Chapter 10 #2
Her breath turned ragged as she sat down, adding the harvested cherries to the fruit basket and wedging it between them before he got too close. She tried a tayberry first, an unusual amount of tanginess bursting across her tongue. ‘You must have had a warm spring here this year.’
He propped himself up on his elbow, looking more than a little impressed. ‘You can tell that just from the taste?’
‘More sun means more sugar content.’ These ones carried full-bodied, earthy flavour that left her licking her lips.
She remembered the first year Dad had started growing tayberries, how excited Rae had been to learn about the hybrid plant.
For the first few years, she’d only tasted raspberry, but later, as her palate evolved, the trace of blackberry came through.
Gran had started teaching her all sorts of recipes that would make the complex flavour shine.
As soft as overripe raspberries, they weren’t easy to harvest, which was why they were difficult to come across in a lot of places – but they were worth it when they tasted this good, and Dad thrived on the idea of being one of the few farms in the area to grow them.
‘Here. Try it.’ Without thinking, she found another ripe berry in the basket and pushed it between Struan’s lips.
They parted in both surprise and acceptance, juice bursting across his teeth as he bit down.
She should have pulled away, then, but his hand curled around her wrist, holding her hostage.
As he moved to sit up, her fingers brushed his mouth.
A pleasant sound of approval rumbled from his throat at the taste—
At least, she thought it was for the taste until his nose nudged hers: a question, one that had her trying not to gasp.
‘Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,’ she pleaded.
‘Okay.’ He pulled back enough to brush a strand of hair from her face, and she shuddered at the featherlight touch. Nobody had ever been this gentle with her, nor this hungry. ‘Just out of curiosity, why not?’
‘Because,’ she whispered, then stopped when she realised she didn’t have a real answer.
‘Hm. Good point.’
She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, earning a laugh that rumbled straight from his chest.
‘It’s weird,’ she said. ‘You’re Martha’s brother. You’re… Nevis. I’m Little Rae.’
‘Maybe we’re not anymore. Maybe we’re two adults who want to kiss each other.’
She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked down at her lips again, tingles breaking out across her skin like he was already kissing her.
She didn’t want to imagine anymore, didn’t want to fill the space with ideas.
She wanted the real thing before the chance passed her by.
She pressed her lips to his before she could talk herself out of it, soft and reluctant because she’d never really known how else it should be.
It must have been good enough: Struan’s fingers tangled in her hair before sliding down the sides of her torso, to her back.
His tongue pushed into her mouth, unexpected but not unwelcome.
With a gentle press against her thigh, he hitched her over his lap, cupping her arse with just enough pressure to make every fibre of her ignite.
A mangled sound – of relief? – fell from him. ‘I’ve been thinking about you non-stop, Rae. Since the minute I left last night to the minute I came back this morning.’
As though to prove it, she felt something nudge her groin. It took her longer than it should have to realise what it was.
He was hard. For her.
She blushed, heart thundering so loud she was sure he must have heard it.
‘Sorry.’ He smiled bashfully. ‘It’s your fault for showing me your knickers.’
‘I knew you saw them!’
He grinned, thumb resting on the cleft of her chin so she couldn’t hide away. ‘I can show you mine, if you’d like. Even out the score.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he pleaded into her neck, breath fanning over the most sensitive parts of her. ‘I thought they were sexy as fuck.’
‘No, you didn’t. They’re my ugliest pair.’ Minus the ones she wore on her period, which he absolutely did not need to know about.
He kissed her again, this time with more fervour. She let him, the steady ember in her centre empowering her to grind against his erection.
‘Wish you were still wearing that bloody skirt.’
She was glad she wasn’t, even if she throbbed with the need for more, more, more. The seam of his jeans caught on her centre deliciously, and she gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair.
What are you doing? her mind screamed over and over, but her body wouldn’t – couldn’t – listen to anything but the building heat between them.
Struan laid her down on the blanket, kissing her neck until she arched against him.
The bristle of his beard was a foreign sensation, the scrape of his teeth leaving her gasping.
She understood now why most people sacrificed time for relationships.
Her vibrator was good enough, but it couldn’t replicate the sensations of him.
He knew what he was doing, suckling at her jaw while his hands roved her ribs.
She kept her legs wrapped around his waist, afraid that everything would slip away – the ground under her, the sky above her, him – if she let go.
So she didn’t.