8. Lyric
Lyric
W ho knew I’d be so good at shaving a man’s knob? Okay, it wasn’t his actual knob, just the area around it. But still. I’m borderline professional at that shit. If this bookstore thing doesn’t work out, at least I know I have a calling in manscaping.
Ian strolls beside me, his hand wrapped around mine, as we walk into the first store of our shopping spree. I don’t know how long he’ll be in my world, but he needs clothes to fit in while he’s here.
Which is a damn shame, if you ask me. I’d prefer him in that kilt at all times. But we tend to get stares and strange whispers when we pass people.
“Let’s try on some jeans,” I mutter, grabbing some that look about his size off the rack. “Oh, this is the same color as your tartan. It’ll feel like home. And this—oh, this!”
I race around the store, gathering clothes in my arms as he follows along like an eager puppy. It’s cute. Not at all what I thought he’d be like in real life, but I’m not complaining one bit.
Finally, with a sufficient amount of clothing, I turn and shove it all at him. “Let’s try this on,” I tell him. He nods enthusiastically, but gives the clothes a skeptical look.
We go into the dressing room, and I take my place on the bench against the back wall. He drops his kilt, and I’m reminded there’s nothing underneath.
“Wait!” I leap up and rush from the room, grabbing a pack of briefs from the rack. When I get back to the dressing room, he’s standing there naked, his junk on full display. “Put these on.”
I toss him the undies, and he scrunches his nose before sliding a pair up his thick legs. They hug his privates and ass beautifully, and I plop back onto the bench.
“Give me a fashion show.” I wave at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to start trying on clothes. Watching him get dressed and undressed is the worst kind of torture.
All those muscles flexing and shifting with his movements, his penis and testicles swinging between his legs. My mouth waters, and the desperate need to rip those undies off him and suck his soul right out fills me.
I need him.
“What would it take to get you to fuck me?” I ask, and he pauses with his new jeans halfway down his legs.
“What?” He turns to look at me, and I shrug.
“I want you inside me.” Reaching down, I cup my mound over my leggings. “I want that big stick in my moist little hole.”
His face flushes, and his eyes darken. “Do ye now, lass?”
I nod as I grind against my palm, my heart lurching into my throat as he lets the jeans fall to the floor. His pipe strains against the underwear—I swear I can almost taste his musky flavor as I watch him mimic my movements and grip himself.
“What do I have to do?” I ask again, a desperate whine entering my voice. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Marry me.”
I go completely rigid.
“Marry…you?” Is that even legal? Can I marry a fictional character? A man who doesn’t exist?
But he does exist. He’s right here.
And if it’s not legal, then no harm can really be done, right? It’s just a few silly words and us signing on the dotted line.
“That’s all?” I ask, and he nods.
“I’ll only sleep with my wife.”
His wife.
There’s something so incredibly hot about that.
“Okay,” I breathe, widening my legs. My weeping sex cave is desperate for some stretching.
Groaning, I drop my head back against the wall.
How the fuck do I marry this man immediately?
"Well, it’s Saturday, and City Hall is closed. So, we’ll have to wait until Monday,” I tell him begrudgingly. I don’t want to wait. I want to fuck him—I mean, marry him now.
“That’s alright,” he says happily, clutching the bags in both hands. I might have overdone it a bit at the shops, but he needs options.
“Let’s drop the clothes off at home, then we’ll grab dinner.” I say the words casually, but as soon as realization dawns, warmth settles in my chest.
Home.
Everything feels so normal, so natural, with him. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. He’s my sun and my moon. My beginning and my end.
I tip my head back to stare up at him, watching as he takes in all the new sights around him. Instead of freaking out, like I know I would be doing if I’d traveled through the book to his time, he’s calm. He’s…happy.
He’s happy to be here. He doesn’t look out of place or uncomfortable.
And then he looks at me. His emerald orbs melt, and the softest, sweetest smile graces his face.
This is what falling in love feels like.
The clouds part, and angels sing as sunlight beams down at us, bathing us in warm golden rays. I can barely breathe, the intensity of this moment almost too much.
We’re lost in each other, totally oblivious to the outside world. It’s just us, suspended in this endless warmth of love and safety. Just a day ago, I thought I was going to be an old cat lady, destined to be alone forever.
But then he showed up in my bedroom, and?—
I trip over something, and my ankle rolls, giving out as I tumble to the unforgiving sidewalk. My hands fly out, and I catch myself, the rough cement scraping my palms.
Before I even have a second to realize I’ve just fallen, strong arms scoop me up and cradle me against a wide, warm chest. I nuzzle against him, breathing in his manly musk.
I stare down at my shaky hands, at the scrapes, and… “Blood,” I breathe, feeling my stomach roll. “ Blood .”
My vision goes spotty, and my head feels too heavy. I try to breathe through the nausea bubbling, but I can’t. I can’t think, can’t see, past the crimson staining my palms.
“Lass?”
My head lolls back, then everything goes black.
I can’t tell you how I got home or how I got naked. All I know is that the familiar scent of my house surrounds me and that my clothes are off my body. The cool air pricks at my skin, sending waves of goosebumps over me.
A warm hand lands on my forehead, and my eyes flutter open. Everything around me spins, making my nausea come back with a vengeance.
“You’re alright.” The rolling of Ian’s R’s settles something in my chest. They also get me all hot and bothered between my legs, but what’s new?
“What happened?” I croak. My arms tremble as I push myself up on my elbows. Why do I feel so weak?
“Ye fell and hurt yourself,” he says softly. “Ye fainted when ye saw the blood.”
That’s when I feel the stinging ache on my palms. “How did we get home?”
It all comes back to me like a tsunami now. The fleeting moment of love, the fall, the blood. My stomach gets queasy just thinking about it.
“I knew the way back.” He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal that he knew how to get home after being in this world for only a day. As if reading my mind, he smiles. “It doesn’t matter the century, lass. North, East, South, and West are all the same.”
My face flames as I drop my eyes to the bed, laughing softly. “Right.”
“Are ye okay?” His hand goes back to my forehead, as if testing for a fever.
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he drops his hand, anyway. My nipples pebble at the coolness of the air, and I press my legs together.
“Why am I naked?” I murmur. Red stains his cheeks as he glances away.
“If ye were fevered, I thought ye’d need to be naked,” he explains, and my brows lift.
“Does that help with fevers?” He shrugs, but a smile tugs at his lips.
“I might’ve wanted to see ye naked as well.”
I smile smugly as I recline back onto the bed, folding my arm under my head. “And? Like what you see?”
His gaze shifts back to me, heated as he lets his eyes travel down my body. They linger on my boobies, and my stomach does a wild somersault.
Instead of reaching for me, he shakes his head. “Stay here,” he says firmly as he stands. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
“You don’t know how to use electric stoves or?—”
“I’ll figure it out.” He waves at me to stay put, but doesn’t move toward the door. A soft sigh leaves him as he sits back on the bed, this time averting his gaze from my chesticles. “Ye really scared me, Lyric. I thought something—something terrible happened. I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I had to protect you—” He shakes his head again, his brows creasing as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I was scared when ye didn’t wake up. Thought I lost ye already.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I tease, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “Blood makes me queasy.” I don’t know why I’m so ashamed to admit that, like it’s some kind of shortcoming. “I’m sorry.”
His head whips toward me, his eyes wide. “Never apologize for that.” His voice is firm, his face like stone. “You’re perfect. Ye should never apologize for anything.”
Reaching out, he cups my face gently in his hand, and I lean into his warm touch. There’s only a moment of hesitation before he leans forward and presses his lips to my cheek.
“Rest,” he says softly. And I do.
I lay back again and watch as he makes his way from the room, giving me a final, long look before disappearing into the living room. I stare up at the ceiling, my wounded hands resting on my stomach.
Pots and pans clank together as Ian rustles around in the kitchen. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I listen to him mutter to himself, trying to figure out how to use the things this world has to offer.
Maybe marrying him won’t be so bad after all.