Page 66 of The Highland Game

Her lips part, a low breathy sound escaping them as her legs shift slightly wider around my hips. The soft furrow of her brows tells me she feels the stretch of it, the size of me forging its way inside her.

“You good?” I murmur, my hand sliding up to brush against the side of her flushed face.

She nods. “Aye. Just . . . take it slow.” There’s something almost vulnerable in the way she says it, although the fierce determination never leaves her expression.

I obey, inching forward with careful precision, each movement sending shock waves through me. Maisie gasps softly as I slide deeper still—then relaxes once I’m fully seated within her.

Her heat surrounds me entirely now—tight and velvety soft—as if she was made just for this . . . for me. My forehead drops to hers while we both catch our breath for a moment.

“You’re big,” Maisie says in a way that makes it sound like breaking news rather than something we’re both acutely aware of right now. My cock pulses inside her like it’s delighted by the compliment.

My laugh is rough-edged but genuine as I draw back just slightly before easing forward again—testing how we fit together now that we’ve adjusted to one another. “And you’re fucking perfect.”

The tentative rhythm begins there—a slow slide out followed by a deliberate glide back in. It builds heat between us until restraint slips away entirely. Soon our bodies move instinctively together: each snap of my hips met by Maisie’s eager rise beneath me; each shuddering moan from her lips spurring me on harder and faster.

I grip Maisie’s waist like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, my fingers digging into her soft skin as though I might fall apart if I let go. I can’t get enough. There’s no air in my lungs—no space in my head for anything but her. The way she moves against me, the way she makes me feel like I’m completely hers in this moment—it’s all consuming.

The bed creaks beneath us with each thrust, a rhythmic protest that barely registers in the haze of sensation. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I notice a dull throb in my left thigh—probably from bracing against the mattress—but it’s a distant ache drowned out by the overwhelming heat of Maisie wrapped around me. Pain can wait until later. Right now, there’s only her.

For days—weeks—she’s driven me mad with frustration and turned every conversation into an argument or challenge or game that somehow always left us both wanting more. And now? Now everything is boiling over—weeks of tension exploding into something raw and unstoppable. A force neither of us could walk away from even if we tried.

Maisie’s legs tighten around mine suddenly, her inner thighs gripping me with an urgency that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. I feel it building before it happens—the way her body arches slightly off the mattress, the deep crimson flush painting her cheeks and chest, the soft whimpers spilling from her lips growing louder and needier. She’s so close I can feel it like a live wire sparking between us.

“That’s it,” I growl, low and rough, driving into her harder as if chasing down every last bit of her pleasure is my life’s purpose. “Let go for me!”

Her hands claw at my shoulders, fingernails biting into my skin, a cry escaping her lips. The sight and sound of her coming undone in my arms sends me careening over the edge right after her.

My hips jerk involuntarily as the orgasm tears through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I come hard inside her until there’s nothing left to give. For a moment, there’s no room for logic or thought—only this raw kaleidoscope of sensation that leaves me utterly wrecked in the best way possible.

“Christ,” I mutter hoarsely, the word dragged out on a breathless exhale as my head drops forward to rest against hers.

A beat passes—a long moment where neither of us says or does anything except breathe together in sync, our chests rising and falling with ragged effort. Then I carefully withdraw from her warmth and collapse onto the mattress beside her.

Neither of us speaks at first. We just lie there while we catch our breath.

Eventually Maisie sits up, her movements brisk and efficient, as though she hasn’t just rocked my entire world. She reaches for her thong and slips it back on. Meanwhile, I stay flat on my back, utterly spent and completely incapable of moving. My eyes follow her as she smooths down the fabric of her dress.

“Well,” she says lightly, brushing her tousled hair out of her face. “That escalated quickly.”

I let out an incredulous laugh despite myself because . . . aye, no kidding.

Hands on her hips like she’s about to deliver a verdict, she says, “Just so we’re clear, that was a one-time thing.”

Her words hit like a slap to the face. I push myself up onto my elbows. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But—”

“There’s no ‘but’, Jamie.” Her tone is clipped, matter-of-fact.

I sit up fully now, dragging a hand through my hair because surely I’ve misheard her or something. “Maisie, come on⁠—”

“Are you planning to close your beer garden?” she cuts in sharply.

I frown at the abruptness of the question. “No.”

“Well, then.” She shrugs as though that settles it. “This could never work.”