Chapter Thirty
Angus
“Fucking hell. Another one?”
Milly looks up from the counter she’s wiping as I slam into the kitchen, glad to be away from the raucous group outside.
They’re beyond drunk; somewhere between dessert and cheese, the tenor of the dinner has changed, from civilised conversation among the twinkling fairy lights to one of the groom’s friends trying to convince the other to do a handstand on the table while he chugs a bottle of wine.
Thank fuck they didn’t manage it. The handstander made it as far as bending over before vertigo overtook him. Now he’s lying somewhere on the lawn, singing lullabies at the stars.
I nod grimly.
“They’re going to clear us out at this rate.” She pulls down two more bottles of wine.
“Nah. The groom forewarned us it might get like this, so we stocked up.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen people drink this much.”
“At least they won’t last much longer,” I say, taking them from her gratefully.
“Half are twatted and the other half have already been carted off to bed. I’ll serve them this, and then I’m cutting them off.
” I pause on my way through the door, suddenly realising how quiet it is. “Where is everyone?”
Milly raises one shoulder. “Ruth went to get some more candles. I don’t know about the others. I’ve not seen any of them in a while.”
“Fucking typical.”
If I know my brothers, they’re hunkered down somewhere with a bottle of beer, hoping I won’t notice and shoo them back to work. I’m surprised by Stuart and Jonathan, though. They have as much invested in this as I do.
“Look, kitchen’s tidy now, and that lot won’t exactly be waking up early. We can leave clean down until the morning, if you want to clock off. Tell Ruth too?”
“Aye, aye, cap’n.”
Outside is bedlam. Four of the guests have formed an impromptu choir and are serenading the bride, who looks as though she wishes she could boil them in acid. Rowan’s mum and aunt have, I assume, gone to bed. And Rowan—
I sweep the courtyard again.
Rowan is nowhere to be seen.
I try to ignore the disappointment that tugs at my gut. I enjoyed watching her ogle me every time I appeared, feeling her eyes linger as I passed by. She’s probably gone to bed too, I reason. It’s after midnight, and it has been a long day.
Fuck, I hope this dinner winds up soon.
I deposit the bottles on the table. That’s it. They are officially cut off. If they need more alcohol, they can find it themselves.
By the time I return to the kitchen, it’s deserted, an oasis of quiet. I tidy a few more things away, rinsing out one of the larger pans and setting it to soak, then grab a beer and pad down the corridor.
An hour watching something mindless in the Den, and I’ll be ready for bed.
But when I reach the door, warm light is spilling across the threshold, and I can hear voices – laughter – inside.
Stuart and Jonathan are curled up on one sofa, staring dreamily into each other’s eyes, while Mason and Ross are sprawled on the other, and Ewan is perched in a chair, wielding a controller like his life depends on it. His opponent sits on our second sofa, frowning fiercely at the TV.
“Come on, come on, you fucking fucker!” Rowan half rises out of her seat, wedged between Mason and Ross. Her hair is tumbling out of its updo, spilling down her shoulder. She’s changed out of her dress, into an over-sized T-shirt and loose jogging bottoms
I freeze. My over-sized T-shirt. My loose jogging bottoms.
Fuck. Seeing her in my clothes, in my house, flicks something inside me. I want her. I need her like I have never need anyone before. I long to peel that T-shirt off her writhing body inch by inch while she screams my name.
Mine.
“YES!” She throws the controller to the ground, jumping up and down. “Take that, sheep-boy.”
“No names! You promised!”
“Well, I take it back!”
Rowan jumps a few more times, landing heavily as she catches my eye.
She freezes, her cheeks turning red.
“I see how it is,” I say. “Hiding from all the real work, are we?”
“In our defence, we did hold down the fort while you were out wandering.” Mason salutes me with his bottle. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“After you left us with this tyrant, you should be grateful we’re still here.” Ross gestures towards Stuart with narrowed eyes.
“Tyrant, is it?”
“Dictator of the highest order,” Ross says solemnly.
Stuart smiles, showing his teeth. “Thank you. I’m glad someone finally noticed.” He leans back in Jonathan’s arms. “I told you I’d make a great emperor.”
Jonathan sniffs. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but I don’t think you’ve got what it takes.”
“But the wealth! The women! The finery!”
His husband smooths the hair back from Stuart’s forehead affectionately. “Says the gay man who left his high-paying job to pursue events management? Besides, we have plenty of finery already.”
“Not enough to keep you from raiding my wardrobe, apparently,” I say, gesturing at Rowan. I glare at Stuart. “I’m guessing you’re responsible for this?”
“Well, would you look at the time?” Stuart holds up his watch and peers at it. “Far past our bedtime.”
“Wouldn’t want us to turn into pumpkins,” Jonathan agrees.
Both men lever themselves up, backing hastily out of the room.
“Ewan, why don’t you come with us? We can show you where you’re sleeping.”
“But I already know where I’m—” Halfway through, Ewan clocks what they mean. “Yeah, that would be sound.”
“What’s happening?” Ross looks between the other men. “Why is everyone leaving?”
“How about another beer?” Mason stands.
“But I’ve got—” Ross holds up his unfinished bottle. “Oh. OH.”
He, too, levers himself to his feet, and the five men all disappear, leaving Rowan and I alone.
“How are you holding up, London?” I’m standing too close to her, invading her personal space, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Rowan lets out a breath, blowing hair out of her face. “Oh, you know. I’ve had better days.” She crosses her arms over her chest, revealing her pert nipples.
Down, boy.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“You want to talk about how you ended up in these.” I trace the line of her collarbone where my T-shirt has slipped to the side. Her breath quickens.
“Stuart leant them to me.”
“Did you know they were mine?” I let my fingers play with the hem of her shirt. I want to touch her everywhere, feel the warmth of her skin on mine. But for now I content myself with letting my knuckles dip beneath the fabric and graze the softness of her lower stomach.
Her breath hitches and she licks her lips. “I had an inkling.”
“Were you in my room, London?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Were you in my room, wearing my clothes?”
I tuck my finger into her waistband and trace the curve of her hip. She gasps.
I dip my head towards hers, brushing her ear with my lips. “How did it feel?” My hand creeps lower, to the tender crease of her thigh. “Did you touch yourself? In my room, wearing my shirt?”
“Angus.” The way she says my name sets my balls to aching. “We can’t.”
“I think what you mean is that we shouldn’t.”
“Same thing.” She pulls back.
I still. I won’t push her. Not if she doesn’t want me the way I want her. “Is everything okay?” I ask her carefully.
“Your family…” she starts. “My family…”
“Everyone has gone to bed, London. There’s no one here but us.” I look at her seriously. “But if you want to stop, we can stop.”
“I don’t,” she whispers.
“Don’t what?” I let myself drift back towards her.
“Don’t want to stop.”
I cup the back of her neck and draw her in for a long, lingering kiss. Fuck, she tastes good on my lips.
“Good. Then sit down, take off those teasing-as-fuck trousers and spread your legs for me.”
She sinks down, her eyes never leaving mine, and slowly pulls off the joggers. I drink her in: the dip of her waist, her long thighs, hips I want to sink my fingers into.
“Now lie back down.”
Rowan blushes. “I like it when you tell me what to do.”
I smirk. “That’s because you’re a good lass. Now lie down and spread your legs.”
She follows my orders, lying back on the sofa. I stand over her, admiring her, drinking her in. “Lift up your top.”
Her pussy glistens between her thighs. The shirt slides up, revealing the swell of her breasts. She’s ripe, ready, like a summer peach, and I want to bite into her, feel her juices on my chin. But I hold myself back, savouring her. Letting myself enjoy every second.
“Touch yourself.”
Rowan hesitates, biting her lip.
I sink to my knees, bringing our heads in line. “Have you never touched yourself in front of someone else before?”
She shakes her head. “Ethan never… It wasn’t like this, between us.”
I take her hand in mine and guide it to her centre, my eyes never leaving hers. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself.”
“Why?” Her fingers hover by her pussy, but her breath is coming short.
I toy with her nipples as I answer, rolling them between my fingers, enjoying the way she arches into my touch as they harden into stiff peaks.
“Because it turns me on.” I give both nipples a harder tug, and Rowan’s eyes half-lid as she holds back a moan.
“And because it shows me what you like. I want to learn you inside and out, everything you enjoy, everything you want. I want to make this so good for you, you can never play with yourself without seeing my face. Now, are you going to be good for me?”
She nods, her fingers disappearing between her folds.
I watch carefully, as she makes slow circles around her clit, playing with her nipples all the while.
Her movements grow looser, less self-conscious, and she gives herself to the pleasure between her legs.
When she’s almost panting, I move her hand away, replacing it with my mouth, moaning into her as I taste her on my tongue.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”
I slide a finger into her, and watch her writhe on it, pumping in and out in time with my lapping tongue.
“More.”
“What do you say?”
“Please. More, please. More.”
I slide another finger in, filling her, letting her fuck herself on my hand.
I work her clit, sucking and nibbling and circling, as she climbs closer to release.
It isn’t long before she’s crying out and clenching around my hand, and I ride her through wave after wave of pleasure, lost in the taste and the smell of her.
“Angus, I need you,” she says, looking at me through half-lidded eyes.
My cock springs to attention, pressing painfully against my kilt.
“Where?” My voice is husky with want.
“My mouth.”
“Take off the shirt.”
She flings it off, and then she’s pulling apart the folds of my kilt, and my length is springing free into her greedy hands. The first touch of her mouth sends a shockwave of pleasure through me, the warm wetness as she flicks her tongue along the head of my shaft.
“Fuck, Rowan,” I groan.
She’s everything. Her touch feels like life itself. Between her messy hair, and her flushed cheeks, and the way she fucking devours me, I’ve never been more turned on. My breath hitches as she takes me – all of me – burying me to the hilt in her throat.
“Rowan.” I can’t help but say her name. I want to say it over and over, the sound of it like the sweetest music, like the hush of rapture at the end of a symphony.
I want to say her name every day of my life.
To watch her come undone.
Only, instead I’m the one who is losing control, gasping when she begins to hum, the vibrations sending me to new heights.
“Rowan. Fuck. Baby. That feels so good.”
She draws back long enough to smile at me, wicked and playful. Nothing compares to the way my heart skips a beat at that smile.
I can’t resist. I need to be inside her, need to feel the wet clench of her around my cock.
“Rowan. Stop.” She pauses. A flicker of doubt runs across her face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Fuck. With a mouth like that, she can never do anything wrong.
I withdraw carefully and crouch down, cupping her soft face in my hands, stroking her hair back with my thumbs. Her eyes capture mine, liquid with lust. Her lips shine wet with spit and her breaths are coming in little gasps. She is utterly undone.
I slide my thumb back across her cheek and over her bottom lip. Her tongue leaps out instantly, obediently, her eyes half-sliding closed as she takes it in her willing, delicious mouth. I groan.
“No, baby. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I pull my thumb back, and she whines a little, reaching for it. “You’re perfect.” I capture her mouth in a breathless kiss. “You’re so perfect that I need to feel you. Every inch of you. Can you do that for me? Can you take all of me?”
She nods. Her eyes stay locked on mine as I strip off my shirt, and then my kilt, grabbing a condom from the pocket. It never hurts to be prepared. I lean her back on the sofa, in the same position she came in, only this time instead of my tongue, I position my cock at her entrance.
“Are you ready, baby?” I brace my hands on either side of her head. Feel her pulsing on my tip.
“Fuck me, Angus. Please.”
And then I’m inside of her, and we’re both moaning in ecstasy. No matter how much of her I feel, I want more, and more, and more. She digs her nails into my shoulders, pulling me closer, her heels coming to rest on my glutes, dragging me in, and in, and in.
It’s everything.
“Angus, please.”
“Say it, baby. Go on and say it.”
I can feel her winding around me, her pussy tensing around my shaft, see the flush deepening on her chest, the muscles of her neck growing taut.
She’s a bomb, primed to explode. I pause, and then thrust into her, deep as I can, and she grabs my shoulders tighter, as though I’m her raft in the storm.
“I’m going to cum.”
“Cum for me, baby. There’s my girl.”
And she does. A long, lingering orgasm that wracks her whole body and sends me straight to the edge. I spill over with the force of a jackhammer, bracing myself against the sofa, my orgasm juddering through me, a hot, overwhelming rush.
“Fuck.”
We lie there. Sweat-drenched. Cum-drunk. Out of breath. When I’ve recovered a little, I roll off her, onto the sofa, and pull her to my chest, cradling her there, feeling her heart race against mine.
For a second, the emotion that grips me is so strong, I can’t breathe. Every second I spend with her, I fall harder. Already, I can see us in twenty years, her hair with streaks of silver in it, my back hurting a little more, dancing in the kitchen, carrying her up to our bed at night.
These are dangerous waters I’m swimming in.
Tomorrow is the wedding.
After that. Then we’ll see.
For now, the feeling of her in my arms is enough.
For now, it’s everything.