Her eyes squeeze shut, her hips move faster, and I feel her start to clench around my cock instantaneously. “Oh . . . fuck,” she whispers as her teeth pull on her bottom lip and she comes.
The feel of her tight warmth, wrapped around me, does me in. My balls tighten, pleasure rips through every limb, and my cock swells inside of her as I come harder than I can ever remember.
Together, we pulse out every last ounce of pleasure until we are completely spent.
After I clean us both up, I lean against the headboard and pull her close. She sighs against me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking happy in my entire life.
“I’m hungry,” she says as I play with her hair.
“Want some cake?”
She lifts up and looks me in the eyes. “You have cake?”
“I made some earlier today. Since you were coming over.”
“If I didn’t just have sex with you, I would be jumping on that Scottish sausage of yours.”
“Eloquent.” I reach over the bed and toss my shirt at her. “Put that on so I don’t have to stare at your gorgeous body all night.”
“What a travesty.”
I throw on a pair of athletic shorts and then head to the kitchen, where I take down two of my hand-thrown plates that I fired up in the kiln the other day. They came out just the way I wanted, the glaze a beautiful mixture of blues and greens to represent the green of the Highlands and the blue of the lochs. My goal is to handmake all my plates and serving ware, but with how little free time I have, it’s been taking me longer than I’ve wanted.
Not to mention, I was in a creative drought before Bonnie showed up. Now, it’s as if the potter’s wheel is in my head, constantly turning with new ideas, techniques I want to try. Just need to find more time.
From the fridge, I take out the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting I made earlier and cut two large slices. I know my girl, and she’s not shy about her portions of cake. Might as well give her the amount she’s actually going to eat so she doesn’t have to ask for another helping.
When I turn around, I find her curled up on the sofa, hair piled on top of her head, looking fresh, with a little bit of beard burn on her cheeks.
I walk over to her and drag my finger over her reddened cheek. “Does this hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No, I like knowing you’ve claimed me.”
Smiling, I lean down and lift her to a sitting position. “Good, because you’re mine.” I press a quick kiss to her lips and then head to the kitchen, where I grab our plates.
“Why are you so amazing?” she asks when I hand her the plate. “Did you make this from scratch?”
“How else do you make a cake?”
She takes a bite and moans. “God, that’s so good. So much better than when I make a cake from a box.”
“Me da would have a coronary if you ever gave him a boxed cake.”
“Scottish snobs,” she scoffs with a grin. “So, I was thinking about putting the menus up this Friday, after making a few more batches of the butteries and scones. See how the Friday and Saturday tour buses react, then assess and make adjustments for Monday. What do you think?”
“Do you feel comfortable with the espresso machine?”
She nods, her mouth full of cake. When she swallows, she says, “I spent a year using this exact machine when I worked with Lisa. She preferred a certain coffee bean combination, freshly ground, and then made on the spot. I got exceptionally good at some pretty fancy drinks. Caramel macchiatos, americanos, and cappuccinos were my go-tos. I was nervous to come to this job because I didn’t know the kind of experience needed, but when I saw the extent of drink choices in the shop, I knew my skills were more than adequate. I’m comfortable making what we have on the menu, and I can nail those drinks.”
“And baking, how do you feel about taking on that part of the job?”
“Good. I want to stock up a little this week on the butteries and store them like you told me. I’ll save the fresh ones for the locals—”
“Smart.”
“Want to keep them on my good side. I don’t think the cake will go as fast as the other two, but we’ll see. I’ll have a few of those ready to cut into slices. I ordered recyclable takeout containers. Even though the Styrofoam was cheaper, I couldn’t save the extra penny knowing the kind of waste they are.”
“Maw would be happy with that choice, especially since we always find discarded takeaway containers whenever we go on Highland walks. Probably thrown there by tourists.”