Winter Wishes (The Play #1.5) (2 page)

Ah, yes. This.

“Do I have permission to help you out?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Permission granted,” he says as he positions his cock, hot and wet, between my breasts and then cups them, pushing them into the middle. I don’t have the biggest breasts in the world for this kind of thing but when I place my hands on top of his and really press them in, it works.

He slides his cock back and forth between them, the lube slick, and I revel in the primal sound of his grunts and groans above me as he works harder and harder. A few times he slips out, but I shoo his hands away so he can grab the headboard. I get a better grip on the sides of my breasts and really make him feel it.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me.” He groans. “Your tits. You’re unbelievable, love.”

Damn right I am.

His pumps become quicker and I know he’s going to come any second. The way his breath hitches, the way his thighs tense up, the little sounds he probably doesn’t know he makes. Desperate sounds. Needy sounds. Sounds that tell me that I’m turning him on like nothing else in this world can.

I fucking live for those sounds.

And he comes. He comes with a hoarse cry and his cum shoots forward all over my neck and face, hot, wet, sticky. Personally I love it when he comes all over me, it’s so dirty, so messy, so carnal. Like a fucking animal. I’m just grateful for the eye mask this time because I would have probably gone blind from the cum in my eye. I hear it’s good for the skin, but I’m not too sure about vision.

He groans, moaning my name, breathing hard for a few moments before he reaches for the tissues beside the bed and delicately cleans me up.

I take off the mask, blinking at him and the flush on his face, the lazy slant to his eyes. So at peace. So gorgeous.

“Good morning,” I tell him as he lies down beside me, holding me to him.

“Good morning,” is his throaty, languid reply.

Together we lie there, lost in the sheets, in each other’s arm, in the silence of nothing but our beating hearts.

I nearly fall asleep this way but he shakes me gently.

“Come on, let’s take the dogs to the park,” he says to me, getting off the bed. “Unless Emily was raised outside of California before she was a stray, she’s probably never seen snow before. She’s going to lose her shite over this.”

“I’m going to lose my
shite
,” I tell him, mimicking his accent. Though I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers and that post-orgasm bliss is still fogging my mind, aside from never having had a white Christmas before, I’ve only seen snow a handful of times.

I get dressed quickly, pulling on fleece joggers, fuzzy socks, and a thick sweater (or “jumper,” as Lachlan and everyone else in this country calls it). The dogs are going nuts. Lionel is running in circles around the drawing room, Emily is hiding under the coffee table and barking, and sweet, elderly Jo is sitting by the door, waiting for her leash, tail thumping against the floor.

We slip the muzzles on Jo and Lionel—though I was only away from the UK for about three months or so, I had been hoping they’d relax their dangerous breed ban, but no such luck—then put on our coats and head down the stairs and outside.

“Wow,” I say as we stand on the stoop surveying the winter wonderland. My breath freezes in the air and floats away, the morning sun shooting through low clouds and lighting the snow in columns of pale gold. I can’t think of a more beautiful place to be swathed in snowfall than Edinburgh. All the stone row houses look like they’re made of gingerbread. Most are trimmed with Christmas lights and wreaths, and through some windows you can see giant trees in the drawing rooms done up in shiny tinsel.

“When I woke up this morning it was still coming down,” he says, squinting up at the sky. “I was hoping that by the time I got back from boxing it would still be falling.”

“This is beautiful,” I tell him, and though I wish I could have seen the snow fall, I also know that Lachlan gets up at six in the morning and that’s out of the question for me. Sometimes he goes boxing, sometimes he just takes the dogs for a long walk. He’s doing phenomenally well in his effort to remain sober. Going to a psychiatrist, taking low dose anti-anxiety medication. Above all, extra exercise seems to keep his demons in check. As if playing rugby professionally wasn’t enough, now he has to keep himself nearly exhausted. Not that I’m complaining though—his body is looking better than ever, something I never thought possible, and it’s made him even more vigorous in the sack. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.

He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. With the other he holds Emily’s leash while I hold Jo and Lionel, the muzzle twins. I guess they’re less scary when I hold them, the tiny Asian girl, versus Lachlan and his big, badass, tattooed self.

Also there’s the fact that Emily is skittish around anyone except for him. Although at this moment, she’s especially freaked out, gingerly sniffing the snow, her eyes wide, hair standing on end.

We carefully make our way down the steps and cross the street toward the park. I marvel at the way the snow shimmers in the light, the chill in the air that seems to drive out all the city smog. I lean into Lachlan’s solid mass, feeling absolutely cozy. Happy. Whatever uncertainty I had about coming here, no matter how brief it had been, seems to have been wiped clean.

Still, there’s no ignoring the fact that I have yet to find a job, not to mention that next week I’ll be spending Christmas up north with his family at his grandfather’s house outside of Aberdeen. I’m trying not to let Lachlan know how much it’s freaking me out. I know I’ve already met his adopted parents, Jessica and Donald, but that was back before we split up, before my mother died, before our lives went to shit. I haven’t seen them since I’ve been back—Lachlan’s been pretty busy with rugby as it is—and I’m on edge about meeting his grandfather, George. From what I’ve heard, he’s a bit of a cantankerous grouch, and that’s coming from Lachlan who rarely says anything bad about anyone.

While we check to see if the park is clear before we let the dogs off the leashes, Lionel and Jo fluffing up the snow while Emily still seems utterly bewildered, I ask him, “Do you think there will be snow up in Aberdeen?”

He opens his mouth to say something. I’m guessing he wants to say “maybe.” But he just smiles, nodding once, and then says, “Yes, I do.” He pulls me close to him, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, and studies my face. “Are you worried?”

“About the snow?”

He squints at me. “About Christmas. About being around my family, staying there, when you haven’t been around them often.”

How this man manages to read me so well, I don’t know.

I rub my lips together, wishing I’d brought some ChapStick with me. “Yeah, a little. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about getting them all the right Christmas presents, to be honest.” I sigh and lean my head against his chest. “And then I start thinking about having enough money to buy them, then I start thinking about how badly I want this writing job, then I think about what happens if I don’t get it. What am I going to do with myself? And then I wish I could just…” I trail off, swallowing hard. “I wish I could talk to my mother about this, just for a second, you know?”

He exhales heavily and kisses the top of my head. “Kayla, love,” he says gently. “I know none of this is going to be easy for you, and what you can give to me, I’ll happily take. But my family should be the least of your worries. Really. They don’t need anything for Christmas and you know they already love you.”

“I’ve never met your grandpa,” I mumble into him. “You said he was grumpy.”

“Aye,” he says with a bit of a laugh. “You know I don’t sugarcoat things. But if I can handle him, you can handle him. Besides, he’s gotten a bit better with age.”

“I thought you said he’d gotten worse with age.”

“I guess it depends on the Christmas,” he says, sounding unsure now. “To be honest with you, he’s never been all that accepting of me to begin with. Viewed me as the black sheep of the family. Even now, though I should be grateful that he considers me family at all.”

I look up at him. He’s staring off into the distance, frowning, and I know he’s being pulled into a darker place. “Of course you’re family. He’s had, what, almost twenty years to get used to you. You’re a McGregor. You’re family.”

He nods. “Aye,” he says absently. “But he’s always treated me different from the way he treats Brigs, which is to be expected. I just don’t know if he knows anything about, well, my current condition. Jessica and Donald may not have mentioned my…problem.”

What he’s meaning to say is that he’s an alcoholic. I know admitting it is the supposed first step, but it still takes a lot for Lachlan to say it out loud sometimes. I don’t push it. He’s doing so well as it is, and he knows exactly what his problem is.

But really, something like the holidays is just the kind of thing to fuck life all up. All this time I’ve been fretting about my own problems, but suddenly it’s clear that this isn’t any easier on him. I had no idea about Lachlan and his grandfather’s relationship.

“Does he like to drink?” I ask him.

“A bit much, in my opinion, for whatever that’s worth. I know when I go home or out with Brigs, they don’t drink in front of me. Which I appreciate. I don’t know how that will go down with George. He’s a stubborn shit. But I’ll deal with it.”

I squeeze his arm, gazing up at him imploringly. “And I’ll help you deal.”

He smiles softly at me, the snow lighting up his face. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

We stand there for a few more minutes in that winter wonderland, watching Lionel frolic in the snow, Jo rolling around on her back making doggie snow angels, and Emily just staring at this cold new world, thoroughly unimpressed like a regular old Scrooge.

Oh well, you can’t win them all.

CHAPTER TWO

Lachlan

“So when are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Brigs’ question is so out of the blue that it takes everything not to spit out my coffee. Instead, I choke on it.

“What?” I manage to say, coughing into my arm, my eyes watering. “Bloody hell, Brigs.”

He gives me a faint smile, his ice blue eyes looking positively devilish. He shrugs with one shoulder, observing me with amusement. “I think it’s a fair question.”

I swallow the rest of my coffee and lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “Is that why you asked me out for coffee? Did your mom put you up to this?”

His features slacken, unimpressed. “No. Not at all.” I know he wants to add that she’s my mother too, regardless if I’m adopted, but he lets it slide this time. “But I can’t help noticing that Kayla moved all the way to Scotland for you. This isn’t some casual fling.”

“This never was casual,” I say, giving him a measured look. “You know that.”

He nods, knowing all too well what Kayla and I have been through already, and taps his fingers along the edge of the wooden table, looking out the window. The temperature has been cold enough so the dusting of snow from the other night hasn’t melted, and though the city streets have turned to mush, there’s something almost fairytale-like about Edinburgh at the moment. I make a note to take Kayla to Princes Street later to really soak up the atmosphere.

Even though I meet with Brigs once every week or so, there was something in his voice when he called this morning which made me think he had something on his mind. And the way he’s fidgeting when he normally remains so calm only adds to my suspicion.

“So why are we really here today?” I ask him carefully. “Not that I mind, I can just tell that something is on your mind and it isn’t me and Kayla.”

Also, to be honest, I’m happy for a subject change. The way I feel about Kayla is so intense, and so personal, it’s almost overpowering at times. I still can’t believe that she’s here, that she came back to me. For me. For herself. The last thing I want to do is jinx it all by wondering about marriage.

Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

It’s been crossing it a lot, actually. In fact, every time I feel myself being pulled into the shadows, every time my hands shake because of the need to drink, to escape, I think about her. I think about just that. I think about the person I need to be for her, forever.

The thought only calms me. It doesn’t scare me.

But it could scare her. So I keep it to myself. And even though Brigs is one of the closest people to me, I don’t want to share that with him just yet.

The drumming of his fingers stops. “Well,” he says slowly, “you’re right about that.” He clears his throat and gives me a hopeful look. “I’ve been offered a teaching position.”

He says it so casually that I hesitate before saying, “Really?”

“It’s in London. King’s College.”

I shake my head in disbelief. Brigs lost his job here at the university when his wife and child died in a car accident a few years ago. He’d found a new position in the fall, but unfortunately due to budget cuts, they let him go after a month or so, which was total rubbish. But this, Kings College, is something he’s been wanting for a long time.

“That’s brilliant,” I exclaim, leaning over and slapping him on the arm. I know I’m grinning like a fool, hoping he’ll finally give in and smile. Not that I’m one to talk, but getting a genuine smile out of Brigs these days isn’t an easy task. “In film?”