Looking up at her flushed, pretty face, I slide a finger under her knickers, running my knuckle gently along the wet seam of her pussy.
“Oh!” Her hands go to my shoulders, tight against my jacket.
“Nae, lass,” I scold mildly, still watching the emotions play across her face. “Put your hands underneath your back.”
She does, and the position arches her spine, pushing her breasts higher. With a groan, I pull the top of her dress free, watching her pink nipples make an appearance before taking one into my mouth. The little nub stiffens as I suck on it and Sophie gasps again. It’s such a pretty sound, and she looks a wee bit shocked, as if this feeling is new to her. What sort of arseholes has she been dating, then?
The thought of her being with anyone is enraging and I swoop down, kissing her again, hard. “Are ye fond of these knickers, little butterfly?”
“I… uh…” she’s blinking up at me and it’s goddamn adorable. “They’re new.”
“I’ll get ye more,” I promise hoarsely before yanking on them. The thin silk tears like tissue paper and then she’s bare to me, her pink lips swollen and glistening with a tidy wee patch of curls. “You’re perfect,” I groan, kissing down her neck, her breasts and belly and then just over her soft mound. “Sweet, the way ye taste and smell…”
I lick her pussy, sloppy and wet, greedy, like a cat. Her thighs tighten against my shoulders and I do it again.
“Sweet baby Jesus, this is- you’re-” Sophie wheezes. One hand almost flies free from under her back but she stops herself.
“That’s my good girl,” I approve, my lips moving against her wet center. “Be still for me. I’m enjoying this.” I slide a thick finger inside her, feeling how her satiny walls clutch me. “So snug,” I flick my tongue against her stiff little clit, enjoying her strangledgasp. “If you’re squeezing my finger like this, how are ye gonna fit my cock inside?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Sophie half laughs, barely understandable.
“Such a sweet surprise ye are,” I lightly bite one soft, swollen lip and then the other. “Under all those good girl dresses and polite manners, you’re just a greedy wet thing wanting to be filled, aren’t ye?”
Adding another finger inside her, I stifle a groan at the feel of her wet, slick walls, growing tighter against me. My thumb gently circles her clit, enjoying how she stiffens, then moans. How her back arches and the pretty pink flush on her skin.
“Can I please touch you?” Sophie says breathlessly. “Please?”
“Hmm…” I pretend to consider this as I watch her thighs shake, my thumb pressing down against her clit. It’s pulsing, a tiny heartbeat that seems to match my own. My hips are unconsciously pressing down against the mattress, my dick is hard enough to chop wood. It’s taking everything in me to not rip my pants open and push inside her.
“Just your hair,” she groans. “H- how about that? Just your hair? It’s really nice hair.”
I’m startled into laughter and the vibration of it against her wet pussy sends her off and she shrieks, pulsing against my fingers as I curl them against her g-spot, rubbing it gently and dragging another shriek from her. Taking her hand, I pull it from under her and place it against my head, enjoying how her fingers instantly slide through my hair, tugging it as her heels kick against the bed.
“Are ye fighting this?” I say with mock disappointment. “You’re not nearly finished here, sweetheart. Ye must come again, this snug cunt isn’t ready yet-”
Then, my goddamned mobile rings.
I want to yank it from my pocket and smash the fecking thing against the headboard, crush it into a thousand scraps of plastic and glass and I canna.
Resting my forehead against her heaving breasts, I grit my teeth. The fecking thing chimes again, shrill and urgent. It’s the special “Shite’s gone to hell,” ringtone Xenia created for the senior heads of the MacTavish family. I canna ignore it.
God fecking damn it.
“Michael?” Sophie’s voice is soft and uncertain, her fingers still stroking through my hair, warm and oddly comforting. “Do you need to get that?”
No. For fecking once. I dinnae want to answer the call. I want to lie here with Sophie. No new disaster, no fire to put out.
“Aye,” I rasp, my voice like sandpaper. “I do.”
Later at MacTavish International offices…
Da, my Uncle Lachlan, and his son Mason are already at Georges and Xenia’s lab by the time I arrive. They’re all still in their formal wear, bow ties yanked loose and sleeves rolled up.
“What do we know?” I pull off my tuxedo jackets, popping my cufflinks loose.
“Another breach,” Xenia says, her gaze sharp and focused on one of a myriad of monitors in front of her. “Someone got theirhands on the manifest of one of the Morozov arms shipments into Halifax Harbor.”
“There’s fecking CSIS investigators crawling all over the King shipping docks.” Uncle Lachlan says, eyes blazing. “They’ve confiscated the shipment.”
