Chapter Forty-Four
In which there is celebration, drinking, MacTavishes, and bonfires. Of course, there is.
Scarlett…
“It’s about damn time ye came home.”
Michael grabs Wallace in a manly, back-slapping hug and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. “Dinnae tell me ye weren’t slowly suffocating every day in your Ralph Lauren suits and having to talk to investors.”
“Ye might want to remember that when you step into the role of Chieftain, ye will be doing a lot of that,” Wallace smiles maliciously. “And paperwork.”
Michael takes a long pull from his bottle of ale. “Dinnae ye remind me,” he grumbles, stomping off to talk to his sister.
“Have ye spoken with The Lady Elspeth yet?” Kenna nudges me.
“Wallace threw himself on the sword and tried to negotiate with her about the wedding plans…” I hesitate. This is her grandmother.
“Aye, it’s like negotiating with a terrorist,” she nods.
“The last wedding held at the MacTavish estate was small, quite modest. I think I saw her soul curl up and die, floating away in ashes. She’s gonna turn your celebration into something grander and even more complicated than Princess Kate and Prince William’s Royal Wedding. ”
“Oh, my god,” I moan quietly.
“Girl, you are so screwed,” Morgan chuckles unhelpfully.
Wallace brought us to a clearing that’s a short walk from our house, and demanded everyone turn off their flashlights.
Nearly every MacTavish cousin is here, drawn by the promise of a celebration.
The ground is wet, of course, because this is Scotland and the maples and oaks are stubbornly holding on to their last leaves before the wind takes them away for good.
It’s a sickle moon tonight, so it’s so dark that I can barely see a few feet in front of me.
“Will ye tell us what we’re doing here, ye mysterious bastard!” Kai calls.
“Tonight is All Hallows Eve” Wallace says, his voice even deeper than usual. “Scottish lore has it that we send the bairns out guising, dressed in costumes to hide them from the Kelpies, the Aos Si.
“But the most ancient of the traditions is fire, used to ward off evil spirits and a spell of protection for the frozen nights ahead.” He snaps his fingers, and a fire explodes in the center of the clearing with a roar that sounds like some unholy beast, the flames reaching high above our heads and illuminating the towering trees around us.
A huge cheer goes up around the circle, some of the men take huge mouthfuls of alcohol and spray it into the blaze, creating blue streaks of flame that shoot into the inferno.
Wallace turns on our portable speaker, and the blare of bagpipes and the frenzied beat of the fiddles makes everyone dance, circling around the bonfire.
It’s pagan. It’s wild. I feel it in my blood. I finish my wine and I dance too, swirling and spinning to find my husband right in front of me.
“This is amazing!” I shout, kissing him fiercely. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re the beautiful one,” he growls, lifting me and squeezing my ass roughly. All the MacTavish men wore their kilts tonight and he looks fierce and rough, like an ancient Scottish laird here to fight, burn, and pillage.
We dance more. Drink more. Any time it looks like there is the slightest possibility of the fire getting smaller, someone throws on another log, or twenty. The blaze illuminates the faces of the people I’m coming to love, encircling us all in a comforting light.
The scent of spilled whisky is ripe and strong, and the wind swirls it through the smell of the pines and wood smoke.
When everyone is boisterously singing along with an old Scottish tune, Wallace grabs my hand and pulls me away into the trees. When I stumble, he lifts me up with an arm around my waist and plunges deeper into the pines.
“Ye asked me once if ye could see me in a kilt,” he rumbles, lifting me up on a fallen tree so we’re eye to eye. His eyes are glowing, like the flame inside him has been let loose and it’s dancing too. “Would ye like to see what a Scotsman wears under one?”
It’s an old joke, I know, but the way Wallace says it makes it sound filthy, dark with intent.
My legs wrap around his waist and I can feel him, hard and throbbing. “I see you’re ready to show me,” I grin, rubbing against him.
“Aye, it’s a miracle that my stonner’s not lifting my kilt up.” He grabs the back of my hair, pulling it and tilting my head up. He doesn’t kiss me, he bites me where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s hard, I can feel how deep his teeth went into my skin and I groan.
“Husband. Do it again.”
He does, and this time I have to swallow a shriek before it can escape me.
There’s no kissing, just biting and hair pulling and sucking at the marks he’s left on my skin.
One of his hands shoves under my sweater, yanking my bra down and greedily squeezes my breast, slipping my nipple between two of his fingers and tugging on it as his hand tightens around my sensitive skin.
It’s rough, unapologetic and I barely feel the cold bark of the tree. Pulling back, he groans as I’m panting, our breath steaming in the chilly air. With a flash of his white teeth, he lifts me by the waist and puts me face down on the trunk, my feet dangling.
“I’m gonna fuck ye like I’d just caught ye wandering through my private forest,” he hisses, biting my earlobe. “A helpless lass and so bonnie and sweet. I’ll defile ye. Fuck ye and send ye away with my come dripping down your leg.”
My jeans are yanked down from my ass to mid-thigh, keeping me from spreading my legs and he growls, biting my ass, each cheek as I stiffen and moan against his mouth. He pulls my cheeks open crudely and chuckles.
“You’re already wet, lass. Such a bad little thing.”
My clitoris is painfully swollen from his filthy words and I rub it against the rough bark, protected only by my thin undies until he pulls them down too, running his tongue through my center, sucking, driving his tongue inside of me as I bite down on the sleeve of my sweater.
I can still hear the shouts and laughter over the music, we’re not that far away.
Knowing that my husband couldn’t wait to go further away to have me only makes me wetter, and I can feel him grin against my pussy. “Best be quiet, ye wicked lass. Ye dinnae want them to hear.”
I don’t. I really don’t and I bite down harder on my sweater as I hear the rustle of cloth and know he’s freeing his cock. His thumb rubs against my back entrance, making me tense up.
“Someday soon, I’m taking this hole, too.
But for now, keep those legs tight, make me fight to get inside ye.
” His cock’s notched in my pussy and I instinctively push back against him until he drives into me, making me stifle a scream.
My legs tighten and I hear him groan. “Like that, lass. Just like that, squeezing me tight.”
Everything melts away. The fire. The forest, our family. Everything is gone but Wallace and me and the space between my legs that he is conquering.
It hurts. I thought I’d gotten used to the size of Wallace’s cock but here, it feels like a spike driven inside me, the pain surging over the pleasure and he pauses for a moment.
“The pain will go away, Little Cinder, but the pleasure stays.” He pushes higher inside me, pulling out slowly to thrust into me again.
I jolt against the fallen tree, moving like a rag doll against the force of his shaft driving into me.
He whispers in my ear, how sweet and tight I am, that he can feel every inch of me pushed aside to make room for his cock.
That I’m his, that I’d better come soon before he does, because his pleasure comes first.
How can those words make me hotter? He slips his hand between us, protecting my bare pussy from the wood, grinding his heel down on my clitoris and ah, god…
I can feel it, the burn of his thrusts inside me sparking something unstoppable, a blaze that twirls up and down my spine, it makes my toes point and my legs ache and when it all crashes together in my pussy, I scream, feeling Wallace slap his hand over my mouth.
He’s still grinding his other hand against my center as his thrusts grow sharper, pounding into me greedily with no finesse until he floods me with heat, pushing in hard to get every drop inside me.
Wallace slumps over me, both of us panting. I barely feel the chill in the night air with his blast furnace of a body covering me.
Reaching back, I pull his head down, kissing his deliciously full mouth until I realize he’s getting hard again. “Are you thinking of doing more debauched things to me?”
“Aye, even more depraved than this,” he says, pulling out of me carefully, his long fingers tracing the streaks of come on my thighs. “But back in our bed.” Lifting me off the tree, he kneels to pull my undies and jeans back up, trying to tidy me.
“They’re all going to know, aren’t they?” I groan, trying to pull my hair into some kind of order.
“Ye do look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge,” he agrees. “But knowing my cousins, I doubt you’ll be the only one.”
We spend the rest of All Hallow’s Eve dancing and drinking with the cousins while Wallace and Logan battle to top each other’s insults.
“It’s been a grand night, ye dug-licking pish of a nettle!” Logan shouts as he and Arabella head for their car.
“Always a pleasure, ye bawbag-eyed fuck bumper!” Wallace cordially waves back.
The red glow of everyone’s tail lights fades as they round the corner of the road, heading back to Edinburgh and Glasgow.
Morgan eyes us both and says, “I’ll be heading up to bed now.
With my noise-cancelling headphones on. And a pillow over my head.
So goodnight and for fuck’s sake, be quiet, would you? ”
“Goodnight!” I smile weakly. “I didn’t know we were that loud,” I whisper to Wallace.
“Why do ye think I put my hand over your mouth?” he grins wickedly. “The construction foreman on Morgan’s new spellshop says they’ll be finished by next week. I’m thinking the flat over the shop will be a wee bit more fantoosh than her old one in Salem.”
“You think?” I laugh as he pulls me toward the house. “It’s a three-story townhouse!”
“Come to bed with me, wife,” Wallace grins wickedly. “There’s a blaze already lit in the fireplace.”
Of course, there is.