sharp gasp. “You’re not wearing…”
“Tradition,” he growls against my mouth. “Can’t go insulting Scotland.”
“The entire country?”
“The entire country.” His teeth catch my bottom lip. “But you’re the only one who gets to verify that particular fact.”
His hips jerk forward, his cock sliding through my grip.
Before I can respond, he spins me around and bends me over the desk. My dress is shoved up to my waist, panties tugged aside with zero patience from him. His other hand fists in my hair, so I’m pressed down against the desk, tits flat against the wood.
The first thrust is brutal. His hot, thick length drives into me in one hard push that has me crying out, my hands clawing against the desk.
“Christ,” he grits, hips grinding deep. “So fucking tight.”
The oak desk groans under us, its brass drawer handles rattling with every hard slam that rocks me forward, my nipples raw and sensitive against the polished grain, even through the silk. His fist tightens in my hair, keeping me exactly where he wants me as he takes me.
“You wanted me not to be gentle with you,” he growls against my ear. “This is what it fucking feels like.”
His thick muscular thighs push against the backs of my thighs with every brutal thrust, heavy wool swinging while his hips slam into me again and again. The sound is obscene — his primal grunts, my desperate moans, the wet, rhythmic slap of his thick cock driving into me.
His sporran knocks against the top of my back, which would be funny if I wasn’t so desperately, overwhelmingly turned on right now.
My cheek presses to the desk, breath fogging the polished surface as his pace goes ragged, his movements becoming more desperate.
Oh my god, this is so hot. Patrick in a traditional Highland kilt, pounding into me from behind, like he’s been out at sea for months, and has come home to his horny Herring girl.
It’s so deliciously filthy it makes me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at plaid again without getting wet.
“Oh fuuuuck.” His voice comes out ragged, breaking on the word. “Wait. I need to—” His chest heaves against my back, breath hot and uneven on my neck. “Need to see you.”
His hands grip my hips and he turns me. Papers crunch beneath me as I spin to face him.
“What’s wrong?” I gasp, suddenly worried I’ve done something weird or made an unfortunate noise.
“Nothing,” he says. “I just need to see your face.”
He lifts me onto the desk, settling between my legs. His hand comes up to cradle my face, thumb brushing slow across my cheek. The gentleness of it after everything else makes my breath hitch.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He winks.
This isn’t the wild desperation from moments ago. This is something else.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
“Georgie,” he breathes against my mouth as he pushes inside me again, this time slowly.
“Patrick,” I whisper, and his arms tighten around me as he begins to move in long, deep strokes that hit exactly the right spot.
Everything slows down. The frantic energy from before melts into something else as our bodies rock together in perfect rhythm.
He’s looking at me the way I’ve always wanted someone to look at me. Not just with desire but with something deeper. This feels like, as corny as it sounds, love making.
This is him showing me with his body what he can’t say with words. Claiming me with every slow thrust, rewriting every insecurity I’ve ever had.
How could I ever think he wanted anyone else? How could I doubt this when he’s looking at me like this?
I lean back on the desk, my back arching as my body clenches around him, and I come so hard I feel tears of joy.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans as he pulses inside me, filling me with his cum.
He stares at me, pupils dilated, chest heaving with each breath.
“You’re all sweaty now.” I giggle, touching his damp forehead with shaking fingers.
“What did you expect?” he says, chest still heaving. “I’ve just fucked you senseless in full Highland dress. This wool weighs a ton.”
He breathes out heavily. “This is the moment when your brother walks in and catches us.”
“Oh my god.” I laugh. “My worst nightmare. Luckily the door is locked.”
Patrick’s mouth curves against mine.
That’s when I hear it.
A crackling sound beneath me. Faint. Like static but wrong somehow. Too mechanical.
I freeze.
Patrick stills too.
The crackling comes again. Louder this time. Clearer.
I look down. My hand is splayed across the desk intercom.
The red light is on.
“Sir?” A tinny voice crackles through the speaker. “Your intercom is activated.”
My entire body goes cold. My eyes meet Patrick’s, and I watch the color drain from his face.
“Oh my god,” I whimper. “Did we just—”
Patrick’s hand shoots out, slamming the off button so hard the entire unit shifts.
“The entire hotel,” I breathe, my voice climbing toward hysteria. “The entire hotel just heard us.”