Page 87 of Bottle Shock
“She named me Scotland because she always dreamed of going there,” she says quietly.“I don’t know if she ever had a real plan for it, or if it was just a dream she held onto. But I like that she named me after hope.”
My heart cracks open in my chest. Something warm. Something aching.
I don’t touch her.
I want to.
But I don’t.
“I’m glad you told me that,” I say, voice low.
She turns her head just enough to look at me—really look—and something passes between us. Weightless and heavy all at once.
She smiles. Small. Real.
We turn our eyes back to the screen.
When Holly Golightly singsMoon River,Scottie goes very still beside me.
I don’t watch the movie anymore.
I watch her.
The warmth of her body, the soft rhythm of her breathing, the faint scent of sweet citrus coming off her, it all blurs together. The room feels dim and slow and safe.
At some point, my head leans back against the couch.
Just for a second. Just to rest my eyes.
Just a second.
We fell asleep sometime during the movie. When I wake up, the TV is on standby mode, casting a blue glow in the dark room. Scottie is wrapped around me—arm around my waist, leg hooked over mine, the top of her head tickling my chin. She smells like a creamsicle, and I fight the urge to run my nose along her and breathe her in.
I don’t know what time it is, and I’m not even fully awake, but it feels good to have her in my arms. I almost fall back asleep, but stop when she starts to stir.
Her hand rubs a slow circle over my stomach, delicate enough that I question whether it’s real. Then her fingers slip just under the waistband of my pants—not really going anywhere, but enough to feel like she’s teasing me. My awareness fully hits when her hips grind against my side.
I’m not sure if she’s still asleep, if she even knows what she’s doing. All I know is I’m too weak to stop her.
Her head tilts, eyes meeting mine, and they’re perfectly clear. Neither one of us says anything. It’s like we’re existing between dreaming and waking, and if one of us breaks the illusion, then we have to stop. But here, we’re safe. Safe from consequences. Safe from reality. I give her a subtle, almost imperceptible nod—an understanding. She does the same. After that, I’m not sure who moves first.
Our lips collide, almost frantic.
I palm her ass, sliding her up my body and moving her to straddle me. She falls into place seamlessly, never tearing her lips from mine. I plunge my tongue deeper, lift my hips to rub my hardening cock against the heat of her pussy, and she moans into my mouth, the vibration thrumming through me. That single sound is enough to break me free of any restraint. I push beneath her shirt, rougher than I mean to, and lift it off her, breaking our kiss just long enough to get it over her head. Her bra quickly follows, tossed to the floor.
I’ve dreamt of what her tits might look like—if hernipples would be the same rosy shade as her lips, if her breasts would feel heavy in my hands. Any fantasy I had doesn’t come close to reality. They’re perfect—so full and heavy they don’t even fit in my palms. Before I can think to stop myself, I capture a peaked nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and giving it a teasing tug with my teeth. Her back arches, feeding me more of her.
She tosses her head back, releasing a sigh filled with need. I tug her closer, my hands roaming up the curve of her spine. Her nails graze beneath my shirt, scratching up my abdomen, before it’s off, leaving my bare chest flush against hers.
She increases the pace of her grinding, her pussy sliding over my clothed cock. She needs relief, and she’s trying to take it for herself, when I would gladly give it to her—and more.
My hand shoves into her shorts, fingers finding her a slippery mess. She’s soaked, and I groan knowing it’s all for me. My cock nearly jumps, wanting to slide between her swollen, soaking center. Instead, I ignore my own needs and plunge two fingers inside her. She cries out as her pussy grips around them like it never wants to let go. I tease her—pumping them in and out, my thumb circling her clit. She gets even wetter. Needier.
“Gavin,” she moans.
It’s the only coherent thing she’s said, and I’m a fucking goner hearing my name slip past her lips in ecstasy.
In one motion, I rearrange us—moving her onto her back and settling my body over hers. Her thighs part for me. An invitation. A yes. And that’s when I know I’m going to fuck her on this couch. That I can’t stop. And I don’t want to.
