Geordie
-- EXCERPT: The old manor house, or the residence, as Geordie calls it, is out of a period piece from PBS. Portraits of ancestors trimmed in gold, heavy, ornate furniture in plush velvet, a fireplace the size of a wall. I expect to see Robert Burns and his friends walk in at any minute. I try not to gawk like a tourist at the place or the countless celebrities Geordie introduces me to. After leading me away from the last group, we walk into a dark passage to another section of the house. The hum of the guests is not as noticeable here. He stops, turning to me, my back against the wall, and I’m looking up at him. “I could see you were overwhelmed by the company, so I thought I’d steal you away for a bit.” He slips an arm above my head, leaning in close. His lips and the scent of whiskey make my bra feel tight. “I’ve missed you these few days.” He takes my lips, pressing against me, his hand sliding up and down my waist. “You had Connie to keep you company,” I tease. He pulls back a little, smiling. “She’s not you. I don’t fuck her. That, I do with you.” “Is that what you’re going to do to me now? Take me like one of your male ancestors took a maid in this hall?” I’m so up for it, I can already see it in my mind. God, I’ve missed him enough to make up this silly fantasy. I need him to be the laird of the manor right now. He pulls up the hem of the pale blue chiffon dress I wore to the christening and bunches my panties in his hand. His lips drop to my ear. “I should take you right here for making me wait.”
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