I gasp, gripping the edges of the bench harder but my hands are so sweaty that I can barely hang on. If he lets go of my waist, I will go flying because my limbs are loose and I’m so full from him inside me, stretched like silk, that nothing else matters to me now except coming fast and coming hard.
He slams into me, his hips circling quickly, hitting the right spot every time and the feeling in my core grows and builds and tightens until I feel like I might pass out. Our skin slaps loudly against each other, a frenzied soundtrack to our animalistic fucking.
With one smooth movement he pulls my hips up higher, angling himself down in a long, powerful thrust and he’s hitting my G-spot with the perfect hot grind.
All the tension snaps, a wire pulled too taught.
I cry out, unraveling and unraveling until I fear there’s nothing left of me but hot blood and instinct.
He moans as I pulse around him and his pace quickens. He’s driving himself inside me, so hard and thorough and punishing, as if he’s punishing me again and again. And I’m still riding my orgasm, each brutal thrust keeping me going on the wave, like I’ll keep coming for as long as he’s in deep. I’m up so high, high, high and I can’t come down, even if I tried.
It’s pure, primal bliss.
“You fucking ruin me, love,” he growls, so savage and frantic in his rhythm, and then he slows with one, heavy push. His fingers dig into my skin, hard enough to leave bruises and his loud, wild groan fill the room, tangling with my own.
“Fuck,” he gasps roughly. “You ruin me.”
He stills against me, drops of sweat falling on my back, our heavy breathing in unison, and it feels like he has to pry his fingers away from my hips, he was gripping them so hard.
Eventually he pulls out and I feel his cum spill down my leg. He puts his hand up my thigh, wiping it away and then leans forward, placing soft kisses down my spine.
“Thank you,” he says softly, voice beyond husky, as if he drank a gallon of gasoline. “I won’t forget this.”
Getting spanked and fucked in the locker room of a rugby star? Yeah. I’m not going to forget this either.
***
I’m excited for the first real pub night with Lachlan and his friends, even though I’m a bit on edge with what Lachlan revealed last night. I won’t bring it up because I don’t want him to think I’m watching him, and I also know what he told me in Napa, about his relationship with alcohol. I just have to trust that he knows what he’s doing. He’d told me that it was all over and done with, that he wouldn’t backslide, and I just have to have faith that he’s right.
I spend some time trying to select the outfit that’s just right for the girlfriend of a rugby star. Not that I’m his girlfriend but…fuck. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to be.
“Are you ready?” Lachlan asks while I try on a white lace tank top for the millionth time. I settle on skinny jeans and high heels, but I still feel it’s not enough.
“Ugh,” I say, making a face at myself in the mirror. “I don’t know.” I turn to face him as he leans against the bathroom door. “Do I look okay?”
He raises a brow. “Are you taking the piss?”
“No, I am not taking the piss, though I’m still not sure what that means.”
He shakes his head, walking over to me. He studies my face, blinking in almost disbelief, before brushing my hair off my shoulders. My eyes close, surrendering briefly to his touch.
“It means you’re insane if you think you don’t look okay,” he says in a growly voice. “And that I’ll never think you’re anything other than beautiful.”
“You know how to say all the right things,” I tell him, and he plants a few kisses down my neck, making me shiver.
“Because I’m with the right girl,” he says against my skin.
I swallow at that, trying to find the courage to speak. “About that,” I say softly. “Am I your girl?”
He pauses and pulls back to observe me, brows pinched together. “What are you on about?”
“Am I your girl? I mean, we’ve never really discussed our actual relationship, what we are with each other, and so…I don’t want to be presumptuous and assume I’m more to you than I am. So I just wanted to know, so I could be clear, you know…how you feel.”
Oh god. I’m a rambling fool.
He stares at me for a long moment, which only makes me wince. Finally he says, “I invited you to come to Scotland with me. I bought you a plane ticket just on the hope that you would come. Kayla…you’re my girl. You’re my beautiful world. And I’m whatever you want me to be, just as long as you know that I have never, ever, felt this way about someone in my entire life.” He lowers his face, eyes focused intently on my lips. “I’m losing myself in you. Every day. And it’s the most wonderful, terrifying feeling in the world. If I’m being honest here, you’re starting to drive me a bit mad in my affections for you. I don’t know if I will ever be of right mind again.”
Jesus. My heart is near combustion. His words are like sunshine, banishing everything scary and dark. It’s everything I want to hear.
I clear my throat, trying to act cool. “So, am I your girlfriend or what?”
He grins at me. “You’re my girlfriend. My girl. My woman. And I’m all yours.”
“My man,” I say, kissing the stubble on his cheek. “My beast.” I pause. “My sex slave.”
“Bloody right I am,” he says before kissing me so deeply that it steals my breath away.
Satisfied that I look okay, at least to him, I snatch up my purse and we head on out for the night. Lachlan calls a taxi, and it’s only about ten minutes before we’re on Grassmarket, heading for the pub. This one in particular is underground, though it’s done up with lots of teak wood and orange and green plaid seatbacks.
Lachlan nods at a table near the middle of the room where his teammates are sitting. I recognize them both from earlier, even though I was watching from far away.
“Hello, hello,” says one with a crooked nose and a mop of reddish brown hair. The other one, olive-skinned and darkly handsome, just nods with a shy smile.
“John,” Lachlan says to the ginger, then nods at the other one. “Thierry.” He pronounces his name like “tea-erry,” which sounds terribly French to me. “This is Kayla.”
“Ah,” Thierry says, and low and behold, he was a terribly French accent. “Nice to finally meet you. You must be the reason Lachlan’s been fumbling at practice.”
Lachlan gives him the stink-eye which would make any another man shrink in his seat, but Thierry only gives us a slow smile, pleased with himself.
“Oy,” John says, elbowing Thierry in the side. “You better watch your mouth, mate, or I’ll tell Lachlan all about your latest escapades over the summer.”
“Latest escapades?” Lachlan repeats, clearly interested. He sits down across from them and motions for me to do the same. “What did I miss?”
Thierry rolls his eyes but says nothing. He folds his arms across his wide chest and looks away.
“You see here,” John says, leaning forward with a goofy grin. “And I only found this out a few minutes ago, so you can’t blame it for being fresh in my mind, but it turns out Thierry met a girl back in Paris over the summer. She broke his bloody heart, though if we know our Thierry well, he probably broke hers. Always playing the victim, eh, Thierry? On the pitch and off.”
Lachlan is grinning at this and gives me a conspiratorial glance. “Thierry is what we call a manwhore, so even the idea that someone could have broken his heart is nearly joyous news.”
I look at Thierry and can immediately see why he’d be breaking hearts. He’s not as tall or as built as Lachlan, and he only has a few tattoos on one bicep, but with his warm dark eyes, honey skin, smooth lips, and thick black hair, he’s pretty arresting. If I wasn’t attached to the most gorgeous, giving man on the planet, I could see myself throwing some flirts his way. He definitely looks like he’s built for speed and agility.
“So,” Lachlan says to him with a nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”