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“Baby. Baby, baby, baby. We’re gonnae have problems if you call my balls testicles. That’s where I draw a line. That word…just no. It’s enough to make me go soft.”

She wriggles her bum against me. “You don’t feel very soft.”

“Fair enough, I’m no, but I do have my hand on your pussy. Still, testicles? What are we gonnae do wi’ you, eh?”

Briony glances back at me. “Anything you want, Ryan.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

I tip her chin round with one finger so I can see her face properly. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes are dark, and she holds my gaze without blinking. She means it.

“In that case, here’s what’s gonnae happen. First, I’m gonnae strip you, baby. Every last thing. Then you’re gonnae go on your hands and knees right here on the sofa, and I’m gonnae eat this sweet wee pussy from behind until you’re right on the edge.”

I unhook one strap of her dungarees, then the other, and the front flops down into her lap. The dungarees are loose enough that my hand slides straight down inside them. Her knickers are soaked through. Fuck. I press two fingers into the wet cotton, and she bucks against my hand.

“Then, just before you come, I’m gonnae swap my tongue for my cock. I’ll fuck you right through it, then I’ll keep going till you come again.”

I’ve had my mouth on her plenty this past week, but never like that. Her on all fours in front of me, writhing back against my face while I eat her out—that’s a wee fantasy of mine.

Briony’s breathing has gone ragged. She pushes herself into my hand, and the cotton under my fingers gets even wetter.

“Would that be okay?” I ask.

She nods, a bit dazed. “Yeah. That’d be okay.”

I strip her right there in my lap. T-shirt first, over her head. Then her bra, which I toss onto the floor. I cup her tits from behind and squeeze, dragging my thumbs over her nipples till they peak. She arches back against me with a soft moan.

I push her to her feet, and with the straps undone, her dungarees slide straight down her legs to the floor. I hook my thumbs into her knickers and peel them down after them. She steps out of the lot, and fuck, just look at her.

I get up and guide her onto the sofa on all fours, facing the back of it, her knees near the edge of the seat. Then I drop to my knees on the floor behind her.

She looks back at me over her shoulder, curls falling across her face. “Th-this okay?”

My voice comes out rough. “Legs further apart, baby.”

She does as she’s told.

I’ve no idea what I’ve done in my life to deserve the view in front of me. Those two neat dimples at the small of her back. Her pretty pink pussy, already glistening for me.

I put my hands on her hips and press my mouth to her.

Fuck. I love how she tastes.

Twenty minutes later, we finally get round to the mushroom Wellington. It’s a wee bit crispier than the recipe intended, but neither of us cares.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

BRIONY

Through the car window, pebble-dashed terraces give way to a cluster of high-rises, then a low row of shops. It’s Wednesday evening, and we’re in Ryan’s sports car, heading through the East End to Glasgow Fight Club for my self-defence session with Niamh.

Emmy is folded into one of the tiny back seats. When we got in at Rowanbank Street, Ryan commented that he normally only uses the back seats for luggage, but he reckoned Emmy should fit on account of being tiny herself. Emmy was suitably outraged—but Ryan wasn’t wrong. She fitted just fine.

I’ve done the odd delivery out this way, but most of this part of Glasgow is new to me. Ryan has been pointing things out since we came off the motorway. His old school. A fish and chip shop he used to quite like. Davie and Stephanie’s mid-terrace—the one he moved into for a while at sixteen. He hasn’t mentioned the place he lived with his mum, and I haven’t asked.

Eventually, we turn into an industrial estate and pull up outside a big grey unit with glasgow fight club in black lettering above the entrance.