He drags a hand through his hair, looking at me like I’ve lost the plot. “I’ve been avoiding looking at you all night because if Jake saw my face, he’d know exactly what I was thinking. You want to know why I didn’t ask you to dance? Because the second I laid a hand on you, the whole bloody room would see. Your brother would explode, and this thing between us would go up in flames before we’ve even figured out what it is.”
“What is it?” My voice is small now.
“I don’t bloody know.” His chest heaves as he backs me against his desk. “All I know is when you’re upset, I want to fix it. Even when you’re being irrational.”
“I’m not being irrational—”
“You are about this.” He reaches up and cups my face. His thumbs catch tears I didn’t realize I’d let fall. “You’re being jealous for no reason.”
“Patrick—”
Before I can protest, before I can make a case for my feelings, his mouth is on mine.
His hands tangle in my hair, pushing me backward until the desk edge digs into my thighs. The kilt brushes my bare legs, wool rough and solid against my shaking skin.
My hands go everywhere, grabbing his shoulders, his chest, his brooch. I knock into his sporran and it swings wildly. My palm slides down and accidentally cups it.
Oh God. I just grabbed Patrick’s sporran. I’m an idiot. Luckily, he hasn’t caught on.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the desk. Papers go flying, a pen clatters to the floor, but he doesn’t stop kissing me. His hands push my dress up until it’s bunched around my waist.
I fumble with the front of his kilt, fingers catching on buckles and leather straps and what feels like seventeen layers of pleated wool. “This thing is—oh my god—so ridiculously heavy.”
His lips curve against mine. “Stop laughing and just get your hand under it.”
Challenge accepted. My fingers slip under the thick wool, finding hot skin, hard muscle, then oh.Oh.My fingers close around the hard length of his cock, and I break the kiss with a sharp gasp. “You’re not wearing…”
“Tradition,” he growls against my mouth. “Can’t go insulting Scotland.”
“The entire country?”
“The entire country.” His teeth catch my bottom lip. “But you’re the only one who gets to verify that particular fact.”
His hips jerk forward, his cock sliding through my grip.
Before I can respond, he spins me around and bends me over the desk. My dress is shoved up to my waist, panties tugged aside with zero patience from him. His other hand fists in my hair, so I’m pressed down against the desk, tits flat against the wood.
The first thrust is brutal. His hot, thick length drives into me in one hard push that has me crying out, my hands clawing against the desk.
“Christ,” he grits, hips grinding deep. “So fucking tight.”
The oak desk groans under us, its brass drawer handles rattling with every hard slam that rocks me forward, my nipples raw and sensitive against the polished grain, even through the silk. His fist tightens in my hair, keeping me exactly where he wants me as he takes me.
“You wanted me not to be gentle with you,” he growls against my ear. “This is what it fucking feels like.”
His thick muscular thighs push against the backs of my thighs with every brutal thrust, heavy wool swinging while his hips slam into me again and again. The sound is obscene — his primal grunts, my desperate moans, the wet, rhythmic slap of his thick cock driving into me.
His sporran knocks against the top of my back, which would be funny if I wasn’t so desperately, overwhelmingly turned on right now.
My cheek presses to the desk, breath fogging the polished surface as his pace goes ragged, his movements becoming more desperate.
Oh my god, this is so hot. Patrick in a traditional Highland kilt, pounding into me from behind, like he’s been out at sea for months, and has come home to his horny Herring girl.
It’s so deliciously filthy it makes me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at plaid again without getting wet.
“Oh fuuuuck.” His voice comes out ragged, breaking on the word. “Wait. I need to—” His chest heaves against my back, breath hot and uneven on my neck. “Need to see you.”
His hands grip my hips and he turns me. Papers crunch beneath me as I spin to face him.
