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“That’s better. And yes, we can have sex. I’m ready.”
There’s a stirring in Lewis’s underwear—the idea obviously excites him—but he asks, “Is this a trick?”
“Nope. And you don’t even have to wear a glow-in-the-dark condom. A regular one will do.”
He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, glancing away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Are you sure about this?”
“Are you honestly trying to talk me out of it?”
“No, I’m desperate to have sex with you, but I’m also your friend, and I want what’s best for you. You only get to lose your virginity once, Iona, and you pick today? It’s pissing down outside. I’m hanging around your room in my boxers. It’s a single bed. If we’re going to do it, shouldn’t we at least, you know, dress up first? Go out for dinner? I might be able to cobble together some cash for a hotel room so we can have a double bed. I mean—”
I hold up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Sometimes, Lewis, you’re just a horny young man with sex on the brain.”
His expression falls. “Oh.”
“But other times you can be so . . . sweet.”
He pulls a face. “Nah, I prefer the first description. Being sweet is lame.”
I give him a playful shove. “I’m being serious. A lot of people spend their lives looking for someone who really gets them, but I literally grew up opposite you. How lucky is that? You’re my best friend, Lewis, and I can’t imagine having sex with anyone else. I want to do it with you. Going out for a fancy dinner isn’t very us—we don’t have the money for it—but doing it here, in this wee room, on a single bed after you’ve been reading one of my smutty books? That feels right somehow. So . . .”
Impersonating Eilidh, the feisty daughter of the neighbouring clan’s chieftain, I say, “You’re hurt, Douglas. Let me tend to your wounds.” I take a hold of Lewis’s T-shirt and gently tug it over his head.
He clears his throat then lowers his voice. “These injuries torment me, lass. Your gentle touch is the only thing that can soothe my suffering.”
I scoot closer to him and trail my fingers over his chest. Lewis must mistake this for an invitation because he reaches for my bra and I have to swat his hand away.
“Oi! Did Douglas do that at this point in the scene?”
“Shit, no, you’re right. Sorry. I . . . got carried away. That comes later.”
“It does. Now, where were we?” I find Eilidh’s voice again. “Ah, yes. Your wounds, Douglas . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IONA
Now
Richard is in a good mood as he pulls on his work things. “That was fun last night, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, it was.” I have to force a smile as I get myself dressed and ready for another day of farm visits.
Until last night, Richard had only been up for sex at times when Maw was out of the house. He’d always said no if she was in, even when I was certain she was fast asleep. But after my gym session, I finally convinced him, arguing it’d be exciting and a wee bit naughty to do it while she was downstairs watching TV. I’d hoped it might liven things up, but . . . it ended up being much the same as always.
Sex with Richard is never bad—in fact, it’s pretty good—but . . . well, as much as I enjoy Christmas dinner, I’d get bored if I ate it every day. Variety is the spice of life, but Richard obviously missed that memo when it comes to his sexual technique. I’ve tried chatting with him about exploring new things, but there’s a disconnect somewhere.
“Right, that’s me off.” He gives me a quick kiss. “After work, Joe and I are going to grab some pub grub in Auchenford, so I won’t be back till later. Enjoy your girls’ night.”
“I will. Say hi to Joe for me.”
He heads downstairs, calling goodbye to my maw, then the front door thuds shut behind him. I’ll be following him before long, but now that I’ve got a moment to myself, I sit on the bed and attempt to untangle a few troubling thoughts I’ve been having. I’d never admit this to Richard, but there have been times where, to make things a little more interesting for myself, I’ve imagined scenes from my favourite books as we’ve been doing it. I probably shouldn’t let my mind wander when we’re supposed to be sharing an intimate experience, but I honestly never considered it to be a major problem.
But then yesterday, while Richard was inside me, an image flashed into my mind of Lewis, in his form-fitting T-shirt and shorts, his muscular arms and legs on show, his skin glistening with sweat from his exertions at the gym. Of course, I immediately banished the vision—I’d never cheat on Richard, even in my head—and yet guilt gnaws at me that it happened at all.
What makes the guilt worse is that, well, sex was never boring with Lewis. Yes, it’s hardly fair to compare my current boyfriend’s sexual proficiency with that of a former partner, but it’s the truth. I don’t recall Lewis ever saying no to anything I suggested, whether it was something really hot or else something a bit silly and out there. He had a playfulness about him and a complete lack of inhibition around me.
