18

Lachlan

Last night was pure shite, to put it mildly.

Not to say that nights spent as a mythical creature, trying to connect with your monster father who doesn’t remember what it was to be human are usually good—but last night was particularly awful.

All I could think about was the expression on Key’s face when I told her it was a bad idea for us to pursue…whatever happened back in the castle. Not because I don’t want her—because I’m realizing now that, however impractical, I really fucking want her—but because she’s already suffered so much. She’s lost so much. I can’t in good conscience risk being another thing she loses.

Maybe that’s arrogant of me, assuming anything that might happen between us would be so important that she would mourn it once it was gone. But the way I felt touching her, kissing her…it feels like the start of something important. More than the quick flings I’ve sought out with strangers just to satisfy an urge, no, touching Key felt almost…like I was meant to touch her. Like it was right somehow.

But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?

And I haven’t even told her everything. I haven’t told her what the rest of the curse entails, what that might mean for her. How would that make her feel? And why does the possibility of hurting her with that knowledge make me feel terrified? I don’t want to hurt her, I’ve realized. I don’t want to give her any more reasons to be sad. Despite what her family has done to mine, despite whatever part she might have to play in my story…it feels like she’s suffered enough.

These thoughts continue to swirl around in my head as I make the long trek back toward the farm—the sun just beginning to climb higher in the sky as I trudge down the path that leads away from the farmhouse toward my wee groundskeeper’s cottage. There is a moment where I stand still and stare at the larger house up the hill, imagining myself pounding on Key’s door and telling her I didn’t mean any of it. Telling her that I am afraid, but that I think she might be worth it.

And how fucking selfish would that be of me?

I eventually shake away the idea of it, continuing on, not stopping until I’m shutting the door to the cottage behind me and shucking off my wellies as fatigue seeps into my very bones. Not physical, really, but mental is more like. Spiritual, maybe, even. Like every awful thing I’ve endured in my life has culminated into this one giant pile of shite, burying me alive.

Because maybe there isn’t an answer out there for me.

Maybe it is simply my destiny to end up just like my da.

I shrug out of my coat and hang it by the door before I shuffle into the kitchen, hoping that coffee will make me feel more human. I grab the filter from the cabinet and reach for the can with the intention of getting it started, but before I can even fill the canister with water—a heavy banging sounds at my door.

My heart starts to thud in my chest as I turn to look, holding my breath until another loud thud rings against the wood.

“Lachlan! Open the door!”

Is it mental that I feel both elation and dread at the sound of her voice? Has she come to yell at me some more? Maybe to tell me off for being a coward? I probably deserve it, truth be told.

“I’m not leaving until you open the door,” she calls.

I open my mouth, my voice sounding a bit hoarse. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah. I meant it then, and I mean it now too.”

I set the coffee can back on the countertop, my heart pounding against my ribs as I take a step toward my door. I should tell her to go. I know that. There’s nothing to be said that can change our situation. No good that can come from torturing myself with the sight of her lovely face.

But I still take another step.

“I mean it, Lachlan,” she yells. “Don’t make me start singing.”

I feel my lips curve into a smile without my permission, and then without even realizing I’ve crossed the rest of the space, I find my hand on the doorknob, pulling it open to reveal Keyanna MacKay in all her wild-haired, emerald-eyes-burning-with-fury glory.

“Anything but that, lass,” I murmur.

“You know”—she presses her fists to her hips, glaring up at me—“I think you’re the stupid one.”

My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. “Do you, now?”

“I do.”

She takes a step toward me, arching an eyebrow in silent question as she waits for me to move. She doesn’t speak again until I’ve turned to the side, watching as she stomps past me and plants herself in the middle of the cottage, that same angry look on her face.

I shut the door, crossing my arms over my chest. “And why’s that?”

“Where do I start? First: You make me practically twist your arm into letting me help you.” She holds up a finger as if to check off my crimes. “Second: You kissed me.” That one has my brow furrowing in confusion, but she barrels on. “And third: You have the audacity to think you get to decide whether or not I’m allowed to risk doing it some more.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Kissing you.”

I narrow my eyes. “But you said it was stupid.”

“It was stupid because you did it thinking you weren’t going to do it again.”

“Is that right?”

“It is.” She steps closer, glaring up at me. “Did you really think you could kiss me like that and then just never do it again?”

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” I huff. “I just said it was the right thing.”

She nods thoughtfully, that same fury in her eyes when she counters, “Just like I said. Stupid.”

And then she surges upward, wrapping her arms around my neck as she plants her mouth on mine.

Every good intention I’ve been clinging to goes flying out the window when I feel her pressed against me; it’s not unlike what I felt yesterday, an overwhelming sense of rightness that I’ve not felt since…Well. Ever, really. Somewhere, deep in my mind, I know that I should push her away. That I should stand my ground to protect her from potential heartbreak.

But I physically can’t seem to do that.

Instead, I feel my arms winding around her willowy frame, pulling her closer. I feel my lips part to allow her tongue to swipe against mine, groaning at the taste of her toothpaste and the underlying sweetness that is just her. I can’t resist letting my hand trail up her spine to shove into her hair, loving the way the springy, silken curls twist around my fingers.

She smells like something soft and sweet, her shampoo maybe—but she tastes like honey and sunshine and every good memory I’ve ever had, however few. How can I possibly push her away when she’s the first thing I’ve allowed myself to hope for in years?

She makes a surprised sound when I let my hands slide down to curl under her arse, whimpering into my mouth as I hoist her up against my body. Her legs wrap around my waist, the hardening length of my cock pressed against the warmth between her legs and drawing another groan from deep in my throat.

My lips wander, tasting every part of her skin that’s been tempting me, even when I thought of her as my enemy—pressing kisses to her cheek, her jaw, along the soft line of her throat until she’s gasping with it. I’ve never felt need like this; the overwhelming heat of her burrows into me and lights me up like crackling electricity, leaving me suspended between wanting to do this, just this, forever, and wanting to take everything she’s willing to give.

“We shouldn’t,” I argue feebly.

She just tilts her head, allowing me better access. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes me just before I feel her fingernails scratching at my jaw, brushing the trimmed hair of my beard, quickly moving to toy with the neckline of my shirt before she gives it a curious tug.

“Can you take this off?”

I grin against her mouth. “I knew you liked the view that day.”

“Just shut up and take it off,” she grumbles.

“Anything for you, princess.”

I drop her to her feet before reaching behind me to pull my shirt over my head, and I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy the flash of heat in her eyes as she ogles me without it. I keep as still as I’m able as her hands run through the dark hair on my chest, sucking in a breath when her thumb flicks across one of my nipples.

“Careful,” I warn.

She bites her lip. “Of?”

“I’m all about fair play,” I hum, reaching to toy with the hem of her sweater. “And right now we’re a wee bit unbalanced.”

Her smile is devilish, and she shoves my hands away before tugging her sweater up and off in one fell swoop, letting it dangle from her finger coyly for a moment before dropping it to the floor.

“How about now?”

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes drinking in the gentle swells and slopes of her body, the creamy skin dotted with freckles that beg to be traced with my tongue. “S’really not fair,” I mutter.

She beams wider, hooking her finger through my belt loop and tugging me backward until we’re falling onto my too-small bed that’s barely big enough for me, let alone the two of us. Still, seeing her splayed out on my sheets is…something to behold.

I run my fingers through her hair, dipping my head to trace her collarbone with my lips. I feel her shiver against me when I bring my other hand to her waist to tease her hipbone with my thumb, exhaling roughly against her skin.

“What’s happening here, Key?”

She makes an amused sound. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Hmm.” I lift my head, studying her face. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me. Stupid as I am.”

She lifts her head, her lips feathering against mine as her hand snakes between us, cupping my clothed cock and rubbing me firmly enough that my vision goes white at the edges.

“Take these off too,” she murmurs.

I suck in a breath, rolling my hips against her hands before I even realize what I’m doing. “Are you sure?”

“I told you,” she says, kissing me gently. “I’m not the one who’s afraid.”

“Fuck,” I grunt, shuddering when she squeezes my denim-clad cock. “You keep doing that, and this’ll be over before I can get the damned things off.”

The sound of her laugh lights me up; it’s still one of the most unattractive noises I’ve ever heard, and yet, hearing the pealing sound of it, knowing I caused it—it’s damned near like music.

It’s a flurry of motion as she helps me shove my jeans off, as I help rid her of hers, moments after spent rutting against her, losing it a bit more every time I feel the heat between her legs enveloping my straining length that threatens to escape my boxer briefs.

It feels surreal that we’re here, that she’s practically naked in my bed, when a week ago I was pretty sure she hated my guts, and I hers—but is that true, really? I think back to what she said yesterday, about how even when she thought that she hated me, she couldn’t get me off her mind. I realize the same can be said for me. Was I really so busy hiding behind all the things I thought I should be feeling about her that I was blind to what I actually was?

If the desperation I feel for her right now is any indication, I would say the answer to that question is pretty clear.

The way she’s tilting her hips is a clear invitation, but still I find the question falling from my mouth, still not convinced this is real. I can see the pink of her nipples through the lacy bra she’s wearing—her breasts two perfect handfuls that make my mouth water. “And you’re sure this is what you want? I don’t—” I swallow around the growing lump in my throat. “I don’t want to be another regret for you, Keyanna. You’ve had plenty.”

Her eyes soften, as does her smile, and her hands on my face are heavenly, and I go down easily, meeting her mouth for a kiss that’s much softer than the ones we’ve shared so far.

“I’m sure,” she tells me between kisses. “Now please touch me.”

And even if my brain is having trouble catching up to this turn of events—my body seems to have no such quandaries.

My hands are shaking when they hook into the elastic of her lavender underwear, a soft, simple cotton that would never be called fancy but somehow is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Or maybe it’s just because it’s her.

I peel them off slowly, with a reverence I feel deep in my bones—my breath catching at the sight of neat red curls between her legs. I can’t stop staring even as I work her underwear down her legs and toss them aside, the color darker than her hair and such a sharp contrast to her fair skin that I’m hypnotized.

My hands look too rough to be touching her when I let them glide over the tops of her thighs—my tanned skin stark against her pale complexion, my calloused fingers abrasive against the softness of her—and yet she makes the quietest, most enticing noises as I touch her. Like she’s as hungry for more as I am. Like she wants this as desperately as I do.

“Wanna taste you,” I tell her, flicking up my eyes to meet hers. “Want your cunt in my mouth.”

Her cheeks go pink and her lips part, her pupils blown wide. “O-oh. Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Please do that.”

“Aye,” I chuckle, leaning in and simply inhaling the scent of her—intoxicating enough to give me a headrush. “Since you asked so nicely.”

She gasps when I shove her thighs apart. I’m feeling feral at the sight of her so soft and wet and pink, like she’s begging for my tongue. I’ve never been with a woman who knew me, really knew me—and it’s freeing to know I don’t have to constantly watch what I do or what I say. That I can just enjoy this. Enjoy her.

I nuzzle between her legs as I draw in another lungful of her scent, and the sound she makes is almost one of embarrassment, but the soft moan that follows when I lick at her cunt practically makes her melt.

“Oh,” she sighs. “Do it again.”

I hum my assent as I drag my tongue through the crease of her slowly, savoring her taste and her heat and just her, really—closing my eyes when I do it again, letting her sounds guide me. I feel her fingers slide into my hair when I circle her clit with my tongue, feel her tug at the strands when I pull it into my mouth, sucking it hard before releasing it with a wet pop.

“God, Lachlan, that’s—fuck, right there.”

I love how vocal she is. How she’s just as unafraid to voice her thoughts in bed as she is in any other aspect of her life—and every pleasured sound, every gasped word, just spurs me on further. Makes me that much more desperate to take her apart.

“Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen,” I murmur, holding her open so I can lap at her, letting my thumb press against her entrance, which is slippery and almost begging for me to dip inside. “You want me here?”

“Please,” she sighs, one hand still gripping my hair and the other fisting my sheets. “Just—can you—”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” I practically purr. “I’m going to take good care of this.”

She cries out when I finally sink my thumb inside her, wrapping my lips around her swollen clit and sucking it deep. I lift her knee and bring it over my shoulder, gripping her thigh to hold her close as I lose myself in the pleasure of tasting her. My thumb is replaced by two fingers, and she moans at the stretch, making needy sounds as I rub at that spot inside that has her bucking against my face.

“Lachlan!”

“So soft,” I murmur, pushing my fingers deeper as I swirl my tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. “So pretty.” I suction my lips to her center, humming against her as I feel her growing wetter around my fingers, softer, somehow. “Wanna feel you come,” I groan as I curl my fingers to stroke her inside. “Can you do that for me?” I let my lashes flutter open, peering up her body to find her flushed and panting above me. “Can you come for me, love?”

“Oh—oh.”

I feel her thighs begin to quake around my ears as her insides follow suit, and her clit throbs against my tongue as her fingers clench at my hair so tightly, my scalp stings, but even that I welcome, because suddenly everything is hot and wet, and I can feel her coming against my tongue.

I can’t seem to stop tasting her, touching her—licking at her slick cunt that gushes just for me, slick because I made her that way. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t get enough. In fact, it feels like I could spend forever here, between her legs, watching her come over and over again, but her hands are suddenly tugging at my shoulders, her nails clawing at my skin as she urges me upward.

I crawl over her, covering her body with mine as she pulls me down so that my mouth can slant against hers, and it’s even headier knowing she must taste herself on my tongue. My cock is so hard that it hurts now, and she presses her knees against my hips so that I slot between her legs, feeling the slick heat of her soaking the front of my underwear.

She’s kissing me like she’s starved for it, like she can’t get enough, and maybe she won’t want more than this, maybe this is as much as she’ll want this time, and I realize I’m perfectly content with that. If all she wants from me at this moment is to come apart on my tongue, then I’ll consider myself incredibly lucky.

But then she falls back against the bed panting, her eyes glazed and her cheeks pink, purposefully tilting her hips up so that she rubs against me.

“More,” she whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I want more.”

Her lips find mine, her kisses almost desperate, and it occurs to me all at once—there’s a good chance that I’d give Keyanna MacKay anything she asked me for.