Highland Fling (6 page)

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, surrendering immediately to the taste and feel of his lips on hers. As their tongues tangled, he moved his hand under her thin t-shirt and swept his thumb across the hardened bud, causing Fiona to press her hips against his. Brodie was already hard, his erection straining against his jeans. She pulled down his zip and wriggled her hand gently inside the denim and his boxer fly until her hand made contact with the turgid flesh. He groaned into her mouth and thrust against her. She found the sensitive tip and rubbed her thumb gently across it.

He wrenched his lips away from hers and moved in next to her ear, sliding his hand from her breast to her inner thigh. Then he glided it gently up through the wide leg of her shorts and straight to her already slick nub.

“Is this a game of chicken?” he growled.

Her moan of pleasure sounded loud in the silent island air and it brought her back to her senses. She batted his hand out of the way and removed her hand from his fly, then grabbed his wrist and led him away without saying a word. Brodie followed obediently until they were standing outside an outhouse a few hundred yards from the main house.

“Some games of chicken shouldn't be witnessed by relatives,” she explained. They were in each other’s arms again, their lips and tongues locked in a battle for supremacy. Fiona tweaked the button on Brodie's jeans and freed his throbbing hard-on from the confines of his boxers. Brodie pressed her against the wall, lifting her thigh and opening her up to him, allowing him to run his fingers through her slick folds.

“Put your hands round my neck.” When her hands were in the right place, he pushed his hand between them, pushing his cock forward and positioning himself at her core. He bent his knees and thrust inside her.

She went on tiptoe, improving the angle until he took hold of her other thigh and lifted her off the ground. Fiona wrapped her legs around her lover's waist as he slid his hands to her butt cheeks to hold her up.

His initial tempo was slow and deliberate, raising Fiona’s internal temperature with each smooth thrust. The clammy warmth of the summer night air did nothing to ease the heat between them.

Fiona dragged her lips over his jagged stubble in her search for his mouth. When she found his lips, they were open, inviting her to plunge her tongue inside. She guided his head, keeping their lips locked in a battle equal to the intensity of the battle going on below their waists. His hair was wet from the heat and his exertions. The smell of fresh sweat was sweet and drove her to the brink of climax.

As his own tempo began to falter, she stopped thrusting and clamped her muscles around his cock, allowing him to push her over the edge and into her own special oblivion. She didn't hear him come, but as her vision began to clear, she was aware of the warm, wet seed that he had spilled into her, his still gently pulsing hips, and his heavy breathing next to her ear.

“I think you might be the death of me,” he managed, allowing her to gently slip out of his hold and stand up.

“I think it's mutual but we'll die happy.”

Brodie hugged her and they stood for a long time in one another's arms, just enjoying the feel of their bodies together. Eventually, Brodie kissed the top of her head.

“I should go, and you need to go to bed and get some sleep too. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” She looked up suddenly. “Shit, I have no idea where my phone is.”

He chuckled. “Relax, you nearly dropped it while we were kissing so I put it in my back pocket.” Pulling away from her, he fastened his jeans, and retrieved her phone from his pocket. “I hope I didn't phone anyone by accident or they will have gotten a really interesting earful.”

She took the phone from him and checked the display.

“Umm, no, but there is a nice photograph of the inside of your pocket. I should keep it as a souvenir.”

“And what do I get as a souvenir?”

“A kiss.”

She spun him around and pressed him up against the wall this time, kissing him with raw passion. He responded and soon they were hurtling towards the goal they had just achieved. He took her by the forearms and moved her away from him.

“We need sleep,” he reiterated. “I have no desire to haul a half-sleeping bridesmaid around the dance floor.”

She sighed but she knew he was right. She stood on tiptoe, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and hurried back in the direction of the house without turning around or even saying goodnight.

Chapter 6

The day of Sarah's wedding dawned sunny and warm, and Fiona sighed with relief. Scottish weather was so unpredictable but her best friend was lucky. She put on her sexy, dark-blue, satin underwear, hoping that, at some point in the day, the best man would have the chance to appreciate them. Then she pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt and headed down for breakfast.

She was to meet Sarah in the village at the bride's parents’ house, where they would get their hair and make-up done and dress before leaving for the church in the island's only luxury car—Brodie's father's Bentley.

“Ah, you look gorgeous, lass,” said her father as she walked into the kitchen. “The perfect bridesmaid’s outfit. You don't want all that fuss of a dress on a day like today.” She knew he was teasing and she stuck her tongue out at him as she walked past to get to the coffee machine.

“Leave the girl alone, Johnny. Stop teasing her,” scolded Bella, a smile playing on her lips. Fiona sat down opposite her father and grinned at him. It was nice to be healing the wounds that had plagued their relationship since her parents' divorce.

“It's only because he wants to save on the cost of a wedding dress when it comes to my turn, Bella,” she said. “He's such an old skin-flint.”

“And is your own wedding on the horizon? I couldn't help noticing you had a visitor last night.”

“Oh!”

“I heard voices when I got up to get a drink of water. I knew it must be you and Brodie. And then there was silence for quite a while before I heard the door. Did you and he go for a walk?”

“Umm, yeah.” She could feel her cheeks getting hot. She was useless at lying and when she looked at the mischievous twinkle in the older woman's eyes, Fiona knew that the housekeeper knew fine what she and Brodie had been doing.

Bella placed a plate of French toast in front of Fiona and gave her an encouraging tap on the shoulder.

“Yes, it was a hot night. Probably good for a stroll. You should snap young Brodie up. A good-looking lad like that doesn't stay single in these parts very long. All the girls on the island have their eye on him. If I wasn't saddled with your father, I'd have my eye on him too.” She winked at Fiona and bustled back to the stove.

~* * *~

“I'm going to puke,” said Sarah for about the twentieth time since leaving her parents’ house. Mr McGregor, Sarah's dad, shushed her, told her she was beautiful once more and started to lead her down the aisle.

Fiona followed a few steps behind, smiling shyly at people she recognised. Over the music of the church organ, Fiona could hear a chorus of oohs and aahs from the women as Sarah, a beautiful vision in a white tulle dress, walked down the aisle. Fiona took Sarah's bouquet from her and watched the ceremony, singing the hymns quietly, bowing her head and pretending to close her eyes during the prayers, and appraising the gorgeous best man during the vows.

He stood proud and tall next to the groom, the silver diamond-shaped buttons on his Bonnie Prince Charlie black jacket sparkling in the light of the church's stained glass window. The tails of his jacket covered his backside and she allowed her eyes to rake over the pleats of his blue and green MacNeil tartan kilt. His calves looked strong in the off-white Aran socks and his kilt brogues shone so much that she was concerned that some of the other guests would be able to see that he really was a true Scotsman.

Brodie chose that moment to sneak a glance at her. He grinned cheekily, clearly reading the look of pure desire that she knew must be plastered over her face.

He winked quickly and was caught off guard as the groom nudged him and whispered, “The rings.”

Brodie's colour rose slightly as he fumbled in his sporran for the two wedding bands. He pulled them out with a look of triumph, which had many of the congregation chuckling. Though the death glare that the bride threw him would have frightened the bravest of Scottish warriors.

At the end of the service, Brodie and Fiona walked out into the bright sunshine holding hands. She smiled at the simple but caring gesture.

“Today is going to be torture,” he said quietly to her.

“Oh come on. You can't be such a miserable old so-and-so that you don’t want to see your best friend happy. Marriage is a nice thing. It shows commitment.”

“Oh I have no issues with marriage,” he said before giving her a sweet peck on the lips. “I mean it's going to be torture looking at you in that dress and knowing that Sarah will beat me to a pulp if I rip it when I'm removing it from you.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Will you come back to the Big House tonight and stay with me?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“I'd just like to wake... Yes, you'll come?”

“You bet—in more ways than one, I hope.”

“Looks like I had good reason to be sure of myself,” he said glibly, before taking her hand and leading her over to the group around the photographer.

~* * *~

The wedding meal and toasts had taken place in the village hall, which had been beautifully and tastefully decorated in blue, green and white. Everyone had retired to the pub to allow the staff to set up for the evening party. Fiona was standing next to the bar, waiting to be served.

She smiled as she looked up to Brodie, who was obviously and unabashedly admiring her figure in the snug-fitting, dark-blue gown she wore. She knew her cleavage looked good in this style of gown and the long diamanté necklace drew his gaze to where it ended, just at the top of the cleft between her breasts. He played with an auburn curl which was hanging loosely down her back

 Fiona had refused to have her hair piled high and fixed to her head with a hundred kirby grips. The last time she had been a bridesmaid it had taken ages to take her hair out. Sarah had agreed that the hairdresser would curl it and allow her to wear it down.

The barman came to take her order, and when he arrived back with a pint of lager for Brodie and a glass of white wine for Fiona, she bent down and retrieved some paper money from her shoe.

“Why are you keeping your money there?” asked Brodie.

“I don't have a bag.”

“Oh. Do you want to keep it in my sporran?”

“Sure. I'll give you this to keep too.” She fished into the top of her dress and retrieved a lipstick from inside her bra.

“Good grief, now I'm interested to see where you keep your phone.”

“It's strapped to my thigh. I adapted one of those armbands that you use to listen to music when jogging. I'll let you retrieve it when we get back to your place. It's still switched off. I didn't want it vibrating in church.”

“No, that would be terribly unfair if you got a cheap thrill and I was not a part of it.”

“I see we're on the same wavelength.”

~* * *~

Fiona approached the bar in the village hall. The disco lights flickered, making it difficult to see exactly where anyone was. After a minute, her eyes adjusted and she could now easily recognise Brodie. His chiselled jaw, broad shoulders and white smile were a dead give-away. She approached him in time to hear a skinny blonde engage him in conversation. Fiona recognised her as Angela, a girl who had been a few years below her at school.

“Hi Brodie,” purred Angela. “You haven't danced with me all evening.”

“I haven't danced at all, except for the first dance.”

“Well, we can't have such a good-looking guy being a wallflower. Come on, dance with me.”

Fiona approached like a lion surveying its prey. She placed one hand gently on his shoulder and the other on his knee then she burrowed her fingers under the front flap of his kilt.

“Sorry to bother you, Brodie.” Her purr was equal to any that Angela could muster. “I need my lipstick and some money.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” he said. She could see the relief on his face. She reached a bit farther until she could feel the sporran above the woollen fabric. He gave her an enquiring glance and opened the stud of the flat leather pouch.

“I guess it must be the best man's duty to carry the bridesmaid's money and lipstick,” remarked Angela.

Fiona simply smiled sweetly at the other woman. She could feel Brodie’s penis and despite another layer of cloth between her fingers and his flesh, she rubbed gently and bit her lip when she felt him respond to her touch.

“Are you getting what you need?” he asked, as she slid her other hand into the sporran.

“Not quite.” She gave his growing erection a little squeeze. “You wouldn't think it would be so hard...” Fiona turned her sweet smile on him and nearly burst out laughing at the look of horror on his face. “To find a lipstick in a sporran,” she finished.

“Oh, I've just remembered something we have to do. Bridesmaid and best man duty. Angela, I'm sorry. I may see you for a dance later.”

He spun Fiona around and guided her out the side door of the hall. They rounded the corner and Brodie pushed her gently against the wall. Without preamble, he pressed his lips to hers and pushed his tongue straight into her mouth.

She groaned as she circled her arms around his neck. Suddenly, he ripped his mouth away and stared down at her, his eyes blazing with passion. But he bit his lip and shook his head.

“Fee, you can’t tease me like that in front of other people. I want you every time I see you, and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about exactly what I would like to do to you the next time we’re together. Don’t make it harder... I mean more difficult for me.”

Fiona chuckled at his double entendre but removed her arms from around his neck.

“I’m sorry. I was jealous when I saw Angela flirting with you.”

“Did you see me flirting with her?”