Sweeping me up in his arms, my husband strides toward the front of the mansion, barking at the poor parking attendant to bring his Bugatti around.
***
Choob - Scottish slang for an idiot
Hoobag - Scottish slang for a slut
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In which it is proven that wedding night sex is the best sex.
Alastair…
I’d had enough.
I shook every hand, drank to all the toasts, ignored the speculative glare that their parish priest wore every time he looked at me. When that idiot Cormac swaggered up to me and said, “I like ya’ now, Taylor. But if you ever hurt my sister I will rain down a hell-storm upon you of such Biblical intensity that you will never recover. I swear I will tear off your fecking arm and beat you to death with it. Are we clear?”
At any other time in my life, for that level of disrespect, I would have shot him. Just a foot, perhaps, or a shoulder. Then I remember my sweet bride that I’d once shackled in her room, and self-disgust swamps me.
“That seems reasonable,” I said. We shake hands. I shove down the desire to break his nose too, and go in search of my wife.
***
My Bugatti Chiron can go from zero to ninety-six kilometers in two point three seconds, and I make use of that to get us to my beach house in Seacliff in half the time. Swinging her up into my arms, I enjoy my bride’s delighted laughter as I stride through the house. “I’ll take you on a tour tomorrow,” I promise beforekicking open the bedroom door, and setting her down next to the bed.
Pushing a curl behind her ear, my sweet Sorcha smiles at me shyly.
Pulling off my jacket, I wince as my stiffened cock presses hard against my zipper. Turning her back, she glances over her shoulder. “Would you unzip me?”
Forcing myself to slow down, I pull the zipper gently instead of doing what I really want, which is to tear the pretty dress off her. It’s hiding her perfect body from me.
“What would you like tonight?” I whisper in her ear, “Are you all right, after everything that’s happened today? We can wait.”
Please don’t tell me you want to wait, I think.I need to be inside you.
But I can stop. If she needs me to.
Slipping the dress off her shoulders, my bride turns to me, shaking her hips to drop it to the floor. The dim light from the single lamp makes her pale skin glow, and her short curls light up like a flame. She’s wearing pretty lace lingerie, white and virginal. I can hardly wait to tear it off her.
“I want you to have me,” she whispers, pressing her silky breasts against me, “any way you want.”
“I love you,” I groan, “more than I can say.”
“I love you, too,” she says breathlessly. “I’m yours. So take me.”
Moving behind her, I cage her in my arms, pushing her hips against the mattress. My mouth moves over her neck, my tongue tracing a line on her soft skin, ending with a bite. She yelps the first time, and I soothe it by sucking the mark. And then again, and again on her shoulder, then on the nape of her neck. Thebites feel like surges of electrical sparks straight to my cock. She flails her hands, wanting to touch something. Her hand finds my legs, she squeezes them as I pull her hair - gently - tilting her head up so I can bite and suck the soft skin under her jaw. I feel feral, as if I’ve not had my wife for weeks.
“So good.” Her voice sounds slurred, but I know she’s only had a few glasses of champagne. Her breathing is rough as I lift her abruptly onto the high mattress, hands running up her thighs, pushing her dress higher with them.
“Lean back on your elbows, but don’t you dare look away from me.” Her beautiful silver eyes are darker, narrowed, and intent. I pull on her knickers, the delicate silk and lace ones I’d made sure were packed in her luggage. She lifts her hips, thinking no doubt that I want to take them off. Instead, I yank on them, pulling the wet silk against her pussy, rubbing hard against her swollen clitoris. I can feel the fabric twist in my hand, but not tearing yet as I tug her upward, the material pulling between the lips of her pussy and sliding back and forth. I’m rough with her, and her gasps and moans are making me hard enough to split wood.
She looks at me as if she doesn’t know me, a stranger who won’t let her avert her eyes, my jaw tight. “Put your feet up on the edge of the mattress, spread them wide for me.”
Gulping, she obeys, so beautifully exposed and bare. My gaze drifts down and I rub my thumb over the wet panel of silk, pressing hard on her clit. Bringing my thumb up to my lips, I taste her, groaning. “There’s a sharpness to you, wife. Something tangy and sweet.” I slide two fingers inside her, pulling the ruined remains of her knickers aside to watch them sink into her.
Spreading my fingers wide, I push hard against her inside, then rubbing and stroking until I find the spot she’d never discoveredon her own. Her head drops back with a groan, and I spread my fingers wide inside her.
“Look at me, wife.”
