Chapter 32
Isla
I was halfway to the connecting door when Alistair caught up to me, his grip gentle but firm on my wrist, spinning me around to face him.
He’d slung a towel around his waist but his chest was bare.
Water dripped from his hair onto his wide shoulders.
The scowl from our early days had returned, deepening the lines at his eyes.
“There’s nothing to talk about, I celebrated with you this morning about finally getting through to Cameron and you lied to my face. Do you know how stupid I feel?”
“I didn’t lie—”
“Then you what? Omitted? That’s the exact same thing.
I . . . I’ve already lived that life, Alistair.
Cloistered away. Letting some man decide what’s good for me.
Giving with one hand and betraying with the other.
And I let it happen over and over again because I thought it couldn’t get any better than that.
” I flung my arms wide, knowing I was being too loud.
Unable to stop it. “What’s worse is I genuinely thought you cared—”
“I do.” He swept forward. “Yes, I overstepped. But only because I wanted to take care of you. It’s not a lot of money—”
“To you. It’s not a lot of money to you.
” I cut him off. Through my tears, his face smudged like a sepia photo.
The bodice of the stupid dress I’d worn for him suddenly felt like a corset.
“I never asked you to take care of me. Didn’t you hear a word I said at your mum’s house?
I don’t want someone in my life who needs to fix everything.
I want someone who knows how important it is for me to make my own way, who helps me get there. ” I swiped at my cheeks.
“You might not agree with how I was handling Cameron,” I went on, “but the situation was mine to handle. If I hadn’t found out, would you have ever told me?
” He didn’t need to answer; I could see it in his eyes.
Hear it in the sharp intake of his breath.
“You took the opportunity from me to hold Cameron accountable, and you took the opportunity from Teddy for her dad to stand up and do the right thing.” Salt filled my mouth.
Seemed about right, because I’d let myself get in too deep, too quickly, and now I was drowning.
“Fuck, Isla.” His face crumpled. “I’m so sorry. You don’t even—”
It might have made me a coward, but I couldn’t bring myself to hear his apologies. I was coming undone, and . . . it was better this way. Better to end it now before I lost myself to him completely.
I was glad I was crying too much to see him clearly.
“I think we should just call this what it was. A fake arrangement that got muddled in the middle.” I didn’t even know what I was saying.
“I won’t hold you to the Cairn the slide of his calloused fingertips up my thighs, grabbing my hips to tug me closer.
God, he was already hard. Still hard? Pressing through his low-slung towel.
“Isla.” His teeth were at my neck. Scraping over my pulse.
Whimpering, my head fell back into his waiting palm. I was losing my mind. Had already lost it. Because I’d never heard my name spoken that way. Like a prayer at an altar.
My fingers had taken on a mind of their own, chasing beads of water across his chest. His skin was soft. Silk against my fingertips.
I told him so and he let out a guttural groan and returned to my mouth, kissing me over and over again. His hand roved higher, over the back of my dress. He cursed when he felt the clasp beneath the fabric.
“This is the day you decide to wear a bra?”
“I wore it for you.” My mind was addled, my tongue too loose.
He grunted, “You are so fucking sexy,” then kissed my jaw. The scrape of his stubble made me shiver. “From the moment I first saw you, I’ve been desperate to get beneath these little dresses.”
I tucked my knee tighter at his hip, rocking until we both groaned. “Isla.” He fisted the material. “Did you wear this for me, too?”
I nodded, my lips wet against his. “I wanted to look pretty for you.”
“Fuck.” He kissed me again quickly. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.” The words were so contrite. So earnest. That reason alone was why when he said, “Let me take this off,” I nodded. No room for insecurity beneath his heady stare.
His chest pressed against mine as he tugged the dress down in one smooth swoop, leaving damp patches on the bodice that now hung around my waist.
His lips trailed from my cheek, down my neck to my shoulder. He tugged at the bra strap with his teeth. “These fucking little straps. Did you plan on teasing me tonight, honey?”
“Yes,” I admitted, not at all embarrassed when he slipped my bra strap down next. It hung down my arm, the tips of his fingers so close to where I wanted.
Touch me, I wanted to scream. Unable to find the words.
“Yeah? What was the plan? Show me what I’ve been dreaming about for weeks, scream at me, then send me to bed with a dripping cock?” he grunted into my skin. “Hoping to hear me fucking my hand through the wall? Or were you going to let me touch you this time?”
I wasn’t capable of answering. I didn’t need to.
A second later his palm cupped my breast. Lifting, testing its weight in his palm.
My thighs tightened around his hips, and when he dragged his thumb over my tight nipple, they snapped like an elastic band.
“Fuck, Isla.” Our hips stuttered into a roll at the same time. “Those moans you make. Sexy as hell.”
Sick of his teasing, I tugged the other strap down my shoulder, untangling myself until my bra bunched around my belly button.
Alistair hissed through his teeth. Eyes darkening in the dim light as he took me in. He looked drunk. Awestruck. In one smooth move, he drew my nipple into his mouth. Flicked it with his tongue until I saw stars.
My cry was obscene. Flat out ridiculous. But there was no time to worry. No time to dwell over how I sounded, to wonder if he thought my belly was too soft or if he noticed the faint stretch marks on my breasts.
He was too busy worshipping them.
“Told you, fucking perfect,” he whispered before moving to the other breast.
I wanted to touch him too, was desperate to get my hands on his arse. The strong thighs that had been driving me to distraction all day.
This would be my only chance.
But he made all coherent thought impossible as he mapped my body like a man possessed.
He went back and forth between each breast. Kissing, licking, biting as though they both were deserving of equal attention.
It wasn’t enough. “More.” My hands tightened in his hair. “Please Alistair . . . I need more.”
“Fuck. It’s okay . . . I’ve got you.” He clasped me to his chest, flipping our positions until my head was cushioned on the soft arm of the sofa.
His hands on either side, supporting his weight while he pressed himself between my thighs.
Rubbing over me until my back arched. That his towel was still secure around his hips was a damn feat of engineering.
“So hard for you, can you feel it?” His head hung low, watching the place our bodies ground together. “All this shit about pretending and it’s like this cunt owns me, and I haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“Oh my god, Alistair,” I gasped, raising up to drag my tongue along his straining neck.
“Better?”
I shook my head, even though I could already feel that new heat in my lower stomach. A quivering in my thighs. “I need more.”
“So impatient.” His fingers squeezed my hip. “Are you wet for me, honey? Tell me, if I slid my hand between your legs, would I find you dripping?”
Bloody hell. Who the hell spoke like that?
The filthy words gave me a confidence I’d never imagined I’d have. “Find out for yourself.”
I grasped his wrist, moving it until his fingers grazed the top of my thigh.
He didn’t hesitate. Lifting his hips to make room, he delved between our bodies.
His entire palm cupped me possessively, then tugged my underwear to the side, fingers slipping over my clit. No instruction, no map necessary.
Catching it between two fingers, he plucked it roughly, groaning into my ear at the slickness he found there. “Fuck, Isla.”
I sighed, so relieved, tears pricked at my eyes.
I was going to come. With another person. No vibrator necessary.
Perhaps there was a god.
He pushed up on one arm, eyes tracking from the hand half buried beneath my skirt, up my bare chest to my face.
“Look at you. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.
” He stroked me over and over, along my slick slit, circling my clit then repeating the motion from the top.
My thighs trembled around his hips. Squeezing, dragging him into the movement until his cock bumped against the back of his hand.
“All this time I thought your blushing turned me on most . . . but you yelling at me, swear to god, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. ”
I tipped my head back on the armrest, electricity pulsing beneath my skin. I was going to come. I was going to— “God—”
“Nah, eyes on me, honey, and when you come you’re going to tell me exactly who’s getting you there. I need to hear it.”
The command was my undoing. The nickname. The begging. The sudden slide of two fingers inside me. I exploded with a wanton whimper. “Alistair . . . Alistair.” He kissed me hard, swallowing the sound like he wanted to keep it. Working me through wave after wave of my pleasure.
The ending felt like waking from a dream. My eyelids fluttered as everything but him turned soft and hazy. Our lips continued to tangle with one another’s, tongues sliding as his cock continued to press against my thigh.
“Yes,” he grunted. Everywhere I touched him his skin burned, his muscles locked tight. But then – he was pulling back, onto his knees, slowing this down with gentle caresses and soft pecks.
No! Everything in me protested. I didn’t want slow. I wanted him gasping. As satisfied as I was.
Once this ended . . . it was over. For good.
My hands were clumsy, far less skilled than his when I reached for him. Hit his abs before fumbling at his loosened towel. “I want you in my mouth. Please,” I begged.
“Fuck.” He started to draw his hips away. Wet hair standing on end, he looked absolutely wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, Isla, I just need you on a bed.”