The guitar shifts between us, strings humming, but I barely notice. My hands find her hair—God, it’s soft and thick, like velvet between my fingers. I drag my tongue along the seam of her lips, slow and coaxing.
She opens for me, so I taste her. Warm, sweet, dizzying.
A small sound slips out of her—part surprise, part need. It hits me straight in the gut.
With every slick sweep of her tongue against mine, every breath shared between us, I grow harder. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself.
The guitar slips off her lap and clatters to the ground, snapping the moment. We break apart, both breathing hard. Her lips are flushed, her eyes wide and shining. A strand of hair falls across her face. I brush it back without thinking.
“Your guitar,” she manages.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say roughly, not even sparing it a glance. Right now there’s only her.
I lean in again and she meets me halfway, nothing tentative about it this time. Her mouth is hot and hungry against mine. Our tongues tangle, and then before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got an arm around her waist and am hauling her over me so she’s straddling my lap right here on the step.
My cock throbs under the sudden pressure. It takes everything in me not to buck up into her straight away. But then she shifts experimentally, making this soft little whimper into our kiss, and that’s it for me. I grab her arse and pull her closer, flush against me.
Another moan, then she starts moving with purpose, grinding down slow and sure.
Fuck me.
“Struan—”
My name in her voice, breathless and wanting, punches the air out of me. I grip her arse, guiding her rhythm, and she buries her face in my neck. Her breath comes out in these desperate little sounds—half-moan, half-whimper—that go straight to my dick.
Her breath hitches. She grinds down even harder, pressing into me like she’s chasing something just out of reach. The way she moves—so confident now—makes me shudder right through.
Then suddenly she’s clinging to me, fingers digging into my shoulders, her whole body tightening. For a second I don’t realise what’s happening, then it hits me. She’s shaking, gasping, coming apart right on my lap.
I hold her, stunned, heartbeat hammering. Jesus Christ. Didn’t think that would happen.
Hot as fuck.
She stills, and for a while the only movement between us is the rise and fall of our chests and the twitching of my cock. It’s desperate for that perfect, maddening friction to start up again.
But then she’s pressing a hand flat against my chest and pulling away from me. “Sorry—” Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. “Struan, I... I don’t know what came over me.”
“Ainsley—”
“This was a mistake.”
The words hit like cold water. I open my mouth to respond but she’s already scrambling off my lap, cheeks flaming in the light from the kitchen.
“Ainsley, wait!”
“Goodnight.” She’s at the fence before I can move, and then she’s over it and disappearing through her back door without so much as a glance back.
I sit on my step, heart hammering, my guitar forgotten on the ground. I’m left with just the taste of her on my lips—and a cock that’s not settling down anytime soon.
Fucking hell. Can’t believe that just happened.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AINSLEY
I shut the back door, lock it, and lean back against it, palms pressed to my burning cheeks.
Oh my God. Oh myGod.
