Page 51 of Blindsided By You

GEORDIE

AnyoneseeingtheBrightSparks Electrical van tearing up the road to MacFarlane’s Distillery at one o’clock on a Thursday afternoon with me at the wheel might think one of two things: either, ‘Geordie’s back to have another shot at fixing the annoying electrical fault that Nathan’s been whinging about forever’; or ‘Geordie’s heading home for lunch’. They’d be wrong on both counts.

For one, my superior electrician’s skills have triumphed over shitty old wiring, so everything at MacFarlane’s is just fine right now; and second, I already had lunch with Mum, which has been my regular weekday routine most days since I arrived home.

Some days I text her and tell her I’ll pick up something from Gail’s Bakery down in the main street. It’s worth running the gauntlet of the town gossips who frequent the place to get your hands on Gail’s food. She does a damn good Scotch pie, with just the right amount of spice in the mutton filling; and I’m still floating on the memories of yesterday’s bridies, with the beef and onion succulent and the pastry perfectly light and flaky. Although nothing of Gail’s could compete with the macaroni cheese Mum whipped up today,all runny sauce made with generous amounts of sharp cheddar and mopped up with chunks of bread she made herself.

I’ve missed Scottish food, but it wasn’t the lure of a good feed that took me past home right on noon. It seemed extra important to visit Mum today. I packed my clothes last night when I made it home from Jenna’s—fortunately without lead shot from her irate father peppering my arse—and moved out this morning. I needed Mum to know despite my haste to leave, I’m not abandoning her.

It became more important when I arrived to glimpse Jenna through the window, sitting in the kitchen, a full-beam smile on her face, my mum fixing an adoring look on her, the one she’s always had for Jenna.

Jenna dished up plates of food while chatting away to Mum with such easy familiarity they could be mother and daughter. The pair of them ganged up on me, giving me shit about my scruffy, unshaven face. I noticed Jenna relax into Mum’s goodbye hug. It made something tighten in my chest, a pang of longing for something almost within my reach, but at the same time miles away.

Jenna could fit so easily into my life. I wish I could open up and let others see what an important part of it she’s become in such a short time. My mother would be excited for both of us if she knew we were something more than two people who’ve renewed old connections and become friends.

Today, I felt Mum’s eyes on us, watching the conversation flow back and forth with a small delighted smile on her face. Whether it’s savouring the pair of us being home—I’m sure we’re a lively alternative to my father’s dour company—or she suspects there’s something unspoken stirring beneath our friendly banter, I’m not sure. If anyone would guess, it would be Mum.

The people skills that make her an incredible nurse—kindness, empathy, and an ability to read what people are feeling but not saying—are all things that make her a much-loved member of this small town. In Cluanie, people will stop you in the street and tell you how wonderful Aileen MacDonald made them feel even when trapped in a hospital bed, sick or broken. After Mum saw me and Jenna together today, I’m not so sure our secret is safe.

Anyway, the way Jenna comes blazing up the road like a bat out of hell in that damn sports car of hers, she’ll draw more eyes than a parade. Soon the whole bloody town will know. Behind me, she takes the turn into the gateway with a squeal of brakes and sits right on my tail all the way up the drive to where I park in front of the house.

She leaps out, dark hair whipped by the wind, eyes glowing. Her cheeks are flushed pink, alive with the thrill of the roof down on a beautiful day.

“Fucking hell, Jenna, the cops are going to be onto you soon if you keep driving like that. Next, they’ll be waiting for you.”

“Bet I could outrun them any day.” She laughs as if the challenge excites her.

Her recklessness matches my mood, firing my need to get her inside. I snatch at her hand and stride towards the house, towing her behind me. Her mischievous giggle at my impatience stirs my eager cock, and it thickens in my jeans.

I fumble the keys in the door. Jenna moulds her body against my back, leaning in to lick and nip at my neck. One arm wraps around my waist, her hand burrowing through a gap in my shirt. Heat blooms on my skin. We fall through the door, and she shovesit shut behind us, sliding the bolt across. One corner of her mouth tips up in a wicked grin.

We pounce on one another, with wild grabs at clothes, unbuttoning and unzipping as we stumble into the lounge. I fumble with the tiny buttons on her shirt and she elbows me aside, taking over the job herself while I toss my own on a chair.

She doesn’t trust me to break her out of her skirt either; a sheen of black leather like liquid poured across her rounded hips. She shimmies out of it, casts it aside and stands for a moment in just her underwear, as if allowing me time to appreciate my first ever sight of her unclothed in the daylight. I am a grateful man.

Sun filters through a curtain, lighting Jenna’s flawless skin, the shades of it a work of art. My eyes rove from her feet still wrapped in a pair of shiny black heels that scream ‘Fuck me now’, to the soft golden tan of her legs, then roaming upwards to where it fades to a delicate creamy white across the curve of her stomach.

I back her up against a wall and fall upon her skin like velvet beneath my lips. I kiss my way upwards, one hand drawn to cup the weight of her breasts. My thumb brushes a pebbled nipple and my mouth instinctively seeks it out. I peel aside the lace of her bra, and, cradling her breast in my hand, I gently take the already swollen peak between my teeth. She gasps, her breathing quickening as I set to working it hard between my hungry lips.

My other hand travels down the cool line of her back, provoking a shiver and a sigh as I trace the little bumps of her spine, before clasping that perfect arse, completely exposed by the tiny thong she wears.

Not wanting to play favourites, I switch my attention to her other nipple. Her head falls to my shoulder, her body slack with pleasure. She sucks and tastes, her breath fire against my skin.

My fingers seek her clit and she moans as I set up the rhythm I already know she likes; slow, steady, circling, her hips leaning into every beat. I inhale the scent of her, warm and wet, intoxicating, and it fires my desperate need to be inside her. The painful pressure of my erection against my pants demands release. I reluctantly pull away from her, kicking off my work boots and dragging my gaping jeans down, followed by my briefs. I toss them aside.

Meanwhile, Jenna discards her shiny heels, and they skitter across the wooden floor. She waits, eyes blazing with need, yet wanting me to take charge of this final undressing, offering her body as my gift to unwrap.

With one flick of my hand, the bra falls loose, and I can’t help but take a moment to give each perfect tit an appreciative squeeze, loving the way the firm flesh overflows my hands. I slide my hand into the lacy band of the thong, thrusting my palm hard against her. Jenna groans at the friction, then groans again as I release it and slip the wisp of fabric downwards. I fall to my knees, burying my face between her thighs, hungry for a taste of her, while she daintily raises one foot at a time, freeing herself from the thong.

She unravels under my touch, gasping, writhing. Jenna chases her pleasure like she drives that rocket ship Beamer of hers—full speed ahead, with no brakes. I back off, desperate to feel her come on my cock today. I tuck my arms under hers and lift her up. Those legs wrap around my waist, and the heat of her centre pressed against my stomach feels so fucking good I could just stand there and let this beautiful creature cling to me like a fucking baby koala. Just as damncute, too. I lower her onto the sofa, where shelies back, breathing still heavy.

“No time to get you upstairs, sweetheart,” I say, snatching for my wallet with its replenished supply of condoms. Never thought I’d be awkwardly placing a pack on the chemist’s counter at Cluanie Pharmacy for the first time at the age of twenty-eight, but there I was on Monday blushing like a schoolboy.

“Guess we’ll have to save that new bed for tonight,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows, brown eyes smouldering. Her mouth tugs up in a wicked grin. Damn it, she even tosses me her favourite flirty wink.

“Oh, I think after this, you’ll definitely be coming back for more, sweetheart,” I say. “You are good with this?” I ask, fisting my cock, then unfurling the condom as I kneel on the sofa between her splayed legs. The dusky skin between them glistens wet, the scent of her arousal heavy in the overheated air. While another guy might see her obvious readiness as an open invitation—and I’ve learned Jenna gets off on me taking control—when it comes to consent, she’s always in control. Non-negotiable.

“Yeah, I’m good. Come here,” she says, stretching out her hand and tugging me towards her.

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