Page 63 of Single Daddy Scot
‘Mac. Please don’t.’ I tremble before him; his proximity, the smell of whisky, and his earthy cologne are too much to bear. ‘I won’t be with you as a substitute to her. It has to be on my terms; don’t you see?’
‘You made me so angry,’ he whispers. ‘Irrational... and angry... and mad wi’ it. But you also made me realise a few things. It’s true,’ he says, arranging my hair across my shoulders. ‘I thought I was in love with her for so long. But seeing you both in the room together made me realise a few things.’ He traces his thumb from shoulder to shoulder, caressing my clavicle, then hooking it under the thin strap of my silk camisole.
‘I had my chance with her before. Twice. Back when we were kids, I was almost her first.’ His eyes seem distant with the memory but not at all hurt. ‘But I told myself it was wrong. We were drunk, and she was more like family, so I stopped. But I could’ve had her then. And when I heard she came back to Scotland, I got myself up there real quick. It was grand seeing her again. She was a bit broken but still Fin. But I did nothing. Told myself I’d let her settle in, get over the loss of her husband and such.’
His brow furrows, but I say nothing, greedy for the knowledge his words might impart.
‘But I didn’t. I had no intentions of making it real, and I realised that today. I’ve never been anyone’s first, y’ken?’ His throat moves as he swallows. ‘I think I tied that evening when we were teenagers to this... this ideal. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone, not really. Not before this. And never permanently, but I told myself she was it for me. My unobtainable ideal. The reason I’d never settle down. I think I blew this up in my mind, blew it out of proportion. It makes this less about her and how I really feel. I had my second chance, and I didn’t jump to make it real.
‘But you,’ he murmurs, hooking his thumb around the other strap of my top. ‘You’re real. And I’m not letting you go anywhere.’ The strap tickles as he slips it from my shoulder. ‘Take off your trousers, Ella.’
My heart stops, words stuck in my throat as I watch him—watch his big hands brushing the tips of my breasts. But I don’t move—I can’t. I’m having trouble making sense of anything currently.
‘You did a much better job of following instructions the other night.’ His throat rumbles with the words.
‘But we aren’t playing now.’
‘Little girl, that’s where you’re wrong. Take off your pants and show me what’s mine.’
‘You can’t seriously expect me to believe that you’ve just turned off your feelings for Fin?’ My response doesn’t sound as strong or as indignant as I feel it should, but it’s hard to feel anything but the stroke of his fingertips.
‘I expect you to take me at my word. I expect you to give me a chance to show you. And I expect you to take off your trousers before I create some wicked consequence. I want you in my bed, Ella. Not tonight, but soon. But more than that, I want you in my life. Inourlives,’ he adds, his words heavy with meaning. ‘And I think you want that, too.’
‘In your bed but not t-tonight?’ Out of all the information contained in his words, this is the thing I require clarification on? What is wrong with me?
My pussy is in charge, obviously.
‘No, sweet girl.’ His smile is warm one minute, then wolfish the next. ‘But if you’ll have me, I’ll have you soon.’
‘Then why am I taking off my pants?’
‘Because I’ve never seen you in your underwear. And you’re wearing heels,’ he says, as though that explains everything. ‘Christ, I want you. But I want to do this right. Tonight, I think I’ll settle for a taste.’
No ambiguity there.
‘But—’
‘Hush,’ he says, placing a finger against my lips. ‘We’ll work it out. You just have to say yes.’
In answer, I loosen the zipper at the side of my pants.
