My body does want to nap forever it seems but I’m not missing an opportunity to dress up for his main event. I even went shopping with Amara on Princes Street the other day, looking for the perfect gown. I mean, when else would I ever be able to wear such a thing? Every girl gets a Cinderella moment once in their life and this one was mine. I was going to exploit it for everything that I could.
I get ready slowly, enjoying each moment. The dress I picked up wasn’t that expensive but it looks expensive. It’s floor-length and black, with a high neckline and a back cut down almost to my ass. There are slits up either side to show off my shoes, deciding on my hot pink platforms, just so that I don’t seem too serious about it all.
Once it’s on, I step out of the bedroom and into the drawing room where Lachlan is waiting for me, already dressed. He stands up and we both take a long moment to take each other in. I thought he would have opted for a tux at this event but he’s in a navy blue three-piece suit.
With a kilt.
Dear lord in heaven.
“Oh my god,” I say. He looks like a fucking Highlander ready for a ball before the battle.
“You look stunning,” he says to me, coming over and taking my hand in his making me twirl around. “Jesus bloody hell. I don’t even think I can let you out of the house.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” I tell him, gesturing for him to turn around, “Let’s see all of you.”
He obliges. “Never seen a man in a kilt before?”
“Not other than the bagpipers on the street and I wouldn’t dream of doing this to them.” I reach down and stroke his warm, strong quads, my fingers flipping up the hem of his kilt and going up, up. Up.
I grin. “No underwear, huh,” I say, softly teasing him. He hardens under my touch. “It’s risky to get an erection in this. You’ll be tent-poling it.”
“Tell me about it,” he says gruffly. “But if you don’t stop man-handling me, we’re going to be very, very late for this thing. I’ll make sure of that.”
It’s always tempting, especially when he feels so deliciously hot, long and thick under my hand.
“I’ll make it quick,” I tell him, dropping to my knees and flipping the kilt over my head.
“Bloody hell,” he says with a throaty moan, his fingers curling into my hair as I take as much of him as I can into my mouth. The salty hit of him against my tongue spurs me on, wanting to make his eyes roll back in his head. He’s such a big, masculine man made up of so many dark and damaged parts, but the fact that I can ruin him with my tongue, mouth and hands is addicting beyond anything else.
It doesn’t take long to make him come, shooting nearly straight down the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice straining. “Love, you undo me.”
“Good,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and peering out from beneath the kilt. He’s staring at me with those lazy, hooded eyes and I know I’ve done a good job. His mood has changed from being slightly on edge to at peace. Maybe if I just keep fucking him throughout the event, everything will go smoothly.
“I’m ready to go,” I tell him, standing up. “Told you I’d be quick.”
He shakes his head at me and then impulsively kisses me. I love that he doesn’t care if I’ve just sucked him off or not.
I ask him if he’s going to call a cab for us, but since we’re taking Lionel with us, Amara comes to pick us up in her car. She also looks beautiful in a simple green cocktail dress, her red hair piled high on her head.
“Well aren’t you three the belles of the ball,” she says as we climb in. Even Lionel has a dark leather leash and a tartan bowtie that matches Lachlan’s kilt.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I tell her, proud that I’m the one who suggested her dress to her when we went shopping.
The gala is held at a hotel near the castle so it doesn’t take too long for us to get there, though Amara says she’ll drop us off first and find herself parking after. When I see all the fancy people outside, lining up to get in, I’m nervous. I mean, there’s even a person with a camera taking pictures of everyone as they enter the hotel.