Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

TAVISH

The plane touches down in Scotland and I've still not gotten dicked down. And let's be honest here. I always need Draven's big dick.

In my ass.

Down my throat.

Between my thighs or ass cheeks.

Or anywhere else, for that matter.

It doesn't matter where or when or how. I want it. Always.

Well, the when and how doesn't matter now that I'm not so scared of running him off.

But no matter how much I tried to sway Draven into fucking away the flight time, the man never faltered. He had his libido locked up in a steel trap, and I don't think a nuclear bomb could've unlocked it.

That's okay. I'm a persistent little shit. I'll break him somehow. Well, maybe not break him, because I still don't want to piss him off. I want him to fuck me like a savage. That's fun times. Funishment, over punishment, is the name of the game.

I'm kinda surprised he didn't beat my ass for the mess I caused earlier. I mean, I know he said that red meant hard stop but that hadn't been my experience in the past.

You really need to stop comparing Draven and Samuel.

The voice in my head couldn't be more accurate. They were so different they weren't even apples and oranges. The sun and the moon and every star in the sky versus slimy shit.

Puke.

At the foot of the plane's stairs, there's a car waiting. I go to get into the passenger side, and I'm confronted by a steering wheel.

"What in the hell is this shit?"

"What do ye mean, what is this shit?"

"This is my side of the car," I say

He laughs, "I know ye've been to Scotland before because I saw ye here."

"Yes, I've been to Scotland before, but I've always ridden in the back of a limo."

More laughter at my expense and it's starting to piss me off, but I bite my tongue.

"Just get in the car, lilla du."

Walking around to the other side, I get in. I don't know why it took me by surprise to see the steering wheel on that side of the car. I can't believe I embarrassed myself like that. He must think I'm such a dumbass.

Once in the car, he pulls off the tarmac, turning onto the road. We pass several signs, and I realize that instead of landing at the airport in Edinburgh like I'd planned, we landed in England instead.

"Did you change our flight plan?" I ask.

"Aye."

Trying to figure out why he would've directed the pilot where he did, I watch the scenery speed by.

"What's spinning through that head o' yers, lilla du?" Draven asks from behind the wheel of the car.

"Why did we land in England?"

He glances at me. "Why do you think?"

Huffing, I say, "I don't know. That's why I ask I asked you."

His jaw jumps as he clinches his teeth and then he scrubs his face with his hand.

"Smaller airports dinnae attract as much attention. Ye can typically bribe yer way into being nonexistent. But in this case, I have an old buddy that works at the airport. He's gonna make certain that no one remembers we were there. "

"What kind of voodoo Harry Potter shit is he going to pull?"

"Are ye hungry, lad?"

I roll my eyes at him, still not getting what is up with this man and feeding me.

"I could eat."

His eyes dart around, and he turns into a store, bypassing the fast-food restaurants.

I groan at the ridiculous man. "A burger would be nice."

"And I'll make ye one when we get to Wick. Just because I cannae cook ye something doesn't mean I'm going to fill yer belly full o' artificial food and junk."

Staring longingly at the Golden Arches, I follow him into the store. Once we're inside, all I see is healthy shit everywhere. Every color of green and all the other colors of the rainbow fill the tables and coolers. There's not a potato chip or a gummy candy in sight.

I start to wander off in the search of something that's not a leafy green veggie or something else equally gross.

He grabs a hold o' me and says, "Oh, no. There'll be no wandering off to gorge yerself with chips and candy."

UGH!

I fold my arms over my chest, my lip poking out in a pout. The injustice of it all burns within me, making me want to wail at it, but I gave him control, and I sure as shit don't want it back.

"Yes, Daddy," I murmur.

He pulls me against his side and kisses my temple. The feeling that engulfs me overwhelms my senses, filling me with joy. I am so relieved we are still in this together. That he didn't walk away from me. He understands me and what I need. Even when I sometimes don't. I think that is the most important part. He understands me on a level that I don't even understand myself. I hope I provide him with the same, and if I don't, then I hope I figure my shit out quickly because he deserves it.

Following this hulking giant of a man through the store, I watch him pick up and discard item after item. Smelling them, squeezing them, it's all very strange. Or maybe I'm what's strange. I mean, I'm a twenty-five-year-old man and I've never gone to the grocery store.

"Why are you doing that?" I ask.

"What do ye mean?"

"Why are you smelling them and squeezing them?"

He looks at me curiously but holds out a melon to me. "Here. Smell this."

Returning the curious glance, I do as he orders. Leaning forward, I smell the melon. The sweet, fruity goodness I've come to love tickles my nose. I'd never had a cantaloupe before Draven fed me some.

"You can smell the fruit!" I exclaim.

"Aye, ye can. That's how ye tell if they're ready to eat. Every food is different in what is the best way to tell if they are or arenae ripe but smelling and squeezing them is always a good start."

I'm sure he's flabbergasted at all the shit I don't know. Most people would be. I wasn't raised to make my way in the world. Once my mother died, I was only kept alive to die at the right moment.