Under The Kilt: Kilted For Pleasure Part 13

A man on stage intoned, "'Let not light see my black and deep desires.'"

She lost track of Macbeth then because Callan's hand moved to her thigh and slid up. It wasn't the first time some part of her screamed say no. Instead they could argue, flirt and laugh until her lips turned dry from talking. They could do all those things as long as she did anything but let him pull her into his darkness, his attraction.

She met his gaze. Every primal urge beating against her rib cage reflected back at her. Okay. This was her darkness too. Victoria needed him to tear down her walls and to make her not give a s.h.i.t about anything but the sensation of his rough palm on her heated skin, her inner thigh and then her panties.

His laugh was dark and lovely. "Do you want me to make you come during intermission? It's the end of an act, la.s.s. It'll be dark but not enough that people won't know what I'm doing to you if they look our way. I know how much you like being an exhibitionist."

Her lids had lowered, but she could see he told the truth. In their secluded booth, anyone could witness him teasing her neck with his tongue, but no one would know what his hand was doing. And that was the true allure.

A wicked thrill danced down her spine and set her skin on fire. She put her hand over his. Her first thought was to stop him, chastise him but she'd soaked through her panties. The lazy way he caressed her couldn't be ignored. She could end it and still be able to feel his fingertips. And because she had ended it he'd whisper soft, endearing words in her ear. Words that weren't love but as close as Callan would ever get.

This s.h.i.t was torture.

Victoria's silence went on, and he started to pull his hand away. She closed her legs to trap him, and then covered her face in shame. No man had ever turned her this inside out that s.e.x felt like an existential crisis. And still she yearned for his caress. "You've turned me into a monster."

"Then be my monster," he whispered. "Open your legs a bit more, la.s.s. We'll have s.e.x, here."

Why was he doing this now? That question skated through her brain before he pulled her panties to the side and then they were skin to skin. His middle finger pressed against her c.l.i.t, wet from her arousal. This would require her to be quiet, to not squirm too much, to wish he could suck her nipples, hold her afterward...a slew of things she loved the most when it came to s.e.x with him.

Him. She just wanted him. His laugh, his smile, his gaze darkening as he plunged inside her, his grief-everything that was Callan. Not just a piece of him when he decided to give it to her, but all of him. Not just the pieces she let in because her career came first. She muttered a curse.

When they had started this affair, she compartmentalized his feelings and hers. She could mentally tag them and file them away in their proper place. l.u.s.t, sympathy, annoyance, amus.e.m.e.nt, anger. Now she couldn't.

Finally, she said to him, "I don't want the kink."

Frustrated with both him and herself, Victoria pushed his hand away and stood. Her legs had a wobble, but she didn't stop walking until she was back at his car. She couldn't do this with him anymore, with herself. Victoria would end it, had to, like she should have weeks ago when he looked at her with all his grief on display. Back when the first stirring of something more than l.u.s.t had taken hold in her heart.

Her senses awakened and the first hint of sandalwood made her stomach flip. Callan was probably confused by her reaction but hadn't wanted to leave her alone. s.h.i.t, Victoria was confused, too. When had this screw up happened?

She pressed her hands against the gla.s.s and leaned on the car for support, doing her best to catch her breath. But...

But, what?

He reached around her and unlocked the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you so far."

And there he was being sweet again, thoughtful. She pressed a fist to her chest and shut her eyes. His monster. His. The first real lie he'd told her since they'd met. It wasn't rational but anger burned in her chest. She still wanted him naked and sweaty and inside her. He'd made her stupid and weak from their very first meeting.

Victoria wished she could hate him for that, but her body still ached for him-just him and no undiscovered kink. After a moment of hesitation, she ripped open her door, hit the unlock b.u.t.ton and then climbed into the backseat.

She waited for him to follow. Her breathing sounded so harsh in the quiet, but she met his gaze when he stood at the back door. Oh, G.o.d. She was scared of what she'd see and terrified of what he'd see in her gaze.

His blue eyes were filled with indecision and l.u.s.t but l.u.s.t won out. Callan followed her into the back of his Land Rover and slammed the door behind him. She could see the question forming in his mind before it could fall from his lips. She kissed him to keep him quiet.

Callan pushed her against the backseat, and she tore at his shirt, yanking it above his head until his skin met her palms.

"Victoria," he groaned.

She pulled him back down to her mouth and poured in all the unspoken words and turmoil. He'd used s.e.x with her as his release from everything and she'd use it as hers tonight because her heart was her own. No one could take it. s.e.x-this had to be just s.e.x.

She found his zipper and freed his c.o.c.k to prove her purpose. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he gripped her panties in kind, but he hesitated.

"Yes," she said before he could ask her if she was sure.

He yanked her panties down, and she heard a rip of the material. She laughed because now he was her beast, her monster. "Yes."

He pushed her leg up until the heel of her stiletto stabbed the soft padding of the roof and then he devoured her p.u.s.s.y. She reached down and fisted her hand in his hair. Callan needed no guidance. He knew she liked for him to suck her c.l.i.t into his mouth, to tongue f.u.c.k her and then lick her until ecstasy blanked her mind and the only sound she could make were half-sobs. The only difference tonight was that he used his fingers instead of his tongue to f.u.c.k her, curving them inside her and bringing her fast and hard into an o.r.g.a.s.m that left her entire body shaking from the intensity of it.

As she came down, he licked and then bit the inside of her thigh. She shuddered.

He hummed. "You always taste delicious, better after you come." He flattened his tongue and licked her slowly from her entrance to her c.l.i.t. The sound he made this time was sensual and a little lewd. It made her clench from an aftershock.

"Too bad," he said. "There's not enough room to spank you with my hand." He rose between her legs.

She glanced down and could see he held his c.o.c.k in one hand. "Don't care."

He rubbed the tip against her c.l.i.t and then tapped it against her. "Let's improvise."

He would, if she let him, but she didn't want torture. She didn't want punishment. Dammit. Victoria still just wanted him.

She reached down and guided him inside her. "This."

The first stroke did the rest of the convincing. She raised her hands above her head and used the door as leverage to roll her hips, meeting his rhythm. The car rocked with their tempo. Her moans turned guttural as the next o.r.g.a.s.m rode her hard and made her wetter.

He stopped, catching his breath. "Victoria?"

"Again," she said, needing hard and hot and fast. Maybe that would burn away the twisting ache in her chest. She needed to not think and to have s.e.x work a miracle of pounding away everything else.

"Victoria," he said again and this time his voice was soft.

He sighed and the pounding transformed into a slow grind of his hips. There wasn't much room but he didn't seem to care about that. His focus turned to her and then her mouth. He bent down to kiss her. Not hard, not dark but tenderly. The tightness in her chest snapped and a sob broke through.

He made a shushing noise and lengthened his strokes, going slower than before. "Let me give you what you need," he murmured.

She tasted the salt of her tears in their next kiss and shook her head. He hushed her again. "Let me love you like this, la.s.s." He pressed his lips to hers. "Please."

Another quiet sob twisted her stupid heart. d.a.m.n him. They had agreed this would mean nothing but entertainment for a few months, and here she was crying. Here he was touching her, caressing her to soothe her. G.o.dd.a.m.n him.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him quiet again. Any more words would undo her completely. He shifted, changing to a position that left her with no choice but to take him hard, deep and slow. His tongue swirled in her mouth, in sync with his d.i.c.k. It was just too much for her to take. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let go, of everything. An o.r.g.a.s.m rippled through her like a whisper, no less powerful, just soft and quiet, and it left her breathless.

Callan stilled for a few heartbeats but she could feel his c.o.c.k throbbing inside her, the hot spurt of his come filling her before he relaxed. He lifted his head only a fraction and began to kiss her tears away.

It didn't help. One d.a.m.n bit. The damage was already done. She was in love with him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

He was a dobber, an utter s.h.i.te and there was f.u.c.k all he could do to change it. So when Victoria demanded they drop by Baird's to check on the older man, even for a faked sickness, Callan didn't argue.

She'd pulled herself back together after s.e.x, but he couldn't and would never forget the sound of her crying. The sound of him breaking her heart because he could never love her. He knew that was the reason for her tears. Victoria never cried, never broke even when he pushed her to the edge. And what other reason could it be after she announced she didn't want kink? "I just want you" had been silent, and still he heard it because he knew Victoria. He'd caught the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Callan had written it off, but now...

He flexed his fingers over the steering wheel and parked in front of Baird's flat. This late, most of everyone had gone home and only residents' cars lined the streets. He leaned forward and glanced up. The lights were still on in his uncle's flat, which meant he hadn't gone down to the pub.

Like before, he helped Victoria up the stairs but this time he kept his eyes on the door. This time, he didn't move his hand from her back when she knocked. He needed to touch her, continue to comfort her as much as he could. Maybe then the grinding in his stomach would stop.

Since all his focus had pinpointed to her it took a minute for him to realize no sound came from the other side after she'd knocked four times.

"Use your key," she suggested.

He knocked, waited and then unlocked the door. Baird was right where they'd left him on the couch. Callan's heart skipped a beat. Even from the door he could see Baird's skin had lost most of its color. Out of instinct, his arm flung out to stop Victoria and push her behind him.

She took in his face, fear and worry widening her eyes. "What is it?"

He crossed the room and with a shaking hand put it to Baird's chest. Callan's breath released from his lungs when his uncle's chest rose. A moment later he noted the short shallow breaths as though Baird was fighting for air.

"I don't know," he finally answered her. "Baird, wake up. What's wrong with you?"

Baird's eyes fluttered halfway open. "My left arm," the older man rasped. "Hurts. Tried to sit up. Too dizzy. Couldn't get to the phone."

Victoria's heels clipped at a fast pace as she crossed the room. He helped his uncle onto his back in case he had to start doing CPR. "When did it start?" The words pushed through his tight throat.

Pain creased every line on Baird's face. "Ten minutes ago."

Victoria knelt down beside him, her eyes wide and her breathing just as unsteady as Baird's. "What do we do?"

"Call the ambulance." Callan saw her hit a one after the nine. "Wrong country, la.s.s. 999." His directive sounded so calm. He didn't feel any of it. His heart raced and he had the urge to punch something, like that would somehow help.

She shook her head. "Sorry." Her hands were shaking.

Understandable, because his were too. Sweat dripped down his uncle's face as his breathing became short and choppy. Callan's brain shut out everything else but Dougla.s.s. His uncle's face was too pale, but his lips weren't blue. That had to be a good sign. This had to just be a mild heart attack.

A mild heart attack? Are you f.u.c.king kidding yourself, Callan?

Guilt dug its way in as he talked to his uncle in a soothing tone. They'd left him alone for hours. He'd brushed off the man feeling ill as a ploy. Nausea rolled in his stomach and he swallowed to keep down the bile. Not again. He couldn't watch someone else he loved die right in front of him.

He gripped his uncle's hand and fought the need to pace. He put his other hand on Baird's chest. The heartbeat wasn't steady but it was there. Baird was still here. "Asprin," Callan said absently.

"What?" Victoria asked.

"In the top cabinet in the bathroom. It's what you're supposed to take when you're having a heart attack. Get it and some water."

The ambulance showed before she came back and his mind went on autopilot. He answered all the questions that he could, grabbed Baird's wallet out of the bowl near the door and followed them to the hospital. He did his best to ignore Victoria's nervous buzzing energy beside him the whole time. He had to keep it together until Dougla.s.s was okay. Baird had to be. So Callan accepted the numbness that kept his mind from drifting to worse-case scenarios. The hospital made it easy with the white walls and antiseptic smell. And the waiting.

Heart attacks went ahead of the line but that didn't change the fact that for hours they didn't know if Baird would be okay or if drastic measures were needed to keep him alive. Callan sat there in the quiet, Victoria's hand clutched in his.

He didn't know how much time had pa.s.sed, but his a.r.s.e had gone well past a tingling numbness before a female doctor came out and zeroed in on them. Victoria rose first and dragged him with her. He tried to read the young woman's face to see if the first thing she would say was an apology or, "we did all we could," but her green eyes gave nothing away.

"He's asking to see you both," the doctor said.

"Is he okay?" Victoria asked in a breathless rush.

"Yes. The heart attack was minor..."

Callan's world spun as relief turned his knees to jelly. The doctor continued to talk but he squatted just to keep upright and dragged his hands over his face. His breath came out in short pants and it felt like he hadn't drawn in a good amount of air in hours. He had to pull it together or he'd cry from relief like a f.a.n.n.y.

Soft words finally broke through the loud buzz in his ears. Victoria's voice washed over him. She'd pressed his head to her stomach and was speaking to him in a murmur. What else could he do but pull her closer, breathe her in and know that he wasn't alone?

They stayed like that for a while before she urged him to get up. Her smile was soft and beautiful. "Baird wants to see us. I'm sure he needs to be reminded now is not the time to pinch a nurse's a.s.s."

He dragged her up to his mouth, a laugh building in his chest. "Aye."

She gave him a quick kiss. "He's okay, for now. Too much drinking and carousing finally did him in, but he's going to be okay, Callan. It's all right."

He shut his eyes for a second and then nodded. "Aye."

"Come on." She fisted her hands in his shirt and tried to tug him forward.

He kept nodding but didn't move. "It's just that...I hate hospitals. I hate this hospital. f.u.c.king St. Jude's."

Her mouth formed into an "O" as understanding lit her gaze. "I see." She hesitated. "We'll stand here for a minute and adjust and then we'll go see him. Okay?"

He started to feel like a bobblehead. "Aye."

She wrapped her hands around him and put her head on his chest. They just stood there and breathed until he found his nads again. Eventually, they left the cold waiting room. He didn't breathe easy until they entered Dougla.s.s' room and saw his grinning face.

"You should see my nurse, laddie." Baird had tubes in his arm and up his nose, but that didn't stop him from being an old, dirty b.u.g.g.e.r.

Callan glanced at Victoria and she smiled back at him. She shook her head and moved to Baird's side, fretting over him and chastising him in equal measure. A certainty washed over him. Maybe more like a truth. This could be his family, and if he were smart, he wouldn't let them go.

First, he had to let Diana go and stop living between worry and apathy. He had to risk loving someone else.

Callan ran a hand through his hair and again tried to find that easy breath he'd had only seconds ago. Between the small debt left on medical bills, and Diana not having a proper headstone, he still hadn't really put her to rest. How could he move on if he hadn't done that much? Baird had a minor heart attack and Callan had lost his s.h.i.t. No matter how much he wished differently, he wasn't ready to make a new family.

He pushed the thought aside and smiled at his uncle although bitterness filled his mouth. "If you wanted me to visit more often you should have just asked. All this..." Callan gestured to the room. "A bit melodramatic."

Dougla.s.s pffted, but he put out his hand for Callan to take. The simple motion rocked him and he bowed his head for a moment. This man wasn't his father but close enough. Callan's stride ate up the distance as he went to take the older man's hand.

He held it until his uncle fell asleep.

Callan lifted his face toward the sunrise outside St. Jude's Hospital. With an objective eye, he could admire the impeccable grounds, and how no matter the time of day it seemed to be awash in light. Lush bushes and curvy walkways surrounded the hospital. It was pretty if you only came to visit or drove by, but more than once he'd come to St. Jude's and stayed for an inordinate amount of time, worry gnawing at his guts.