“I need to come,” she moans. “Please…”
“Did ye know, Little Cinder, that there’s a sweet spot at the top of this tight cunny? Around your cervix. When I move like this…” I move my hips slowly, side to side until her eyes open wide and she gasps. “Ah. There.” I grunt, more like a beast because I can feel it, the frantic fluttering of her channel, the head of my cock sliding slick and deep against the delicate spot. “Just as sensitive as those nerves down below, aye?”
“Oh, god,” she moans, arching against me. “I thought that was a myth.”
“Does it feel like a myth?” Biting her shoulder, I rotate my cock inside her again.
Feck. It’s too soon, I wanted more time. It roars over both of us, a tidal wave of need and intensity. I dinnae want to come yet, but I’m tossed in the waves as she grips my cock inside her. My vision whites out, every ounce of my energy racing toward where we’re connected. I’ve never come this hard, painful, explosive. Far past pleasure into something more.
Scarlett’s moaning, broken bits of words but one stands out to me. “...love y…”
Love.
I tighten my arms around her and she clings to me, our sweaty skin sliding against each other, sloppy kisses, and little aftershocks.
And when I think she’s coherent enough to hear me, I smooth her fiery hair off her forehead, smiling down at her bay blue eyes.
“I love ye, too. With everything in me.”
Scarlett…
Wallace is gone again when I wake up.
Swinging my legs over to the side of the bed, I stand up and immediately flop back on the mattress. I’m still tingling, my leg muscles not getting the message that it’s time to work again. When they finally decide they’re willing to hold me upright, I take a hot bath. Pressing my hand against my stomach just under my belly button, I can still feel where he was last night, a tingle, a bit of an ache.
Pulling on my softest leggings and one of Wallace’s sweaters, I limp down to breakfast. James has never gotten over the fact that we don’t dress for meals in the formal dining room. He had nearly had a stroke when I’d asked if we could eat in the kitchen on our first day here. He puts the toast rack, the little chafing dishes of herbed scrambled eggs, bacon, and the bowl of fruit on the dining table before hastily absenting himself.
Morgan looks up over her tea cup, eyeing my awkward stroll. “I don’t want to know about it.”
Holding my hand up, “Not a word.” I notice there’s a fire burning in the hearth and my heart twinges. A little message from my husband.
“There’s an irony here,” she says, buttering a slice of toast. “That something terrible like losing your dad and nearly getting burned to death canproduce something wonderful,” she nods at me. “Sickeningly, orgasmically wonderful.”
“Is orgasmically a real word?”
“Go with it,” she continues, “I’m not the one getting them, that’s all I know. So: terrible, to wonderful, to terrible again.”
“The spellshop,” I agree sadly. “It took years to curate all those treasures.”
“Yeah.” She stuffs her mouth with the toast, chewing thoughtfully. “I’ll build it again.”
“We’ll build it back up together,” I lean closer. “You know you always wanted to move to Edinburgh, you used to say only the toughest witches can survive Scottish weather.”
“True,” she agrees. “When can we go back to Edinburgh? I can start scouting around for the perfect location.”
“Until Wallace’s father is conscious and recovering, we have to stay here.” I look out the window, the leaves are falling outside the dining room, gathering into crisp piles on the terrace. The sky is an October blue here in London, but it’s not home.
When did Wallace’s stone house in the Tweed Valley become home? It is. Itishome with its six fireplaces and the man who lights them all, every day.
“Uh oh. Tell me.” Morgan leans over to take my last bacon strip. “This is the sad, ‘oh shit’ expression you get a lot. It’s easy to recognize.”
“If Alastair doesn’t wake up- if he can’t run the business-” I stare down at my cold eggs. “We’ll have to stay here.”
Morgan frowns. “There’s no way you’re keeping that man in a suit and tie.”
“It will crush Wallace’s soul.” I angrily shove back from the table, looking over to the blazing fireplace that is making the room too hot. So, I open the French doors to let the brisk autumn wind in, a few leaves flying in with it.
“The worst part? He’ll do it. These idiots are all so big on honor and duty, it’s ingrained in them since childhood.”
