“Taken care of?”she asks incredulously. “Like what, a pet? An obligation? A liability?” Her chin goes up, even if her eyes are getting suspiciously wet. “My mom and I take care of each other. Is this really what you thought would happen, Michael? She'd stay locked up in her cottage prison, and I'd stay locked up here in yours? For fuck’s sake, why did you even bother to marry me if you were still planning on imprisoning us?”
My mouth opens and closes again. There's a heat scorching through me, a fury that I haven't felt since we first discovered Martha's betrayal. But also something baser, greedy.
"Why did I marry ye? Do ye really want to know, darling?" Her eyes are wide and she's realizing she’s poked the bear. “Because I dinnae care if you’re innocent, wife. I dinnae care if you’reguilty.” Surging forward, I wrap my hands around her arms, fingers tight like manacles. “That night, I only knew that I had to have ye. That ye had to be mine.” Her shock is rising like smoke between us. “This was the perfect way. To protect ye. To protect the clan. I married ye to keep ye, my Sophie.”
I lift her, feet dangling, nose to nose. “And I willneverlet ye go.”
I know what she sees. I’m unhinged, feral. We’re eye to eye, me holding her like this and I keep mine open as I kiss her, loving the wee hitch in her breath.
“I’m no fecking gentleman and ye knew that,” I rasp, banding one arm behind her back, pressing every inch of her to me. My dick pulses like fire behind my jeans and I’m half insane with the need to pull him out. “I’m not a good man. It was no noble thing to marry ye.”
In seconds I have her bent over the arm of the couch and her sundress flipped up. Slapping her arse hard over her knickers. “I’m a selfish bastard, that’s why you’re wearing my ring.” She reaches a hand around to push at mine and I slap her arse again, harder. “Dinnae move those hands again.” Winding her ponytail around my hand, I jerk her head back, her shocked gaze on mine. “Say ye understand me.”
From this excellent angle, I can see the tops of her breasts strain against the fabric of her dress and I yank it down, hearing it rip and leaving her in a bra and scraps of cotton. “Who do ye belong to?” I slap her other cheek before ripping her knickers down. She’s wet, slick and glistening and when she tries to look away from me I yank her back with my grip on her hair. “Say you’re mine, wife.”
Sophie has a spine, but my lass is picking the wrong time to show it, glaring at me with slitted eyes, lips pressed tight like she can fight the words back. Kicking her legs open wider and puttingmine between them, I have a perfect view of her pussy as I slap it, her plump lips pink and swollen.
“It hurts more on wet skin,” I say, kissing her again. “Say you’re mine and I’ll make use of all your sweet slick and make ye come.”
“I don’t even know who youareanymore,” she gasps.
“I’m greedy.” Plunging two fingers inside her, I curl them hard against her walls. “I’m selfish. I want ye more than my duty.” Her hand slaps hard against the couch seat. “You belong to me, Sophie MacTavish. Say it.”
All those sweet, wee tells of hers are here, the move of her hips against my fingers, the arch of her spine, the pink flush that rises on her neck and cheeks. “I fucking hate you!”
“Aye, but ye need me, too. Ye want me. And I own every bit of this perfect body. So say it.” I drive my fingers inside her harder and I can feel the first pulses of her cunt, my hand is wet to my wrist.
“I…” Ach, it’s killing her. “I belong to you,” she grinds out.
Thank god.
Flipping her over onto the couch seat, I rip open my jeans, tapping the pierced head of my cock against her swollen clit before pushing inside her. We groan together, the relief, the feel of her indescribably good. I’m thrusting hard when I realize I’m not wearing a condom, but I canna stop. I’ve never been inside a woman without one, and the feel of her, wet and silky, is maddening. My Sophie is blazingly hot inside and I angle my hips up hard, rubbing my piercing against me as she digs her heels into the small of my back, pushing my hips forward against her.
My hand is on her throat, forcing her to look at me, then pulling her head down to see us, my glistening cock pounding in and out of her. “Such a hot thing to see,” I groan. “There’s nothing better than being inside ye.” My fingers tighten on the sides of her throat. Not much, just enough to watch her face turn red. “You’ll come when I say it.”
Her lips are shaping the word yes, she dinnae fight against my grip, she pushes against my hand harder and feck if it dinnae undo me.
“Ye belong to me.”
“Yes.” It’s a whisper of a word with no breath behind it.
“No more fighting it.”
“No…”
Slamming my mouth down against hers, we share breath as I press my thumb against her clit and thrust again, and once more before we explode together. Her pussy clamps down on me just as my cock is swelling and the pain of it is far past pleasure, the pulses from her wet walls squeezing me dry.
We breathe together, me in as she breathes out in perfect synchronicity as we try to recover. The crackle of a speaker blares out and she jumps a little, giggling as an ugsome screech of music rattles the windows.
“What the feck is that?” I growl.
“I can tell Maisie’s picking the playlist tonight,” she says breathlessly. “That’s Blackpink.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m getting blootered tonight.” I pull from her gently, watching our combined finish slick her thighs and mine. My fingers are moving before I can think, pushing my come back inside her. “Be still for a moment, butterfly.” I go backon my heels, tucking my cock back inside my jeans. “I’ll tidy ye up.”
Sophie is limp and exhausted, lying still for me like a good lass as I find a cloth to wipe her. “Why do you never take off your clothes when we have sex?”
My hand slows before I pull her knickers up, settling them over her hips. “I dinnae think of it, I suppose.” I’m lying. “I know we need to change, there’s dozens of MacTavi arriving to celebrate with ye.” Reaching behind my head, I pull off my t-shirt, putting it on her as the scraps of her dress fall away. “We’ll talk about Martha, aye? She’s your mother. Not a pet. Not an obligation. We’ll talk about law school. I give ye my word.”
