Chapter 17 He Wants Me Watched #2
Gentle knocking sounds on the door.
Lorna is probably worried about me. I’ve been in here a while.
“Come in.”
Lachlan enters the room, looking impeccable as always in a charcoal suit and white dress shirt. The top buttons are undone. His thick, wavy hair is swept back from his face, sexy in that perfectly controlled kind of mess. His bright eyes sweep over me with concern.
“I’m fine. I’ll make it to dinner on time. I know how to get ready quickly. I’m practiced at it.”
“Your hair.” He takes a brush from the counter and gently pulls it through the strands.
I gape for two reasons. He’s brushing my long hair, and he knows how to do it. “Where did you learn to do this?” Does he have a sister I don’t know about?
Please don’t say an ex-girlfriend.
“My mother was sick before she died.” His tone is even and quiet, his focus on my hair and the task.
“She kept her hair long, and sometimes I’d brush it for her.
She liked it. She said the disease and life took so much from her that she refused to let it have her hair too, even if it was more convenient to cut it off. ”
Holy hell. My brain scrambles with different thoughts. He loved his mom. They were close. He brushed her freaking hair while she was sick! She was a fighter obviously, and he lost her to a disease.
“What did she have? If you don’t mind me asking?” I add so he doesn’t think I’m prying. I can’t believe he’s telling me something so personal.
“MS.”
I don’t know much about the disease other than it affects the nerves and can cause muscles spasms and difficulty with speech and walking. A famous celebrity has it. That’s the only reason I know anything at all.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“She loved books. They were all she had in the end.” He keeps brushing my hair, the gentle rhythm lulling.
My eyes close, and I exhale a breath I might have been holding since my conversation with my sister.
“The disease didn’t kill her. She did.”
My eyes pop open. I stare at him in the reflection of the mirror. With the brush, he points at the window near the tub. “Out there on the cliff where you were. She jumped.”
Holy fuck. My eyes sting from not blinking. My mouth hangs open and my stomach coils. “She…?” I can’t say it.
“Killed herself? Yes.” The lack of emotion in his tone alarms me.
I stand and face him. “Why are you telling me this?”
He sets the brush on the counter and stares down at me.
“The sight of you on the cliff…” Emotions spark in his eyes but are gone with a blink.
His cheeks hollow as he maintains his composure.
Eyes narrowed, he inches closer until I’m backed against the counter and he’s towering over me.
“What do I need to do to keep you from testing me like that again?”
I grip the counter to stop myself from falling back onto the cold marble. “I wasn’t testing you.”
“But you did test me. In the worst way possible.”
“I was upset. I’m not suicidal. I swear.” My chest heaves with my heavy breathing and my robe parts.
He glances at my cleavage, right under his nose with the way my back is arched. “I could have you evaluated?” He slides a finger down my cheek, his scotch breath fanning my nose.
“You can’t trust doctors. Besides, you could pay one to diagnose me however you please.”
He slides that finger down my neck. “Would you prefer I tie you up until I know I can trust you?”
“No. I’m already a prisoner.” My voice is a whisper, and my body trembles with fear and heat, as much as I want to deny it.
“Prisoners don’t get free rein of the castle and the land.” He takes my hips and sets me on the counter, wedging between my legs. “A prisoner like you should be tied to my bed. I bet I could fuck you into submission.”
“You’d bet wrong.” I lift my chin, fighting against my hate and my lust for him. His lips are so close.
He yanks me against his hard cock. “There’s really only one way to know.” He sweeps my damp hair behind my back and kisses my neck.
“Don’t,” I murmur weakly.
“Don’t kiss you?” he whispers across my lips, tempting me in the worst way.
“Yes.”
“I think you want me to.” His mouth tips with a tiny smirk at the corner. “I think you’re wet for me. You want my cock inside you, fucking you until you pass out from multiple orgasms while you scream my name so loudly, they’ll hear you at the fucking distillery.”
“I don’t want that,” I say, even as my core floods.
“No?” He quirks a brow, his hands still on my waist as he looks down. “Then why are you writhing against my dick?”
I stare down at myself. My robe has parted, and my bare, hairless crotch is soaking the front of his pants. My weight is on my hands, my chest thrust forward as I was, indeed, grinding against him.
I suck in a disgraced breath and reach up to close my robe.
Lachlan catches my wrist and pins my hand to the counter. He does the same with my other hand, securing it down too. “Don’t stop now. I was enjoying watching you get off.”
“I wasn’t getting off,” I snap.
“You forget, I like when you play coy. It turns me on.” His accent grows thick again. “What should we do before we’re expected to dinner? Shall I eat your delicious cunt? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
My body heats more. “The second you let go of my hands, I’m going to escape,” I warn him.
“The fact that you aren’t trying to escape now says otherwise.”
Why am I not trying? Because I like this too? I pull at my wrists where he has them secured. “This isn’t working in your favor.”
“You’re right this isn’t working.” He pulls me to my feet and spins me around so I’m facing the mirror. My robe slips down my shoulder on one side, revealing my right breast.
“Look at your nipple hard for me.” He secures my hands behind my back and holds them in one hand.
He bends to my ear, his breath heating the shell.
“Your mouth says one thing, but your body says something entirely different. Look at you with your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. Those golden eyes want more. This golden skin wants more.” I shiver when he runs his hand across my collarbone and down to my generous breast. He brushes a finger over my beaded nipple. “This wants more.”
My lips grow tingly and numb with my racing breath. He knows exactly how to turn me on.
“Tell me you don’t want my cock inside you.” He bends me forward and lifts my robe so my ass presses against his hard erection. “I can feel you soaking me through my pants. You like this, Emery. You like it when I own you.” He rubs his dick against my slit.
A desperate need to be filled consumes me. He grips my hips on one side, the other still binding my hands, and pulls me to him while rubbing against my hot core.
A moan slips free, and my head falls forward.
“Christ, Emery. Look what you do to me.” He spins me around to face him. I’m so turned on and lost I don’t try to resist. He undoes his pants and pulls out his engorged cock. “Suck on it. I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my dick.”
I lick my lips, curious about how this goes and wanting him even if I don’t want to admit it.
I lower to my knees on the soft mat and take his cock in my hand.
Without any other thought, I draw him into my mouth and suck when he eases out his dick.
I almost gag when he thrusts back in, but I don’t let it stop me.
He pulls out and moves back in. My cheeks hollow with the force I have on his hard length.
My eyes burn from nearly gagging, and still, I don’t stop.
I want this experience. I want the sensations, the distraction.
Feeling like this is better than feeling anything else right now.
“That’s it.” He says something in Gaelic.” It sounds like mo vuh-nah-freen-shuh. “Suck me deep.”
The Celtic words sound exotic, compared to his formal British accent. I suck him harder, surprised at how turned on I am. I kind of love this. I’m the one in control for once. Not him.
“Oh god, Emery,” he calls my name and comes in my mouth. Warm liquid spurts down my throat. I swallow it. Lachlan’s cum. I’m swallowing his cum. His dick is still in my mouth. What is happening?