Chapter Two
BEA
So much for a quiet Sunday shift. I’ve had the day from hell, though I shouldn’t say that because I’ve much to be thankful for. Like being able to walk out of the hospital this evening, even if it is four hours after my shift was due to end. At least I’m not watching my children strapped to beds by leads, monitors and IVs. At least I’m not wondering if tonight my loved ones will pass, leaving me alone in this world.
Today has made me maudlin and I’m over it. I need distracting and know just the man to provide it.
The lights are on as I pull the car to a stop outside, the glow warm and welcoming after this fright of a day.
Warm and welcoming and Kit.
I’m home and so glad of it.
I push open the front door and drop my massive bag on the floor, shucking out of my coat. Everything takes effort and my back aches with movements. Posture is so important to a surgeon, but that doesn’t mean good carriage prevents all aches. Nothing could prevent the pain after a day like today.
The lights are on in the hallway, in the lounge, and down into the kitchen—even at the top of the stairs. This is Kit’s MO, leaving a trail of lights wherever he’s been. It’s like living with a teenager; so much so I can sometimes hear my mum’s words leaving my mouth in some reprimanding echo of my teenage years. Obviously, I try to stop myself because nothing cools the blood like sounding like your mother around your lover.
So lights, but no Kit, when all I need is a hug. I’d sent him a text as I’d left the hospital but it’s selfish of me to think he’d be waiting in the hallway with open arms. Maybe holding a glass of wine. And some dark chocolate.
I’m toeing off my shoes when he appears on the staircase
‘Honey, you’re home.’
‘I think that’s my line,’ I reply, smiling up at him. In two steps, he’s in front of me and I’m enfolded in that much-needed embrace. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. I—’
He halts my protest with his lips. Thoroughly. One hand on the back of my head, he controls this kiss, and ergo, me. Lord knows right now I could do with the distraction, and the longer we kiss, the less clothes I need him in.
‘Take me upstairs,’ I whisper against his neck, struggling to get my hands between our bodies, to loosen his shirt or his pants—either. Both. All the clothing things.
‘What’s your hurry, darlin’?’ I can feel the smile in his kiss as he resists my attempts to undress him. ‘There’s beef in the oven.’
His non-sequitur has me pulling my mouth from his. ‘What?’ Kit can barely boil an egg, much like myself. We survive mostly on takeout and the mercy of friends.
‘I got the recipe from Fin.’ Fin, my best friend and his twin brother’s fiancé. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘You have.’ I hide my smile at the sweetness of the gesture and the hopeful look on his face. He said he’d be making plans . . .
‘I sense a but.’ His words rumble against my chest.
‘No, not at all.’ I swipe my tongue across his neck, the salt and bristles of his skin hitching the need in my veins.
‘Darlin’, I can read you like a dirty wee book.’
I place my teeth between the juncture of his shoulder and neck, biting the cording of strong muscle there. I’d meant it as a mild reprimand to his assertion, but the sound he makes as my teeth meets muscle leaves all thoughts and intentions behind.
‘Tell the truth and shame the devil,’ he rasps, suddenly pushing me up against the wall, pulling my hand between us. ‘The only meat you’re interested in is this.’ My fingers curl instinctively around the hardness of his fabric covered cock. He’s not the only one groaning right now.
‘God, yes.’ I want it—want him. Hard and fast and mindlessly.
‘Here I am, playing the dutiful boyfriend, cooking you a nice meal. Planning to draw you a lovely hot bubble bath after your hard day, and all you’re interested in is my body.’ His humorous taunts are delivered between biting kisses and swipes of tongue. It’s all I can do to play along.
‘But what a body it is,’ I purr. ‘Is it any wonder I can’t help it? I’m so hot for you all the time. And your domestic side just makes me all growly.’
‘And what time of day do you call this to be coming home,’ he rasps, hitching my leg over his hip.
‘I’ve had a hard day,’ I pant into his mouth.
‘And you thought you’d come home expecting me to be hard, hmm?’ He makes his point very well, rotating his hips.
I slide my fingers between us again, gratified by the sound he makes in response and, pushing up on my tiptoes, I run my tongue around his ear.
‘You’re always hard for me,’ I whisper, sucking the fleshy lobe into my mouth. ‘Because you’re a good boy.’
‘Fuck, keep doin’ that and I might not be for much longer,’ he gasps, pushing himself into my hand. ‘And you did’nae even bring me flowers,’ he complains, resuming character.
‘Fuck the flowers. Tonight I need the thorns.’
He pulls his head back, his cool grey gaze staring down at me, his expression morphing from mirth to something more solid. An unspoken understanding passes between us. I don’t need to tell him what a shitty day I’ve had. I don’t need to mention the house fire earlier that left three children in intensive care and their parents with horrific burns from their rescue attempts. I don’t need to tell him I’m no longer in the mood for a cuddle or a cathartic cry. I’ll want this later, I’ll want to share the pain of the day, but right not I crave something else.
Something to take my mind off reality.
I crave the forget.
His hands slide up my body, coming to rest on my shoulders as my thigh lowers from his hip. He doesn’t have to exert much pressure to have me on my knees, my body moving of its own accord seamlessly.
The room is silent but for the sound of his heavy breath.
The soft susurrus of his zipper.
The swish of fabric against his thigh.
His soft sigh as I move my tongue over his piercing.
The rasp in his throat as I take him in my mouth as best as I can.
The satin and the steel, the soft musk of him, the noises he makes as I work him deeper, but it’s still not enough. Tears gather in my lashes as I hear the mother’s pleas for news of her babies as sedation pulled her under. The scent of smoke lingers in my nostrils, the acrid taste of it from her singed clothing coating the back of my throat. And if I close my eyes, I know I’ll see the poor woman’s hands and arms, the epidermis crackled and black.
As though sensing my need for distraction, Kit begins running his fingers through the strands of my hair before gathering them at the base of my neck, immobilising my head. My mouth is a wide o around his girth as I stare up at him.
‘You look so beautiful, honey bee,’ he murmurs, rubbing my tears with his thumb. ‘I want you to cry for me now.’
His fingers are almost painful as he tightens them, sliding his massive length further into my mouth. I do my best to accommodate him, flattening my tongue and stretching wide until my jaw aches.
‘That’s it,’ he grunts through gritted teeth, ‘open wide for me. Take me all the way in.’
Following his next slide backwards, he thrusts back in. My head immobilised, there’s little I can do but take it as he drives himself in and out of my throat. He works a little more length inside with each thrust, until my nose is pressed into his skin as he holds me tight against his body.
He pulls out quite suddenly, leaving my breathing ragged, tears and the days’ mascara streaming down my face.
‘Fuck, that blows my mind,’ he moans breathlessly as I instantly begin to lick him from base to tip. ‘You take me so fucking beautifully.’
‘More,’ I demand hoarsely, working him with my fist, when he slides his hand under my arm, pulling my mouth to his. His fingers pull from my hair, dancing down my back as we kiss. As they reach my ass, they squeeze the flesh so tight I know I’ll bruise.
‘I’ll give you plenty. Just get your sweet arse up those stairs, darlin’, ‘cause I’ve a mind to abuse it.’
I can’t help my excited smile as I turn on my heel, but as I reach the bottom of the staircase, I realise Kit isn’t following.
‘You’re coming, right?’ His responding expression is kind of painful as he slips his hardness into his underwear.
‘Like that’s even a question,’ he says, shooting me a wicked smile. ‘The answer, however, is multiple times.’
‘Then, where are you going,’ I ask as he turns toward the kitchen.
‘Away you go.’ He makes a shooing motion. ‘This domestic god has to see to the meat.’
‘I thought that’s what I was just doing,’ I answer saucily before dashing up the stairs.
Blouse discarded, I’m stripping out of my skirt when Kit follows me into our bedroom.
‘Get your sweet arse on the bed, honey bee.’
‘I thought you were going to abuse it,’ I taunt. I slide my skirt down my legs, flinging it from my toes in his direction. ‘How will you manage if I’m sitting on it.
‘Someone’s in the mood for . . . ’ His look is calculated and before I can guess at the thoughts behind it, my back is bouncing against the mattress. In a split second, Kit’s looming over me. ‘You’re fixin’ for a skelped arse, aren’t you?’ Hand on my waist, he flips me onto my front. The bed beneath me heaves with the speed and force of the movement and I’m suddenly giggling like a schoolgirl.
‘No! Stop!’ I half gasp, half giggle, trying to climb from under him as his fingers pinch and tickle my waist and stomach, the hard length of his cock pushing against my thighs. ‘How did you get out of your cloths so quickly,’ I pant, attempting to scramble up the bed towards the mountain of pillows.
‘Magic,’ Kit rasps in my ear, his fingers making quick work of the clasp of my bra.
I do manage to crawl away as he leans back. Unfortunately, it’s without my panties, his fingers, wrapped tight around the elastic, pull them from my body as I move.
Behind me, Kit strips from the remains of his shirt, the dark swirls of ink as mesmerising as ever.
‘Assume the position, honey bee.’
‘Or what?’ I taunt. Taunt with my words, flaunt with my posterior, wiggling it his way.
I know what’s coming before the impact—hear the shift of his hand through the air.
‘Oh, God,’ I call out as his palm meets flesh. ‘Yes, that. Again.’
He obliges, smacking my ass cheek as my fingers grasp the headboard to better position myself. My legs tremble with a desperate need as I sense him behind me on his knees, my nipples like hard points, brushing the softness of the pillows.
‘Gonna spank this arse,’ he growls, both hands kneading the flesh. ‘Then maybe I’ll fuck it. Maybe I’ll come on it. Maybe I’ll do all the things. What’s your preference, darlin’? Ladies choice.’ His hands trail up the side of my body, palming my breasts, his thumbs brushing the hardened tips as his cock nestles between my cleft. Skin to skin, he covers me, and as he rubs the stubble of his jaw against my shoulders, a rush of thoughts and feelings pour from inside. I feel protected all of a sudden. Nurtured. Cherished. Desired, needed, loved—all those things. This man puts me above everything. He’d follow me into a burning building. He’d follow me to hell, if I let him.
It takes me a moment to realise I’m rocking against him, chanting a litany of my love over and over again as tears stream down my face.
‘I know, darlin’, I know,’ he whispers, his words taking on a soothing tone. ‘Come on. Come on now,’ he placates, trying to gather me into his arms.
‘No.’ I tighten my fingers on the headboard, thrusting my ass against him. ‘I need you inside me,’ I say, turning my head over my shoulder. ‘I need you now.’
I need the distraction. I need fucking hard and fast. I need these thoughts fucking out of me.
His eyes are dark and his expression intense as he slides a knee between mine to widen my stance.
Between my legs begins to throb as he asks if I’m sure. If I want it hard. If I want it to hurt.
I nod, desperate. I spend much of my day being controlled and measured, but what I want right now—what I need—is to be untethered.
‘God, yes. Fuck me, Kit, please.’
He slaps me once more and I jump at the unexpected contact.
‘You don’t have to beg, honey. Just keep those legs spread.
I don’t have a chance to answer as he hits me again, this time there—between my legs. My pussy throbs, sparks of residual pleasure rippling like waves through my body. I don’t even cry out. Not in pleasure, not in pain, the feeling so much more than either, though only the start of things.
‘You like that, darlin’?’
My responding whimper can leave him in no doubt.
‘Fuck, yeah,’ he growls in response to the wetness he pulls from between my splayed thighs. The dampness coats my back as he places a hand there, pushing my ass out. ‘This arse,’ he murmurs with reverence. ‘I could write sonnets about this arse.’
I laugh—a short burst of air from my chest which startles us both.
‘What, you think I couldn’t?’ There’s an edge of laughter colouring his words, too. ‘You think I’m more of a limerick man?’ I shake my head in answer, strands of hair covering my face.
‘There was a young lady from Erse,’ he begins.
‘There’s no such place.’
‘Isn’t there?’ he taunts, pulling my hair into a tight knot at the base of my skull. ‘There was a young lady from Erse, who had the most fantastic arse.’ He pulls once and my head rolls back. ‘And that,’ he grunts, lining the head of his cock between my legs, ‘is all I’ve got.’
He punctuates the end of his words with his hips.
I cry out, my body stunned at the sudden yet slick intrusion.
‘Fuck,’ he grunts, pushing in to his hilt and twisting my head back for a punishing kiss. Teeth clash and tongues fight. My body aches from the intrusion—from my position—but I wouldn’t have it any other way as he begins to move, slowly at first, smooth thrusts of his hips, movements that increase with depth and ferocity until he’s pounding the life out of me.
It’s hard and deep and sublime, each flex of his hips reaching the place inside me that is pure pleasurable pain.
Unravelling his fist from my hair, he takes my hips, each slide of his cock causing my knees to shake from the effort of bearing his thrusts. My chest is tight and my head empty as he gives me what I need.
Peace. The space not to think. To just feel.
‘Get there,’ he grunts. ‘Get there for me, Bea.’ His accent is heavier during sex, the raspy need robbing him of any finesse. ‘Give me that fuckin’ honey, coat my cock in it.’
I see stars—the universe in all its white-hot glory as I come loudly, exploding in a burst of blinding ecstasy. The fabric of the headboard tight beneath my fingers is the only thing preventing me from floating away. Well, that and the man behind me, crying out my name.
He falls against me, resting his chin on my shoulder, his heavy breaths blowing past my cheeks. Skin to skin, there’s nothing between us right now. Nothing and everything.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Kit rasps and, sliding his arms around my waist, he pulls me down against the bed, turning me in his arms.
‘I love you,’ I whisper, my eyes growing heavy along with my words.
‘Love you, too, honey bee. Don’t you want to eat before you sleep?’
I shake my head, struggling to keep my eyes open as the world narrows to a place of kisses, of peace, and of acceptance.
Tomorrow truly is another day. A day where I can face anything with Kit by my side.
THE END
If you enjoyed this little trip into Kit and Bea’s domestic lives, why not check out their full story in One Dirty Scot, an Amazon top 50 performer. Or check out Kit’s brother, Rory, in One Hot Scot.
Books in the (standalone) Trouble by Numbers series include:
One Hot Scot
Two Wrongs
One Dirty Scot
Mac’s story as yet untitled, coming Fall 2017,
Playing Games, another Lion’s Den story, coming August 2017