“NOW!” I yell as I bury myself in the boy in one thrust.
His strangled grunt gets lost in my mouth as I slant it over his, fucking his face with my tongue as my cock fucks his ass brutally. Tavish is near to strangling me, his arms are twined so tightly around my neck. But I dinnae give a fuck. All my brainpower is on chasing the orgasm I’ve wanted since before I got off the plane and realized he was missing.
All the anger, fear, and angst I’ve felt since walking into his basement lair and nae finding him fuels every thrust. I’m sure I’m leaving bruises on his gorgeous skin, and that fuels me, too. I love marking the boy. Fingerprints, handprints, love bites. Any and every mark I can leave on his skin, nae matter how fleeting they may be, is a balm to the possessive fucker that resides in my soul.
I want him branded by me. Marked for all the world to see. I want them all to know he’s mine.
The feel o’ his hand against my abs pulls my attention. Looking down between us, I watch him jerk himself off, and I growl, “That’s mine, pojke, and I dinnae say ye could touch it.”
He whines, but lets loose o' his dick, arching his back from the wall. If our heights werenae so different, I would bend him over so he could brace himself against the wall. Just the thought has visions o’ the past dancing through my mind.
Images o’ Simon bent over before me in the shower merge with the vision o’ Tavish in front o’ me. It’s like I’m fucking them both at the same time and the sounds Tavish makes now harmonize with the ones I remember Simon making. The way the two o’ them scream my name, their voices cause the orgasm I’m chasing to detonate within me. My cock erupts, filling Tavish as I continue thrusting in his channel as it spasms around me. I reach for his cock, only to find he’s come without help.
Opening my eyes, which I dinnae realize were squeezed shut, I see my beautiful boy, gasping for air, his face covered in sweat and tears. Or maybe it’s water droplets from the shower. Who kens? All I know is he’s capturing my heart without my permission, and I’m loathe to do anything about it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TAVISH
Tavish
Nearly a week later,Daddy and I have fucked our way from England through Scotland, and now we’re on the verge of pulling into his house in the Highlands. I thought for sure that when we woke up in that first hotel, that would be it. That we’d be on the road and drive straight through. I mean, I checked the map, and the airport we’d landed at was less than seven hours away from his home, but instead, he meandered us through the countryside.
Our first stop after landing had been to buy us both some clothes. Neither of us had any with us. Plus, we are much farther north than I am used to, and we’d be traveling even farther north.
That had been my first clue that we weren’t going straight through. If we were, Daddy wouldn’t have bought clothes for himself. I’m sure he’s got plenty at his house. But he did, and when I asked about it, he shrugged me off.
Instead of pushing him for info, I decided to just enjoy the trip. I’d been out of the country before, several times in fact, butnever on a trip I was actually interested in. Granted, this is spur of the moment, but I’m with Draven, and any time I can spend with him makes me happy.
The other trips I’ve taken were with Samuel. He would take me with him at times when he traveled for the Order. Why I never really knew, other than it gave him time alone with me to do as he liked. The plane was a favorite place of his to string me up and beat me senseless.
This trip is night and day from any other trip I’ve ever taken. Draven has fucked me senseless at every opportunity. He’s been much more vanilla than he was before the meltdown on the plane, but I love that side of him just as much as I love the Sadist Daddy Dom side.
Do I miss the Sadist? A bit. I mean, I love getting my ass beat by Daddy Draven, but not enough to complain about it. We’ll get back there. Calling RED, from what I read, can cause some people to ease back into things a bit, whereas others might dive back in. Mine and Daddy’s dynamic is pretty new, and I’m in no rush to make things fit in a certain pigeonhole or box. We’ll get where we need and want to be in our own time.
It hasn’t been all fun and games and sex, though. Draven purchased all the things I needed to set up my laptop to work from the car and the hotel. Any time we’ve stopped or been in the car for extended periods, I’ve been searching for Samuel.
He’s proven to be as slippery and elusive as always. I’ve gotten a few hits, but from what I can tell, he seems to still be in the States. I just hope I’m not missing something, and he’s caught onto where we are.
I’ve even checked cell towers around the warehouse to see what numbers pinged off them on that night, but a multitude of numbers pinged the towers near the warehouse, and I’m still weeding through them. The biggest issue is most of the numbers are burner phones, so I’m shit out of luck when it comes tothose. My only hope is if a burner is in the same place as a registered device, but I’m not holding my breath.
The car turning pulls my gaze from the screen of my laptop and I gasp at the “house” Daddy has been telling me about.
“That’s not a house, Daddy! That’s a castle!”
He chuckles, slowing to a stop. “Nae quite but close. It’s been in my mother’s family since before the first stone was ever laid. Fergus, the Clan’s historian, can give ye all the history o’ the place, but it’s been passed down from father to son until it came to my mother through my grandfather.”
“That’s strange, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be male heirs, right?”
“Och, aye.”
“So, why the difference? Wasn’t there any other male heirs who could’ve been the lucky asshole to call this home?”
“Before I was born? My mother’s uncle. He died a week or so after I was born. From what Fergus says, the old bastard was hanging on just to get his grubby hands on the place. Why I dinnae ken? He dinnae have any male offspring. So, either way, it would’ve come to me.”
Draven puts the car back into gear and drives us toward the house. The number of times he’s talked about the place and how he spoke of it, I would’ve sworn, under the penalty of death, that it was no bigger than a regular house, albeit a larger one. He called it homey and told stories of him and his family and then later he and Simon eating in the kitchen and watching movies in the den. People who lived in houses like this didn’t eat in the kitchen, and the den was probably some state-of-the-art home theater.
“Dinnae fash yerself, mo ghille donn. Nae matter how big or grand, it’s still just a house.”
