“Ahhh…” A sound of pure bliss came from her as I ran my tongue from her entrance up to her clit. Her head fell back.
“That’s right, lass. Relax. Let me make you feel good.” I kissed the inside of her thigh and then returned to her pussy.
I gripped her hips tight, holding her in place as I licked her slit, my tongue flicking back and forth over her clit. I made circles around it, pressed the flat of my tongue against it. She cursed, her words mixing with unintelligible sounds that became higher pitched the longer I worked.
When I took that bundle of nerves between my lips, her entire body shuddered, and she called out my name. I kept at her for another few seconds, letting up before the friction crossed the line into something painful. Only then did I ease her down onto the couch.
By the time she opened her eyes, I had a condom in my hand and a question on my lips. “Do you…?”
Her kiss-swollen mouth curved up in a lazy, sensual smile. “Oh, yes.”
Moments later, I was thrusting inside her, driving her back toward orgasm even as I chased my own release. I pushed her knee toward her chest, opening her wider, taking her deeper. Her body rose to meet mine in the back-and-forth dance that we’d been doing since the first time we’d come together, and we danced well.
Our mouths collided, my tongue invading, mimicking the motions of our lower bodies, joining us in the same way countless people had been joined since the beginning of time. Her nails scratched the back of my neck, and the bite of pain sent a jolt of pleasure down my spine.
I caught her bottom lip between my teeth, biting down a little harder than necessary, but it was what she wanted, apparently, because she came again with a cry. Muscles tightening around me, it took only three more strokes before I came too, a short burst of pleasure that was little more than fleeting, but enough to relieve some tension.
I took her with me as I turned, laying us both on our sides. I held her as her breathing slowed, and her racing pulse came back down. Absently, I ran my hand over her hair and down her spine, troubled. Something had shifted between us, at least it had for me.
“Thank you,” Keli whispered, kissing my chin. “I needed that.”
I pushed away my unease. I had made no promises for the future, just for tonight. I would hold that vow to her for the night. We didn’t need to add to our troubles.
“Well, lass, if you’re not fully satisfied, I will see to you again.” I kissed her forehead. “Perhaps in the shower this time, aye?”
Twelve
I was startingto wonder if my fears had been unfounded again. Keli hadn’t taken our fucking marathon two nights ago as a declaration of intent. She’d gone home in the morning with just a smile and a thank you. Since then, I’d only received two short texts, both of which were simple and friendly.
Still, I felt as if I was in a holding pattern, as if something big was on its way, and I needed to prepare myself. I simply couldn’t put my finger on what it could be.
Fortunately for me, that particular quandary was fairly easy to put aside since I was a firm believer in fact and reason. Gut instinct and intuition was well and good to help with business decisions, but I didn’t believe in fate or destiny or karma.
My phone rang, and the number on the screen surprised me. Not because I knew it, but because it wasn’t a local call. The country code was one I knew well.
Scotland.
“Hello?”
“Haw, Alec, fuckin’ walloper.” The man on the other end of the call laughed, and it was that riotous sound that gave me his identity even more than the Scots words and accent.
“Duncan?”
“Aye, ya dobber.”
“Gies peace man, wheesht.” The response was as automatic as the return of my accent full force. No matter how American I could sound, two things always guaranteed I’d sound like I came from Brigadoon. Emotion and a fellow Scot.
Another laugh. “Hou’s it gaun?”
Duncan MacLean and I had been children together in Edinburgh. We’d met during one of the lowest points of my life, a few weeks after my mother died. His family had just moved to our street, but I’d been too caught up in my grief to even notice. I’d been on my way home from school when four bullying bastards had decided insults about my intelligence weren’t cruel enough, and one made a negative comment about my mother.
I’d attacked, uncaring that I had been outnumbered four-to-one. I’d been in the middle of having my arse beaten when someone had come swinging a cricket bat.
Duncan MacLean.
After my family moved to the US, he and I had only seen each other on trips back home, but we had always been the sort of friends who didn’t need to speak on a regular basis. Whenever we spoke, our friendship had fallen right back together, no matter the years that had passed between us. When I’d gone to university, the first thing I’d done was reach out to him.
“Same’s always, ya ken?”
