Under The Kilt: Kilted For Pleasure Part 6

Callan spoke up, "Don't finish that, old man. I've seen her grumpy. Why else do you think I chose her as your caregiver?"

The man's face suddenly filled the screen. His grin was wide. "See you in a few, la.s.s."

"Bye, Baird," she said.

Callan turned to shut off Skype. She handed him the flash drive. "Most are simple repairs. I have to do some research on my end. Figured I'd ask you first since this is your trade."

He stopped acting like a f.a.n.n.y and scooted over to give her room to sit. "What's the problem?"

"The extent of repairs." She sat down, motioning to his computer. The images popped up. She pointed out a chair. "Zoom in to the left arm rest. You'll see."

She leaned into his s.p.a.ce to point out the problem. Her breast was a soft cushion on his arm. His blood coursed harder in his veins and not to his head. Ignoring her breast as best as he could, Callan hit the zoom b.u.t.ton on the computer and immediately saw the problem. "What do you need to know?"

"Give me a second," she said, already digging into her purse. First, she slipped on gla.s.ses then pulled out a notebook and pen. She took her time flipping through the pages.

"Ah-" she stopped, "-the question isn't necessarily the cost of repairs, but the grade of materials you'll use to replace it. Go with the best case scenario, then work your way down."

She took detailed notes as he spoke. Occasionally, she'd stop to ask a question, but she gave him the floor. Her knowledge was vast enough that he never had to explain a process. Jargon filled their exchange. He could see talking to her about his work for hours. He didn't have that, never really did. He called Papa Baird for help but the man usually grouched at him, teased him or sidelined him with something personal.

Didn't help that her warmth seeped through his leg. He wanted to grab her notebook and tug her into his lap. They could still talk technique between kisses and caresses.

Suddenly, she snapped her notebook shut. He realized she'd noticed the shift of his thoughts. They were so close she could probably feel the need vibrating through him. She clasped her hands over the notebook as her own conflicting emotions played over her features, but when she looked at him, her gaze was hard.

"Who did you visit at the cemetery yesterday?"

His head snapped back like she'd hit him with a two-by-four. "My wife," he answered in a whisper.

Victoria's eyes widened but a slow burn of fury filled her eyes. "I see." She swallowed. "That's the financial help you need." She paused and then said, "Medical bills? That's what you need to pay off. Your wife's medical bills." Her voice held a tremor.

"Aye and a proper headstone." He fisted his hands in his lap.

She swallowed again before shoving her notebook and gla.s.ses into her purse.

He stammered, shocked at her plan to leave after asking such personal questions. "You're just going to walk out of here after blindsiding me? Are you serious?" She stood and he barked, "Answer me."

"Or what?" she yelled back.

He closed his hand over her wrist. "I'm not a f.u.c.king mind reader. What is your problem?"

She dug her finger into his chest. "Yesterday you were feeling raw from visiting your wife's grave. I knew you were hurting, but your wife? Ugh. And that's when you decided to forget that this-" she motioned between them "-is a bad idea. Who cares if Ian finds out? Who cares that he's the same man giving you money and would happily take it back if you p.i.s.sed him off. Screw it all and screw me just so you can feel better," she said the last with a tremor of disgust. "I'm not a wet hole you can stick your d.i.c.k into when grief hits you. If you recall, I'm not a fan of being used."

Guilt dug into him, making it hard for him to breathe around it. He hadn't meant to make her feel like a thoughtless balm to his pain, but that's exactly what he'd done.

He yanked her to him. "If I just wanted a hole it wouldn't be you. You're cute, aye, but you're also stubborn, suspicious, paranoid...Complicated. You're the last person I want to f.u.c.k."

She pushed at his chest. His hand took all of the blow and then he held both of her hands to keep her from doing it again. She muttered a curse. "Let me go."

He didn't because he wanted the option of shaking some sense into her. "Do I miss my wife?" His throat tightened with the question. "Yes. Was that eating at me last night? Yes. But you're smart, kind and curse like a Scot. You're your own woman." The truth of that sat like a stone in his stomach. "I need to f.u.c.k you just so I can think again."

She gasped. "That is so insulting."

Anger curled in his stomach. It shouldn't have but her simple words. .h.i.t a chord. "And it's honest."

"I don't want your honesty," she spat back.

"Now tell the truth, la.s.s, despite that, do you want my bark or just my bite?"

Victoria sneered. "Let. Me. Go."

She'd put him in a temper as easily as she dragged him into his grief and, apparently, he did the same to her. He tried again. It mattered that she understood. "Burke, I may have been feeling raw yesterday, but I didn't use you."

Her breath caught and the fight in her posture left. "Why should I believe you? Why shouldn't I think yesterday was some kind of red flag?"

He sighed, mentally kicking himself for not having seen it earlier. She needed rea.s.surance that he wouldn't hurt her, that he'd keep his word. How often did he shift to anger when the cold fingers of fear gripped his heart? Too often. What did it mean that he wanted to give her rea.s.surance?

Callan dropped her hands to cup her face. "Sleep with me or not. It's that simple, Burke. No excuses. No bringing up cloak and dagger motives you think I have for f.u.c.king you."

Her mouth pulled tight and she shook her head to dislodge his hands. He tutted, but waited.

She glared up at him. "You irritate me sometimes."

"Ditto."

She shook her head and chuckled. "I'm a f.u.c.king idiot."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes," she whispered, her gaze going to his mouth. "Kiss me before I change my mind."

So he kissed her before logic could kick in again. She made a half-hearted protest.

He edged back, not wanting a repeat of the night before. "If the answer is no, leave now."

An indecipherable noise wrenched from her throat. She fisted her hand in his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. That was as good as a yes for him. He did what he'd had the urge to do when she first walked in-yanked her skirt higher and then pulled her into his lap. There was no more protests, no hesitation. She straddled him, moaning into his mouth.

He tugged at her shirt and had it unb.u.t.toned in record time. Skin. Sweet Mary. Her skin. Nothing had ever felt this good beneath his fingertips. She rocked into him, a wordless message for him to keep going. His hands fumbled over the clasp of her bra.

"Do it again," he demanded, and when she did, he grunted his approval.

After he tossed her bra across the workshop, he gripped her hips to guide her in the slow grind. It was a tease of what he really wanted-inside her. Now. But it felt right to take this slow immersion into a mutual seduction. Maybe Victoria understood because she cupped one hand along his cheek and buried her other hand in his hair.

But slow didn't mean without urgency. Victoria bare and soft and wet is what he needed. He pulled down the side zipper on her skirt and lifted the soft material until it was past her belly b.u.t.ton. His hand met the smooth flesh of her a.r.s.e. He searched for the thin strap of her thong. When he found it, her tongue reached deeper in his mouth, egging him on.

He reached farther down that beautiful curve until hot moisture greeted his fingers along her slit. All he needed was a moment to let this sink in-the way her sweet scent permeated the air and the feel of her wet against his exploring fingertips.

Apparently it was a second too long for her, because she arched her hips into him. Breaching the thin strip of material, he plunged one finger inside her, then two as she squirmed and wiggled, searching for a release he'd give her.

He closed his eyes, cataloging every reaction, every breath and twist of her hips. No conversation could ever tell him more about this woman than knowing what she needed to kiss the edge of pleasure. To see her when everything else fell away and her focus, her sole purpose was to feel.

Her moans quickened until she stilled, holding her breath. It was a thing of beauty to feel her break apart. She shuddered but kept jerking her hips up and down on his fingers. He pushed his tongue deeper until all she could take was him.

With a soft sigh she went boneless in his lap. He tutted gently though everything in him felt coiled. "My room. Now."

Like a fool he waited for some kind of confirmation that this wasn't just a moment of weakness he was exploiting. He needed to know she was right there with him, wanting this.

Victoria murmured, "Yes. Your room." And then she held firm to the back of his neck, trailing kisses over his chin.

He cleared the workshop in a few strides. Almost in his room, she nipped his ear. He put out his hand to get a good hold on the doorjamb just to keep him upright. That was his weakness, one he never confessed, and she'd found it.

"Let me guess." Her laugh was husky.

He took a staggering step into the room. "The condoms are in the dresser."

To his regret she stopped what she was doing to follow his stare. His bed was more than ten feet away from it. Though as a second choice it wasn't half bad. It was huge and st.u.r.dy. He'd made it so he knew it could hold them both.

"Tough choice," she pointed out.

"Bed, later," he promised and took them to the dresser.

She nipped his lobe again. "Who would have thought? Biting your ear turns you into a mindless animal."

"Shouldn't be that surprising. I'm barely civilized." He opened the drawer to his left and then tossed a condom next to her hip.

Her gaze followed the action and he knew what would come next-doubts, hesitation, everything neither of them needed. He kissed her, harder than before until her limbs wrapped around him. Everything they didn't need could wait. If that made him a mindless animal, he could live with that. When she started to relax again, he took off her panties and skirt.

She brushed her fingers along his chest down to his zipper. The edge of the dresser bit into his thighs but she was sliding her palms around his back, farther down until her hands were in his boxers.

Victoria sc.r.a.ped her nails over his a.r.s.e, his pelvis. She touched his tattoo without breaking the kiss. It was a Celtic dragon he had inked on his skin in his youth. The more she caressed it, the harder his c.o.c.k became. His breathing rasped. Fast and now is what he needed, but her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and heavy. He broke the kiss, pulled back and glanced down. Her nipples looked like they wanted his mouth. He swallowed though his throat felt tight.

"There." She trailed her fingers over her p.u.s.s.y lips. "Kiss me there."

"A lesson of the female anatomy?" he asked, amused.

"You seem to not know where I want you to touch me."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were well out of my league, la.s.s. Grip the dresser."

She did without argument. He rewarded her by catching one nipple between his lips. She gasped, arching closer to his mouth. He lavished both b.r.e.a.s.t.s with licks and sucks until the buds were wet and tight. When he knew she was tight and wet.

He moistened the tip of his finger and circled both nipples to keep them hard, the way he liked. She muttered something foul, impatience clear on her face. He finally took the not-so-subtle directions and began to rub his thumb over her c.l.i.t in a slow rhythm. Her come from earlier had left her deliciously slick.

"You held your breath when you came," he said.

She let out a moan. "Didn't notice."

He'd noticed. Everything. "You like following directions. Like being told what to do. I'm starting to think my guess of a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t wasn't that far off."

Her lids were low, and she shook her head. "No. I don't have any kinks. I just like the way you demand it."

Simple words that pushed him closer to the edge, but he continued to caress her c.l.i.t, the inner and outer lips, slowly. She was so perfectly swollen. Later he would know how she felt beneath his tongue, but he had a purpose.

Callan added pressure with each tease. She held her breath again. The action brought a smile to his lips, but his focus never left what his hand was doing. And what he was doing took all his focus.

He licked his lips, wanting to taste her, but not yet. "Do you swear you don't have any kinks?"

She made a noise between a moan and a whimper, shifting her hips as he continued his caress. "Just make me come."

He could. Slow didn't mean without intensity either. Callan could play with her c.l.i.t and p.u.s.s.y lips at leisure and she'd come, eventually. But they had fought this, argued over it and danced around each other. He wanted one truth, one mystery confirmed and maybe he could sleep easy tonight. Everyone had kinks. They may not be whips, dungeons and gags, but they had them in big or small ways. She had them. He had to find them, because Victoria had to lose some of her intrigue. He had to strip her down. Maybe that made him less of a man, and a bit s.a.d.i.s.tic to need that validation, but he wouldn't deny her pleasure.

He used his free hand to let his fingers feather over her neck. "Breath play, my la.s.s. Remember that."

He kissed her and reached for the condom. Her "yes" was m.u.f.fled by his mouth, and then she touched him, her fingers a light whisper over his skin. He deepened the kiss, much more than he intended but some of the pressure building in his chest needed a release. Wanting her like this wasn't normal. Not for him. He didn't deny himself or his lovers pleasure.

Yet Victoria made him feel like he had never known the softness of a woman's body and her touch. Ten feet separated them from his bed, a f.u.c.king mile as far as he was concerned. It did more than turn him on to know, later, he could close his eyes and imagine her spread on his dresser-her beautiful, sleek brown legs open wide, her p.u.s.s.y lips glistening from her come, her t.i.ts tight and full and bouncing to the rhythm of his d.i.c.k.

He sheathed himself and dragged her to the edge of the dresser with all the finesse of a virgin. Her feet brushed the back of his knees. Callan could be himself again after he knew what she felt like wrapped around his c.o.c.k. The fist around his heart would loosen. It had to, because if he felt this way every time she was near him, he'd go mad.

He gripped his c.o.c.k in one hand and pressed into her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. f.u.c.k. He entered slowly to savor the first stroke, the way his spine tingled and how his b.a.l.l.s drew tight like he would come. It was a moment of reverence to watch and feel his c.o.c.k sink into her p.u.s.s.y.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He thrust inside her again. It was enough to snap him out of his reverence. He pushed her back onto the dresser. The top of her head kissed the wall and that could be a problem with the way he was feeling. He clasped her left leg, lifted it and let her foot hang over his shoulder. "Grip the dresser tighter."

"Tighter?"

She muttered a foul curse that made him grin. "Aye."

He spread his feet to get a better position. She gasped another curse. When he started to move, her legs trembled in his hands. He placed a kiss on her knee and began to f.u.c.k her.

Some part of him knew he should have taken it back to slow and gentle, but what he needed had taken over. He had to feel his b.a.l.l.s slap against her a.r.s.e. Let her c.u.m and sweat dampen his skin. Make this raw and nasty so whenever he saw her, she'd always be the woman who had let him f.u.c.k her on his dresser.

His nails practically dug into her skin as he slammed into her, hit that spot inside that turned her low pants into something primal. He couldn't call this submission, not while he pounded into her. She had to take his d.i.c.k, an inch or all of it. Whatever he gave her.

He had all the control but felt none of it, because there was no way he'd ever f.u.c.k her out of his system. She was perfection gliding up and down his d.i.c.k, squeezing him tighter and tighter.

Victoria let go of the dresser to put a hand on the wall to keep her head from slamming into it and the other between her legs. Her t.i.tties bounced to his hard tempo. That image seared into his brain. He growled at the erotic sight and leaned forward to take her mouth and f.u.c.k her the way she needed.

He wasn't going to last much longer. She pulsed too hard around him. He dragged her down more until all of her a.r.s.e hung over the lip of the dresser and rolled his hips, pushing as deep as he could go to create a better friction for her hand to work against her c.l.i.t.

"Callan," she purred his name.

She gripped him, and he simply couldn't move for a second. Heat flashed up his spine, forcing him forward, seeking her lips. He groaned into her mouth, grinding against her. She shuddered then clenched again, harder. Her body tensed as she held her breath.

"Ah. There, la.s.s." He wrapped his fingers around her neck. Not tight at all but as a weighty reminder that he could close his fist and cut off her air. Just when the o.r.g.a.s.m forced her back into an arch, he could see her eyes widen. Fear skated across her gaze and then arousal shaded her brown irises.

"There is your kink, la.s.s."

Erotic asphyxiation was not her confessed kink and still that was the third time she'd held her breath. Something she'd probably done for years and had never thought about it heightening her full s.e.xual experience. His hand could do the same or a scarf. The taboo connection, so very light and innocent, made her come harder. She put her hand over his and shuddered when he tightened his grip gently.

"So obscene," Callan accused in a whisper, "the thoughts you come to."