Chapter Nine

Michael…

“We won’t be sleeping over.”

Aye, I should have asked Sophie first, but feck the blood splattered over her face and her torn dress, she has never looked more beautiful and if I dinna get my cock inside her soon I’m going to have an aneurysm.

Aunt Morana is lookin’ at me with raised brows and Caitriona is grinning over her shoulder.

My father breaks the little silence. “As long as you two are at dinner tomorrow. Help me lock down the estate and you’re free for the night.”

Everyone files out of the ruins of the great room, leaving me alone with Sophie. She’s fussing with the ripped hem of her dress and looking everywhere but at me.

“Baby, if ya dinna want to do this, we can wait,”

I say gently, “but fair warning, I’m not giving up. You’re mine.”

Oh, that gets her going.

“And that means you’re mine, too, aye?”

Sophie sasses me, leaning back to give me a stern gaze.

“Aye,”

I agree, my voice husky.

“Oh!”

Her eyes are round, a little startled. “But you’re… you. The next Chieftain. Ya date models and shite.”

She smacks me on the arm when I burst out laughing and I wince a bit as she hits the gash Bonnie just stitched up.

“I’m sorry!”

She makes anxious, patting motions without actually touching my arm. “I’m a terrible person! I hit your wound!”

“Ya dinna mean to, love.”

I’m still laughing because after the feck-all this night has been, it feels good. I tickle her lightly on the side, and she giggles, too. We stand in the wreckage of splintered couches and broken bricks and stone scattered across the floor, howling with laughter while some of the guards hammer boards and plastic over the gaping hole in the wall, carefully avoiding looking in our direction. We both try to stop, but then she looks at me and we burst into laughter again.

“We gotta stop,”

she wheezes, leaning on me. “My stomach hurts.”

“My poor lass.”

I take her hand, nodding at the guards.

She lets me pull her into the hallway before digging in her heels. “Michael, ya got to listen. I meant what I said. You’re going to be Chieftain of the MacTavish Clan. I know arranged marriages are still a thing in the clan. I dinna-”

Sophie stepped back, smoothing her snarled hair. “I’m not a rich Mafia princess. I’m not going to be an advantageous match.”

She’s too beautiful, lookin’ up at me with those big, blue eyes and plump lips. I cup her face in my hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

“You’re a fool, Sophie MacDonald.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re everything. I’ve been waiting for ya since ya turned eighteen. Four years is long enough. You’re a bonnie thing, it’s true. You’re also brilliant, courageous, and ya have one hell of a swing. I’m kissin’ ya now.”

Four years. Four fecking years I’ve waited for my Sophie and her lush mouth is everything I’ve wanted. I kiss her softly, then harshly with a little bite to her lower lip as I pull away. She runs her pink tongue along her lip and I groan, pressing her against me.

“Ya feel that, love? I’ve been hard for ya since ya took a peek at my bare arse in my bathroom.”

“Oh my god!”

She groaned, trying to hide her face in my shoulder. “No!”

“Aye. I could see your reflection in the mirror, hiding by the door with your big pile of laundry and the filthiest, sexiest expression on your bonnie face.”

I chuckle, “Worse, I fear I’m gonna sport a stonner every time I see a towel for the rest of my life.”

“Is it too late to go back and ask one of the Krampuses to shoot me?”

Sophie’s beet red and damn if even that dinna look beautiful on her.

“Come, love. I’m takin’ ya home.”

***

Sophie…

The blizzard tapers down to just an annoying assault of sleet and wind by the time we pass through the iron gates of the MacTavish mansion. Michael casually takes my hand and puts it on his thigh as he drives, and every time he shifts, I can feel the muscles in his sculpted leg flex.

Is it possible to have an orgasm just from touching his thigh? Because my fingertips are on fire, running over the fine wool of his dress pants and it takes everything in me to not slide my hand up and cup his erection.

Aye. It’s still there, as hard as it was when he pulled me against him at the house, hot and thick and throbbing against my stomach.

“Um, does your father know who sent the Krampuses… the Krampi… the…”

Michael takes a left turn a bit sharply and my fingers grip his thigh. “Easy, lass. Save your scratching for when we’re in bed.”

The smug bastard winks at me before sobering. “We found a brand on four of the bodies. It’s those Hovhannisyan feckers, the Armenian mob. They’ve been tryin’ to break into our arms business. The good news is, four of our men survived, the snow slowed down their bleeding and Da got them to the doctor in time.”

“Please tell me Ian made it? Bonnie and he… they…”

He gently squeezes my hand on his thigh. “He made it. He’ll be spending some time in recovery, aye, but he’ll be all right.”

We pull into a parking garage under a tall building in Glasgow’s West End and he parks next to the lift. Sitting in silence for a moment, listening to the soft ‘pings’ as the engine cools, all I can feel is his thigh where my hand is resting and his hand on top of mine. His fingers are calloused and rasp slightly over the smooth skin of my palm.

“I dinna want to do the right thing,”

he says suddenly. “I dinna want to give ya a choice. I want to drag ya into my bed and keep ya there, impaled on my cock until New Year’s Day.”

His fingers twine with mine and his other hand takes my chin, turning me to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, the clear jade color almost eclipsed by the black. “If I take ya to my bed, I won’t let ya go. You’ll be mine.”

I give a little yelp as his hand slips under my dress and cups my center, squeezing just a bit.

“I want this pussy. I’ve waited for it for four years. It’s mine. You’re mine.”

He pauses, gritting out the next words like they’re physically painful to produce. “But because I love ya, I’ll give ya this one chance to tell me no. If ya dinna want this, I’ll take ya home.”

The heel of his hand is rubbing gently against my clitoris, and I know he can feel how wet he’s making me.

Can I do this? There’ll be no goin’ back.

“Aye,”

I say clearly, squeezing his thigh, digging my fingernails in just a bit. “I want this. I love ya, too.”

Oh, shite. The grin he gives me is even more demonic than the leering Krampus masks. “Come upstairs, baby. I’m gonna give ya your Christmas present.”

Somehow, I don’t think he means a sweater or a scarf.

***

The penthouse apartment is beautiful; sleek furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the holiday lights on the buildings surrounding us. That’s as much as I gather before he throws me over his shoulder, slapping my arse and laughing when I yelp.

In his darkened bedroom, he slides me down his long body, painfully slowly. I can feel the strength in his arms, his pectorals rubbing against my suddenly stiff nipples and he dangles me, gripping my arse.

And then… I’m sailing across the room and landing on his mattress hard enough to bounce twice, pillows going everything and my shoe flying off.

“Hey! You’re such a-”

His mouth is against mine, his tongue slipping between my lips.

“Are ya attached to this dress, baby?”

He goes up on his knees, straddling me.

“Only because it’s too damned tight to get out of.”

“Good.”

His giant hands grip my neckline and he rips it down the middle, pulling it off me. Suddenly, I’m aware of my ratty sports bra and the unsightly blue ‘laundry day’ knickers I’m wearing. “I dinna plan on tonight, I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

His jade gaze looks me over thoroughly as I squirm.

“Baby, this is the moment you’re gonna learn that a real man doesn’t give a feck what you’re wearing as long as he’s allowed to rip it off ya.”

So, he does, my terrible underwear flying somewhere over his shoulder and he spreads me wide as I laugh, hooking my knees over his elbows.

“Put your hands over your head. Dinna move them.”

He’s hovering over me, his eyes gleaming like a wolf’s and he kisses me again, slowly, tenderly as he sucks my lower lip into his mouth before pulling away.

And then… Michael MacTavish, billionaire and future Chieftain of his clan buries his face in my pussy, growling like a mad dog as he thrusts his tongue inside me. I can feel the stubble on his chin against the thin skin of my inner thighs and it feels so good juxtaposed with the softness of his mouth.

“I knew I was right about ya,”

he groans, “sweet as candy, aren’t ya, baby?” He fucks me with his tongue, and then two fingers, holding me down with his arm across my hips. His rough fingertips press against something inside me and I shriek, grabbing his hair in a death grip.

“Hello, Sophie’s G-spot,”

he chuckles, circling his fingers inside me, and sucking on my clitoris.

It’s too much. His long fingers playing inside me, his lips and tongue and teeth torturing my wet center and I come, little prickles of heat and cold racing over my skin, my thighs shaking because nothing has ever felt like this. His shoulders are wedged between my legs, keeping me open as I moan and thrash.

“Come for me again,”

he orders, “I’ll not stop until ya do.”

“I canna come on command!”

I moan, already half out of my mind and so painfully sensitive that I make a liar of myself as another orgasm sweeps over me like a heated tide. “Too much! M- Michael, too much!”

His eyes look up at me, his mouth still against my center. “You’ll take what I give ya.”

I can feel his grin against my swollen lips. “And then? I’m gonna take everything I want.”

When he’s pushed me to the point of utter bonelessness and moaning incoherently, Michael kisses his way back up, detouring to suck and bite my nipples. He pulls me to the edge of the bed and puts me on his lap, his hard cock rubbing against my back, and then I see why. There’s a full-length mirror positioned perfectly towards the bed.

“Don’t be shy, baby,”

he whispers, biting the soft skin of my shoulder, then kissing the red mark he left.

I’m spread out lewdly, my thighs over his knees and I can see my slick glistening between my legs, smeared on my inner thighs and it is so… filthy.

And I love it.

His hand grips my hip, sliding just the head of his shaft inside me. I can see him, and it’s even more arousing than when I’d spied on him earlier. His cock is thick, the tip an angry red and his heavy balls drawn tight. I watch him slide his fingers through my wet center and smear it along his cock.

“Put me in ya. Take your time.”

My logical side is questioning my sanity even as I arch up, feeling his thick head breach me. “This isn’t going to work,”

I gasp, “there’s too much of ya.” The hot, hard slide of his cock is so much, so much and I can’t breathe or think there’s only him.

So much of him.

“It’ll fit.”

He’s squeezing my breasts, his greedy gaze in the mirror watching my expressions and each inch of his shaft disappearing into me. “Ya were made for me. Your perfect little cunt is going to shape to fit only me.”

I never thought I would love watching myself in the mirror, that it made it even hotter, watching his cock grow slick and shiny from me and when he was finally inside me, all inside me, I could only pant, staring at us.

His fingers lazily circled my clitoris as he thrust in and out, moving my hips side to side to make room. The head of his cock rubbed hard against the place his fingers found before and the bonfire roared back to life, the pain from him stretching me turning into some lethal combination of need and lust.

“There she is,”

he murmurs wickedly, “there’s my lass. Am I being too rough?”

“N- n- no.”

I barely manage to get the word out before my world tilts again as he throws me on my back.

“Good.”

He reaches down, spreading my lips and forcing himself back inside me. “Because I’m about to be.”

The slap of his hips against mine and the banging of the headboard against the wall echo around his cavernous bedroom and he groans, putting my ankle over his shoulder, kissing my leg. “So fecking perfect. Tight and sweet. Your cunt is gripping me like a fist.”

I’d like to reply but there’s no breath in my lungs. Heat and electricity sizzle along my spine, gold sparks cloud my vision and there’s nothing but him inside me, higher than I could have thought he could go and nothing, nothing has ever felt like this. The heat of his body against my chilly skin, pain and pleasure mixing in some arcane combination and I’m coming again, so hard that my convulsing channel holds him tight inside me. He groans, dropping his head to my breasts, his broad chest heaving.

“Baby, you gotta relax. You’re about to rip my cock off.”

“S- sorry!”

He kisses my breasts, my throat. “I’m not. You’re incredible and its takin’ everything in me not to come like a feckin’ teenager.”

My laughter jolts him, making him groan again and he pulls out, torturously slow and slams back into me, making my nails dig into his shoulders. “Every day,”

he grunts, pounding faster, “I’m going to be inside this perfect pussy every fecking day for the rest of our lives.”

Slipping his hand between us, he presses his thumb against my clitoris. “Come with me, baby. One more time.”

“I don’t think I can.”

My arms and legs are like jelly, but damned if my treacherous center dinna obey him, the pleasure spiraling inside me and detonating with him as his heat fills me.

“Mo ghaol àlainn. Tha mi air feitheamh ùine mhòr riut… My beautiful love. I’ve waited a long time for ya.”

It takes a wee bit to come back online, so to speak. I’m aware of him kissing me, murmuring in Gaelic as he rolls me over to rest on his chest, smoothing my hair back.

“Are ya all right?”

My head feels too heavy to lift and I rest my cheek over his rapidly beating heart. “Best Christmas ever.”

I’m too weak to even cringe at how silly that sounds.

“I’m gonna date ya so hard, lass.”

Michael cups my face, kissing me thoroughly. “Then I’ll marry the feck out of ya.”

“So romantic…”

I laugh weakly.

“Ah, so it’s romance you’re wanting?”

He puts one heavily muscled arm under his head. “How about this? I’ll find one of those Krampus masks, chase ya through the forest, bring ya down to the leaves and soil and feck ya.”

Despite my exhaustion and orgasm overload, I shiver a little. “Try it, and the next body buried at a MacTavish construction site will be yours.”

Pausing, I examine his wicked little grin. “Or… do ya want me to wear one?”

“God no!”

Michael laughs.

But… there’s something glimmering in his eyes, the kinky bastard, and I tuck that thought about the Krampus mask away for next Christmas.

Reaching over to the bedside table, he picks up a remote and clicks it. I delightedly watch as a Christmas tree lights up in the corner, the white twinkle lights gently illuminating the bedroom.

“It’s perfect,”

I sigh, stretching against him. “Did ya let your Mum in to decorate?”

His chest jolts me a bit as he laughs. “No. She broke in, bypassed my security system, put up three Christmas trees and left a huge tray of cookies on the counter last week. The woman is a menace. Are ya hungry, love?”

“I’ll never say no to a cookie,”

I kiss the tattoo of his family crest on his pectoral, “but can we just stay here for a minute? I’m so nice and warm.”

His arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head. “As long as ya like, love. As long as ya like.”

***

Would you like to read more about the MacTavish Scottish Mafia? Find the MacTavish Stolen Brides Series in Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.