Blindsided Read online

  “So what kind of sexual training session do you have in mind with this lot?” she asks, staring at all the food.

  “First, we feast,” I say, pulling out the sliced chicken breasts and chopped veggies. “Then dessert.” I waggle my eyebrows lasciviously and damn near moan when she reaches up to tug on her ears. God, I love how her ears get hot when she’s turned on. It’s such a quirky tell.

  I’m three minutes into making dinner for us when Freya shoves me out of the way to take over, claiming I wasn’t doing anything properly, and since it’s her flat, she’s in charge. With a laugh, I back away and pour her a kitty mug full of wine while grabbing myself a beer.

  I put some music on her portable speaker and hoist myself up on the counter to watch Freya work. She’s barefoot and still wearing her work clothes as she sets about sautéing the chicken, peppers, and onions for fajitas. Her hips sway slowly to the music as she hums along.

  Freya has made dinner for me loads of times before, but now that we’ve had sex, it just feels different. Not bad different. Not scary different. Just…exciting, I guess? It’s freeing to know that I can shamelessly ogle her, and she won’t yell at me for it. Well, she might yell at me—but now I’m welcome to enjoy it. I love when she gets all red and snippy at me. She’s like a wee pup picking a fight with a giant dog.

  There’s nothing wee about those hips of hers, so lush in that tight skirt. The curve of her arse is way too tempting as I sit much too far away. I glance up and notice that her pale blue blouse is slightly see-through in her kitchen lighting, and she’s wearing a sexy white bra underneath. My innocent treasure is not so innocent anymore.

  How did I stay away from her this long? Fucking hell, I deserve a badge of honour because this woman is temptation personified. I’ve always liked a woman who’s not rail thin. I’m a big bloke, and I want my hands full when I reach out to grab something that’s mine. And the images of Freya’s soft, lush skin laid bare for me last night have been giving me erections intermittently all day long. So much so, that I had to go home and have a crack before picking her up from work.

  It’s going to be a shame when this arrangement comes to an end.

  Freya has just begun plating the food when I press up behind her, my body flush against hers as I skate my hands over her hips to pull her back into my groin.

  She gasps when she feels the state of me. “Bleddy hell. Why are you—?”

  “Hard as fucking stone?” I ask gruffly against her hair. “Because there’s something seriously sexy about watching you cook for me, lass.” I lift my hand to move her red hair off of one shoulder to expose her long, elegant neck. “I suppose that makes me an anti-feminist, but fuck it, I’ll give you orgasms in exchange for my nourishment this evening if that’s what you fancy.”

  I brush my lips along her shoulder, moving my way up to her ear, which is currently simmering. I wrap my lips around her hot lobe and give it a playful bite. She makes an adorable noise that has my cock thickening even more.

  “Orgasms are satisfactory,” she states, her voice breathy as she abandons the plates and splays her hands out on the countertop for purchase. “I’m obviously new to them as a concept, but the couple I had yesterday were quite memorable.”

  I smile against her neck and then frown curiously. “Did you never touch yourself before, Freya?” I glide my hands to her front, the tips of my fingers brushing over her most sensitive area. “Don’t you have a favourite vibrator or something that could get you off?”

  I trace circles over top of her clit and can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her skirt. God, I bet she’s wet for me already.

  “Not really.” She lets out a throaty noise, and her head falls back against my chest. “I tried to do it to myself when I was in university but could never get past the fact that it was me doing it and not a man.”

  Fuck, there go my caveman fantasies again.

  “You want a man, my wee treasure?” I ask, unable to hide the proud smirk on my face over the fact that I own her first orgasm too.

  “I guess so,” she says with a sigh. “Leslie bought me this vibrator, but that thing never sees the light of day.”

  “And it won’t, if I have anything to say about it,” I growl, nuzzling into her neck and inhaling her womanly fragrance as if it’s my last breath. “Do you think we could skip dinner and go straight to dessert?”

  “Skip dinner?” she chirps, her voice deep and breathy and everything my cock loves to hear in a woman.

  My hands move from her groin and steal up underneath her blouse. They glide over her ribs and, without any finesse, clutch tightly to her breasts that don’t even begin to fit inside my hands.

  “Your nipples are hard as stone too,” I murmur, pulling her back against my chest and slowly pinching her nipples through the thin white lace. She groans when I roll them between my fingers. “I need to taste them.”

  I move my hands towards her back to unclasp her bra, then slide them forward again, damn near fucking roaring in victory when I feel the spongy firm nubs of flesh. “Turn around, Freya.”

  It’s a command she follows instantly, and when we’re finally face to face, dilated pupils locking with dilated pupils, parted lips level with parted lips, our mouths descend onto each other like starved animals that haven’t feasted in days. Freya hums into my mouth, and the kiss turns into one of those sloppy ones that occurs when you’re frantically shedding clothes at the same time. Neither of us seems to mind, because we’re both hungry for something much more than food.

  When we’re both naked, I grab her under her arse and hoist her up onto her countertop, dragging kisses down her chest and closing my lips over her perfectly pert nipple while my palms grip her back. “I had plans to use whipped cream and honey. I was going to lick it off every square inch of you.”

  “Oh, fuck the dessert,” Freya cries, grabbing my cock and pulling me towards her centre. “Just fuck me instead.”

  “Condom,” I growl when my bare tip touches her wet centre. Fucking hell, I’d love nothing more than to drive into her completely bare just to feel her on my hard, smooth rod. But I resist, just barely, and grab a condom out of my wallet and put it on as quickly as possible.

  I pull her to the very edge of the counter and without warning, impale myself inside her soft, wet heat.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck.

  She’s still tight. Still way too fucking tight. I pull back and look at her face, worried that I hurt her. Her eyes are glazed over as she watches where our bodies are connected.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, and she answers by wrapping her hands around my arse and pulling me back inside of her.

  “Fuck yes. Just fuck me, Mac,” she says, nodding eagerly. “I feel as if I’m going to come already.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumble and begin rocking inside her. She’s soaked and tight and lush, and gripping me so hard it won’t be long before I come either.

  Her head drops back as her cries grow louder, and out of simple curiosity if she really could come this fucking fast, I reach between us and press my thumb to her tight bundle of nerves. She screams and wraps her legs so tight around me, I can’t even move.

  That did it, I think to myself as she smacks the countertop with her hand repeatedly. Her sex clenches all around me as her legs begin to quake beneath my hands.

  “Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Freya cries, her breaths coming out fast and ragged as I ride her through her orgasm.

  It’s only a moment later that I erupt as well, satisfied that she’s satisfied and grateful I didn’t come before her because after all my Loch Ness Monster talk, that would be a fucking embarrassment.

  “I’ll call that lesson a quickie,” I say with a laugh after I’ve ditched the condom and we’ve set about redressing ourselves in our clothes, which are strewn all over the kitchen floor.

  “I think I’m a fan of quickies,” Freya says with a smile, her hair properly mussed and her cheeks rosy and bright. “The way you tossed me up
on the kitchen counter like that? I nearly combusted on the spot! I’d never dreamt of being tossed around like that.”

  “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a wee bit of a height discrepancy between the two of us,” I state, lowering my hand to where her head barely hits the top of my chest. “You must have been always front row at the Christmas concerts.”

  “Shut it,” she replies with an annoyed giggle. “Well, regardless, I appreciate that lesson.”

  “That wasn’t my original plan, woman,” I say with a shake of the head. We’re only a day into this arrangement and already Freya has surprised me twice, causing me to lose focus on tasks at hand. First in the loo this morning and then tonight. “I had a very different lesson plan all drawn up involving whipped cream and honey…remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Freya’s brows lift. “We still have time after dinner, don’t we? Or can you not do a round two so soon after?”

  I level her with a hard glower. “Freya, I’m Scottish. I was born with a stiffy.”

  Mac has officially slept over three nights in a row. I asked him yesterday where Roan and Allie thought he was all these nights because surely they are noticing Mac’s absence. He told me that he told Roan that he and Cami started hooking up again.

  I didn’t like that very much.

  I mean, I know what we’re doing is a lie, and we’re actively not telling people. But I don’t altogether like that his lie about getting back together with Cami is so believable. He mentioned still having lunch with Cami once a week. Will he go see her this week even though we’re sleeping together? It’s not that I don’t think he can have lunch with another woman, but the fact that it’s with someone he was intimate with for so long makes my tummy hurt.

  I do my best to ignore the pang in my belly as I stand at the counter with Sloan, Allie, and Leslie downstairs in the Kindred Spirits Boutique and await our upcoming fittings. Kindred Spirits is about to be invaded.

  As if on cue, the doors open, and I swear the world starts moving in slow motion as Roan and all four of the Harris Brothers stride into the boutique. My ears heat up as I watch their fit bodies make their way towards us.

  I don’t normally fangirl over footballers. Perhaps there’s been a change in me since I’ve seen one naked every day for the past week? My God, they are physical beauties. Large, thick thighs, big, muscular arses, and wide, swimmer’s body shoulders that just seem like they could hug you and take all your troubles away.

  Where the hell did that come from, Freya?

  “Hi, guys!” Sloan says excitedly as the brood of strong men come waltzing up to the counter. They’re all wearing various forms of athleisure wear. I’ve learnt from being around this crowd for the past couple of years that even though this is their off month, they are still constantly working out. Sloan’s husband, Gareth, is the only one kitted out in jeans and a T-shirt. Since he’s retired, he’s filled out and rocking that “plump and happy” look that my mother always claimed to have. Although, even a plump and happy Gareth Harris is extremely fit by anyone’s standards.

  The door rings again with the entrance of the Harris Brothers’ sister, Vi, her husband, Hayden, and Hayden’s brother, Theo, who’s Leslie’s husband. Quite a convoluted, overly connected bunch if I ever saw one.

  “Who’s ready to watch our men become highlanders?” Vi squeals excitedly.

  “I already have a kilt,” Camden says, shoving his twin brother, Tanner. “I wore one when Indie and I eloped, but Mac says I can’t compete if I’m not kilted out in Clan Logan, so…here I stand.”

  Tanner cuts a menacing glare to Camden. “Must you remind us that you decided to selfishly get married without inviting a single member of your family?”

  “Not this again,” Camden groans, rolling his eyes. “Our wives are best friends. We had our first children within weeks of each other. Surely you can let one life event slip by without being the absolute centre of attention.”

  Tanner turns his eyes forward and whispers, “I’ll never forgive you.”

  Vi shakes her head, like she’s used to these hysterics from her brothers. “I wish girls could wear kilts because I’m so excited for this trip to Scotland, and I really wish we had a costume.”

  Leslie walks over to stand by Theo as she says, “Don’t worry, Vi. Sloan and I decided we’re going to get all the ladies fitted for outfits from the boutique this week. It’ll be our gift to everyone for Allie’s upcoming nuptials.”

  Allie’s jaw drops as she stands holding Roan’s hand. “Are you kidding me? You can’t! You guys are already designing my wedding dress and Freya’s maid of honour dress. You’re fitting these guys for kilts. Gareth booked a freaking private jet for all of us to fly to Glasgow. This is all way too freaking much.”

  “Stop saying ‘freaking’ so freaking much!” Sloan says, wrapping her arm around Allie. “You’re a Harris, and you’re getting married. This is how they are, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, they’re going to beat it into you with brute force that will involve lots of awkward hugs.”

  Allie’s eyes begin to water, and bleddy hell, my own start to burn as well. Is it too late for the Harris family to adopt me? I’ve met their dad, Vaughn, and he’s still fit. Maybe he’d fancy a young, shapely bride for himself?

  Just then the door to the shop opens again, and it’s Mac this time. My emotions take another hit as I watch him walk in, his ginger hair wild and unruly as usual, and his scruff shaggier than ever. You’d think the boy isn’t getting much sleep these past few days.

  I smile at that thought, and his eyes find mine instantly. He winks quickly before looking around at everyone else and holding up the huge bolt of green plaid with red and yellow woven through. “The Clan Logan tartan has arrived!”

  The group cheers excitedly while Sloan, Leslie, and I get to work measuring all the boys for their matching kilts. It’s going to be a lot of work getting them done in a week, but with the three of us working at it, we should be able to get it done before we leave next Friday afternoon.

  When I finish measuring Booker, Mac comes striding up to me, holding out his well-worn kilt. He has an adorable sheepish look on his face. “My kilt could use a wee tune-up if at all possible.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “And what’s wrong with it?”

  “The bottom has come undone,” he states, and I run my finger along the frayed hemline.

  “You’re going to have to put this on for me to pin it up properly.”

  Mac waggles his brows at me. “Why don’t you just say you want to see a sneak peek of me in my kilt, woman?”

  I roll my eyes and shove it into his chest. “Changing rooms are in the back.”

  Moments later, Mac comes striding out in his Timberland boots with no socks, his white tee, and his kilt. My eyes drink in the sight of his muscular legs, because bleddy hell, if any man can wear a kilt, it’s this one.

  His shit-eating grin indicates he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, but I do my best to hide it because Sloan and Leslie are just two stands over, measuring Theo and Hayden, while the rest of the Harris family is milling about nearby.

  I clear my throat and ignore the burning in my ears. “Stand here please,” I state, pointing at the carpeted platform in front of a three-way mirror.

  Mac hops up, his kilt swooshing with the movement. “This thing has had a lot of use over the years,” he says as I kneel down and begin slipping pins into the frayed hemline.

  “This length okay?” I ask as I chance a glance at him in the mirror.

  He quirks a brow at me, like he wants me to be doing something very different down there. His voice is huskier than before when he replies, “Aye, sure. That’ll do.”

  I nod woodenly and slip the pins in, running around the side of him as quick as my fingers can handle. I swear I can feel Sloan, Leslie, and Allie all watching our interactions with great interest. I feel like I’m inside one of those aquariums with people are constantly tapping the glass.
r />   “You’re going to love Dundonald, Cookie,” Mac states grandly. “There’s the Dundonald castle, fresh sea air, the smell of mud and filthy man. It’s intoxicating.”

  “Can’t wait,” I murmur around a pin before pulling it out and slipping it in. “Why is your kilt so well worn? Do you do these Highland Games every year?”

  “Every year,” Mac says proudly. “Three years ago, I won the entire thing. The Clan Logan tartan is lucky and legendary.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course it is.”

  Mac looks down at me with arched brows. “Are you doubting my grand words, woman?”

  I look up at him, and he’s got a salacious smile on his face that I can’t help but smile back at. “Dundonald is a small town, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, can I ask if the people you go against are young, professional athletes from around the world? Or perhaps, grey old geezers who use walkers to meander up to the castle once or twice a year?”

  Mac bursts out laughing. “Oh, fuck off with you.”

  I giggle to myself proudly. “I knew it.”

  “You know nothing. You should have seen me in the log throwing competition last year. I was facing off against some of the biggest blokes in the county, and I beat them all by miles.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m surprised you could compete. I thought your legs are worth a lot of money. Seems like a dangerous sport for you to risk your most prized property.”

  I glance at him in the mirror, and he pins me with a wicked look. “I’m afraid someone else’s legs are my most prized property these days.”

  I can’t help but smile back at him with the biggest, dopiest, happiest smile I’ve ever felt.

  Suddenly, his smile falls. His eyes turn to saucers, and his entire face distorts into a horrifying look of pain.

  “My cock!” he booms and buckles over in agony.

  I lower my chin and my eyes go wide when I see that my hand is currently up under Mac’s kilt and the needle I’m holding is definitely stuck to something. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!