Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mac
I don’t wait for her to strip, but help her with the job, tearing her clothes off so quickly they rip. They fall in a heap on the floor beside her, and she shivers with cold. So I wrap my arms around her to warm her, and in one fell swoop, pick her up in my arms, and take her to the bedroom.
I kick open the door and lay her, naked and trembling, on the bed.
“On your knees,” I order, delivering a sharp spank on her naked arse to hurry her along. She quickly moves to do what I tell her, a pink flush on her cheeks telling me she’s enjoying the fuck out of this.
I rip open a condom, unzip my trousers, and remove my hard, swollen cock. I glide the condom on, position myself behind her, and without preamble, slam my throbbing cock into her.
She arches her back and her head falls to the side as she moans and presses up against me. I slap her arse again, enjoying the feel of the sting on my palm, the bright red mark that blossoms against her skin. So fucking gorgeous.
“Mac,” she moans, as I thrust inside her. I take a minute to appreciate this, to feel the way she clenches around me and takes all of me, eager for more.
“Good girl,” I say, wrapping my fingers around her hair and yanking her head back. She moans and moves with me as I fuck her.
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” I say, groaning as the walls of her pussy milk my cock, and we ride together in harmony, chasing our bliss.
“You’re not,” she pants, “half bad,” another pant, “yourself.”
I chuckle and spank her again, my cock pulsing inside her when my hand connects with her arse.
“I’m gonna come,” she groans. “Oh, God, Mac.”
“Come, then, darlin’,” I say, leaning over her so her back’s flush against my torso, thrusting in perfect time as she loses herself to her climax. Her breath hitches and she moans, wiggling her pert little arse at me as I continue to fuck her.
We move together as one, enjoying every minute of this. I love the way her pussy clenches around me, but most of all I love the way she loves this. She's unabashed with taking her pleasure, right alongside me. And I fucking love that.
I could fucking love her, if I let myself.
Could I? Jesus. I fucking feel it, anyway. I don’t know how or why, but this feels like so much more than a ruse.
I fight it, because I don't want to be weak about any of this.
I need to stay firm on what my ultimate goal is.
But can't there be another way? I feel like letting this woman go back home is feeding her to the wolves.
I hate the idea of her arsehole father hurting her.
I don't even want her bodyguard near her.
I shut all of this out of my mind as our rhythm slows. I bend down and kiss her shoulder, so grateful for her. So grateful for this time together. No matter what we do, I need to make sure that I keep her here with me.
We clean up and dress in silence. She seems preoccupied, like there's something on her mind. I’m sure there is, given what’s happened in the past few days, but I have to ask her.
“Are you worried about something, Bryn?”
She shakes her head, but doesn't reply. I don't reckon she's telling me the full truth.
Of course she's worried about something.
Probably her bodyguard, her father, wondering whether or not her mother's alright.
She's got loads on her mind, especially now that I confirmed that she did see us in Inverness centre.
Especially now that she knows that I'm a member of the Cowen Clan.
Whether or not it's part of my ultimate scheme come out, or whether or not it's something else, I know that I need to make sure she feels safe.
“Right, then, so we come back here after you get your things in town.”
She thinks about this. “I’d like that,” she finally says. “Are you sure I’m not wearing out my welcome?”
“Of course not. Did you see how eager my sisters were to spend time with you?”
She nods with a tentative smile, then frowns a bit. “Your father most definitely was not, though, was he?”
“Don’t worry about my father. He’s getting old, and senile. He can’t hurt you.”
She doesn’t look like she believes me. Her own father’s significantly younger than mine, having gotten married young. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have aging parents.
“Nan’s a hoot, she really is,” she says.
“Och, aye. You haven’t seen bloody anything yet with that one.”
She laughs out loud.
We head into town, just the two of us, and the ride’s a quiet one. I reach for her hand, and she holds mine.
“Sure there isn’t something on your mind?” I ask, when we’ve driven full minutes without her saying a word.
“Not much,” she says. “Just mentally preparing to finish that dress. I can't believe it's actually for your sisters’ mate. I have to admit I feel a little pressure now, to make sure I get it right."
“I’ve seen your work, Bryn, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve seen your work and it’s excellent.”
She tips her head to the side, and gives me a curious look. "How have you seen my work?"
Jesus, I fucked up. She isn’t supposed to know I’ve been stalking her on social media.
“Saw it yesterday at lunch, did you forget?”
“Forget what?” She eyes me curiously, looking confused.
“That you were working in the shop when I brought you the shortbread. And I may not be a fucking seamstress myself, but I know good work when I see it.”
She smiles bashfully. “Thank you.” She opens her mouth as if to say something else, then closes it abruptly and looks out the window.
I need to change the subject.
It’s a windy day, though bright and sunny. We talk about her days in school when she was just a wee lass, and I tell her about mine.
“Got in loads of trouble,” I say, shaking my head. “Got high marks, but almost got expelled for the trouble I got in.”
She laughs. “Why does this not surprise me?"
She tells me about her younger brother, and hints at her father’s expectations for him. “For someone relatively young to be a father, my father’s incredibly barbaric and archaic in his beliefs.”
She doesn’t have to say that twice. I know it to be fact as well.
But the entire drive into town, she looks like she's holding back something.
Like she wants to say it but can't quite do it.
I think about actually trying to make her feel more confident about it, whatever it is.
Maybe she wants to admit something about her father, and that could come in handy.
But I don't want to push her, I don't want her feeling uncomfortable about anything.
My whole goal is to allow her to trust me, so I can do what I must.
She gets a few messages on her mobile, and she answers them quietly. Then we finally pull up to her store, and she smiles.
“You sure it makes sense for me to take everything with me, then?”
“Aye, lass, of course.”
“It might be a lot, though…”
I give her a teasing swat as we enter the shop. “I said it’s fine.”
“Thanks, Mac,” she says, as she walks to the back of the shop. She trembles a little, and she’s gone quite still.
“I feel like… there’s something I need to tell you.” Her brow furrows, as if she’s worried about something.
“Aye? Anything.”
Is she afraid to talk to me? The wee bonnie lass.
“This is… hard to say,” she whispers. “I just…” She looks around the shop, and bites her lip. Maybe she wants to tell me something but is afraid of being overheard. Is she looking for a bug somewhere? My eyes follow hers around the shop, looking for clues that someone's listening.
“Come to the back room,” she says quietly.
I nod and follow her. She’s only a few paces ahead of me, but suddenly, she lets out an ear-piercing scream that makes my heart nearly burst. The sight I see makes me nearly lose my fucking mind.
Her bodyguard’s got her in a viselike grip, his hand squeezing her arm so tightly, I can already see marks.
I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.
I don’t care if he’s Aitkens stock. I don’t care that killing him could set off a war between our families.
He touched my girl.
“Let her fucking go!”
He turns to me, throws her to the ground, and ducks my blow. He attacks, clearly trained and ready to take me down, but he isn’t fueled by my feelings toward her.
He’s angry.
I’m ready to kill.
“Mac!” Bryn screams when he hits me straight in the gut.
I quickly recover from the blow. I deflected most of it, only winded for seconds before I shove him bodily into the wall.
Shelves fall and glass crashes to the floor.
She screams again when he punches my jaw, but it’s a weak, fruitless punch. This arsehole’s mine.
I shove him into the wall, his back slamming with the force of a gavel as I knock the wind out of him, again and again. Boom. Boom. Boom.
He groans, weakening, as I spin him around and throw him to the floor. He tries to come up swinging, but I easily deflect, swivel, and throw a punch that knocks him back to the floor. In seconds, I’ve got him pinned beneath my knee, my hands around his throat.
I see red, unable to stop my fists from flying. Bryn’s screaming but I don’t bloody care, I can’t fucking stop myself if I tried. It’s satisfying to feel his face snap beneath my fist, his blood staining my knuckles.
I grab him by the shirt, fisting the fabric.
“You don’t ever fucking touch her again. I don’t care who you bloody are, you ever threaten her, touch her, or do anything other than protect her again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” I give him a vicious shake. “Do you understand me?”
He turns his head and spits out blood, groaning. “Khristos. Let me up.”
I shake him again, and his head smashes on the floor. “I said, do you understand me?”
“I do,” he groans. I get up off him and pull him to standing. I shake him by the front of his shirt.
“Now tell her you’re sorry.”
He glares at me, and I shake him again. “I said tell her you’re fuckin’ sorry, or we do this all over again.”
He hangs his head, the picture of insolence, as he mutters, “I’m sorry.”