My husband pumps viciously inside of me, again and again. I stare in awe at my hot Scottish husband, aware he’s ready to cum, every muscle corded and chiseled in marble. He bites down on my neck, cussing hard, fucking harder. The pain sends my pussy working like a vice, milking him for all he’s worth.
Chapter 31
Chevelle
After gettingout of the pool, Leith and I shower. It wasn’t until we were eighteen that I opened Leith’s eyes to ethnic hair care. He can take down braids faster than me now. He is lying in bed when I get in wearing a silk scarf over my deep conditioned and blow-dried hair.
I press my shoulder against his much larger, toned one. “You should’ve fallen asleep by now. Looks like something’s on your mind.”
“Ye.” His arms encircle me, and we cuddle together.
“Alright,” I sigh. “We left off our discussion about my parents with your notion of how important parenting should be. And it is. We’re good to Mia.”
“Aye.”
Damn, I chew my lip. Leith’s one-word responses are getting me nowhere fast. “Baby, I tell you everything that’s important to me. Though you keep a level of disconnect with your clan and their dealings, I understand how important family is to you.”
“Thenye should know this is me being here forye.” He gestures. “Fifteen years. Wasn’t ‘til my mam spoke toye about yer adoptive mother—”
“Don’t call that bitch my—”
“And offered to murder said bitch for ye that ye shared about yer past, and not much. Most I know comes from an internet search.”
“Okay, well, forgive me for declining Nan’s offer to assassinate her.”
“Should’ve. Ye clearly got enough anger inya—”
“I don’t.”
“Och, Crabbit Chevelle.”
Though I attempt my best glower, arguing with Leith has never been my strong suit. His charming accent penetrates my defenses.
The sexual tension between us is increasing. Not just for me, but for Leith, too. I can tell from the way he hangs his head, running a hand through his hair. “Chevelle,Feckthis. I’m notfeckin’ye right now. I’m angry.”
“You’re angry?” My long lashes lift, and I gaze at him through innocent eyes and with a pout to my lips.
“Jesus, save me!”
I laugh, captivated by my ability to play him.
Leith’s finger wags in my direction. Before he can speak, I wrestle with the sheets and sigh. “Okay, baby. I’m so sorry. For the most part, my parents are out of sight, out of mind. I detest the—lady—who raised me. Nevertheless, we had one thing straight with each other.”
“What?”
“Not to discuss what my father did—not to—” I stop and take a breath. “She didn’t send me to therapy. That would have been another dollar out of her pocket. She didn’t require much of me.”
“Ye assume that’s a good thing? Someone who doesn’t challenge ya?”
I shrug. Leith’s parents have so many levels. They’re pillars of their community and send home financial support to the MacKenzie clan in Scotland. Nan can out drink them all but reserves such carefree behavior for grand celebrations. She can also snatch a gun from her purse, which she did, and set the damn thing on the table in front of me while discussing Lady.
It wasn’t until after I turned eighteen and worried about tuition that I learned the true reason Lady chose not to drop my ass off in foster care.
There was more money.
There’s always more money when opportunities seem to be in your favor.
At the age of eighteen, I should’ve acquired the remainder of my family’s trust. Nope. I was bartending, under the table due to my age, smiling, having drink therapy, and my nose in a textbook for a bachelor’s in hospitality when Nan asked my forgiveness for being nosey and looking into her suspicions.