Die For You: MacKenzie Scottish Crime Family by Avant Amarie

Author:Avant, Amarie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Chevelle

Later that night, after cooking dinner, I shower for the second time today. While applying lotion, I contemplate wearing lingerie. This has been a watch-paint-dry sort of day, and I’ve made a conscious effort to change it.

The black lace stretches across my breasts and at intricate intervals along my hips, with a tiny triangular area covering my sex.

“Damn, I feel good, look amazing too,” I murmur. Lying in bed with my body curved, I arch my back and lift my phone away from me to capture a full shot of my figure, then send it to Leith.

He texts back: Did ye set the alarm?

“Really? No, ‘hey, gorgeous’? I am going to kill you,” I mutter. Smirking, I contemplate a counterattack. My husband loves riling me up. So, for a few seconds, I sit, feathers plucked.

“Okay, something witty but not too rude,” I mumble to myself. Should I send a GIF? Something funny or petty? I’m chewing my lip in search of a witty retort when the cell phone pings again with an image of a cluttered nightstand. In the center of the photo sits a glass of whiskey and a bottle of lotion.

While shaking my head, a soft giggle drifts from my lips as I imagine my husband. I’m flattered by his crazy, dirty version of a compliment. Whiskey to drink and lotion to jack himself off with.

Another text comes through: Say ye locked up, hen. Then we can proceed.

Gawd, I love this man. Funny, horny, and always placing our safety first. A laugh bubbles from the pit of my stomach. Happiness spreads through me at the speed of light. I felt like a rock was lodged in my throat all day, not now.

With a wicked smile, my thumbs tap across the cell phone screen: Yes. Your heart is safe, baby. It’s my turn to go first.

A few beats later, the screen displays his next message: No warmups, Chevelle. I dinna want to hear that yer skin is silky soft. Say something about yer pussy.

Slapping a palm against my forehead, I giggle a horny teenager laugh through my lips. “Alright, you nasty Scot,” I mutter to myself, rolling my shoulders. About half a year ago, we stumbled into new territory. I’d texted Leith a screenshot of a book cover from my favorite smut author. He’d texted something surprisingly arousing for a man who likes to fuck hard once he arrives home. Nevertheless, his initiative sparked an erotic text session between us.

While circling my fingers across my clit, I text him, I imagine tasting the whiskey from your lips.

Not blinking a single time, I watch the screen, awaiting his response. It goes and goes, then stops. Dopamine shoots through my bloodstream the second his message transmits: I grab yer arse with one hand, bringing it up on my lap. With the other, I’d help guide yer wee fingers into yer soaking pussy. Yer silky soft fingers feckin’ ya. Mine dip inside to stretch ye wider, feckin’ ya deep.

A pang of desire scorches through me.

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