Do you love a sexy Highlander romance with a gruff hot hero with a Scottish accent?
Well, you are in luck! My saucy novella, Tossing His Caber is now available as an audiobook and with the added bonus of a new male narrator for the Sexy Highlander voice of our hero, Archie MacDonald.
A Sexy Highlander Romp with spankings-a-plenty – BUY NOW!
Dissatisfied at work and looking for escape, Journalist Harriet Taylor is only too glad to take an assignment as far away as possible from her London Office.
Heading to Braemar to investigate allegations of drug use at the Highland Games, Harriet is forced into a new way of reporting. Games’ champion and subject of her article, Archie MacDonald is a brusque and evasive highlander and Harriet finds herself hot and bothered in more ways than one.
Harriet uncovers much more than she was expecting about Archie’s past and his taste for domination. Will she keep her professionalism or will Archie unleash a new feral side to this prim London reporter?
An Almost Pulped BDSM awakening novella
For all my spicy romance – here’s my book list
Love Tabitha x x x
here’s a saucy snippet so you know what you’re getting yourself into… here we are with our sexy Highlander hero Archie MacDonald is helping Harriet with her hangover and sprained ankle at the hotel…
“Hair o’ the dug?”
“What?” Harriet was startled to see Archie sitting as if waiting for her. She shuffled awkwardly into the bar, unlocked the crutches from under her arms, and reached out to a stool for support. She was feeling quite rough and a headache was gnawing into the backs of her eyes.
“Well, not many folk get out of Doctor Scott’s surgery without, at the very least, a wobbly step on the way home. By the time he spent with you I reckon you were half cut before lunchtime.”
Harriet bristled with defensiveness. But what else could she do but admit the truth?
She forced a shrug and smile. “Purely medicinal, Archie,” she said, turning her attention to the waiter and taking a menu.
“Dinnae bother with that,” said Archie, grabbing the laminated booklet and easing her away from the bar. “I ken exactly what’s needed in a situation like this.”
To her own annoyance, Harriet hopped to the nearest table and sat down while Archie loudly put an order in.
“Haggis for the Sassenach and a rusty nail, Megan, the lass spent the afternoon wi’ Doctor Scott.”
Harriet wanted to slither down her chair and disappear as practically everyone in the pub turned to her with knowing glances.
When Archie came over with two glasses of bright orange liquid, it was as if all the hostility from earlier had never existed.
Once again, Harriet was caught off guard.
“I’m only teasing you,” he said, treating her to a glimpse of his perfect white teeth as he smiled broadly. “We’ve all been through it, Doctor Scott would have been over the moon for some fresh meat.” He looked her up and down and Harriet flushed, a prickle of heat rising through her décolleté. “Seriously though, yer alright, are ye?”
Harriet was surprised to see real concern in his eyes. It was only a flicker though. “Actually, yes, despite the headache, my ankle doesn’t feel nearly as bad.” She tentatively rolled her foot around and was pleased that it was far less painful than only a few hours before. She hesitated a moment too long to mention her ass and Archie started speaking.
“See, there is method in the old man’s madness. You just needed to rest it properly for a coupla hours.” He lifted the glasses and passed her one. “Here, this’ll sort oot yer heid.” He knocked his glass with hers and downed the whole thing.
What the hell, Harriet tipped the liquid back over her throat. It was the oddest flavor, almost like alcohol-infused vomit and she spluttered in disgust at the thought.
“What is this?”
Archie treated her again to his dazzling smile. “It’s nectar of the gods—whisky and Irn- Bru. Cures anything. C’mon, finish it.”
Harriet held her breath and drank the rest. As the strange bubbles cascaded down her throat, she actually felt her cells being replenished. Maybe Archie was right.
Archie wandered off and left her to her thoughts as a big plateful of haggis, neeps, and tatties arrived. She hadn’t had it very often and was delighted when it did turn out to be exactly what she wanted to be eating.
The bar was noisy and full; tourists and visitors must be starting to arrive for the Games on Saturday. She was three rusty nails in and a shiver of excitement ran through her chest as she thought of attending an actual real live sporting event where muscular highland men in kilts tested their might. That warmth welled in the pit of her stomach and wound its way down to her knickers. Was it the heat of the whisky that was making her cheeks redden? She could feel them glowing. Or was it the memory of Archie lifting her like she was nothing and carrying her down the hill with her cheek resting on his bicep? Or the dangerous confusing thrill of being spanked by those huge hands? The dinner filled her belly but she was far from satisfied.
Peals of laughter rang out from the bar and suddenly, not for the first time that evening, a crowd of people turned to her.
“Want a photie, hen?” Archie threw the words at her and the men around him guffawed. There it was again. The creeping feeling of shame as she realized she’d been staring at him while she’d been thinking. For god’s sake. Mortified and possibly a little too tiddly not to be belligerent, Harriet decided it was probably for the best if she bowed out of the evening. She eased her way along the leather bench seating and exited as gently as she could to avoid bashing her ankle on anything and hopefully make herself invisible to anyone within a fifteen meter radius. Of course it didn’t work.
Archie was at once by her side helping her to her feet, his manly presence making Harriet tremble. But she was angry. She had to remember that. This man seemed capable of ridiculing her at any moment, even after being sweet.
“I’m fine. Leave me,” she said, leaning in slightly to inhale his scent. Earthy musk mixed with soap, as if he’d tried to wash off the hard work of the day but it permeated everything about him. She thought about leaning into his chest and sinking her lips into his pectoral muscles, sucking and nibbling at his nipples.
“Whoa, watch it there, hen, there’s a wee wobble in you. Come on, I’ll help you up to yer room.”
Goosebumps prickled down Harriet’s spine at the thought of being carried again by the mighty Archie MacDonald. She let her knees soften, bracing for his scoop and lift. But it didn’t come. Archie simply took her crutches in one hand and put the other round her shoulders and cupped her armpit to help take her weight. Damn it. She squirmed a little, knowing she was getting damp there too. This man was going to turn her into a big wet mess if he kept this close to her. She wondered if he could feel this chemistry too. Or maybe he had this effect on all women as he’d intonated earlier in the forest.
Harriet felt terrible for doing it but she deliberately made her limp worse as they mounted the frayed carpeted stairs and let Archie take her weight a little more than was proper. She’d never in her life played the role of damsel in distress but there was something about this man that made her actually want to swoon. Eventually, with a mixture of hop-limping and hoisting on Archie’s part, they arrived at her door and nervous energy flamed through Harriet’s cells. Should she invite him in for a fuck? Her body was desperate for him. Her knickers were soaked with desire and all she wanted was to be thrown down roughly and fucked hard. She wanted carpet burns on her shoulder blades and cheeks from being flipped over from one position to the other and drilled from behind.
Oh, god, she was a wreck. Was it the whisky? Or was it the utter animal lust that billowed off this man in waves?
“Are ye having a bit of trouble there, hen?” His voice tickled at her nape as she tried to engage the jangling key in the lock. Her fingers were clumsy and wouldn’t work.
“Will I give it a go? I’ve got a knack of getting things to slide into awkward wee holes.”
Oh, for the love of fuck. Archie swiftly took the keys from her fingers, rammed the key home, and twisted it. The door flew open and they stumbled and tripped into the room with Harriet falling back onto the edge of the bed.
Harriet gripped his t-shirt and pulled him lower for a kiss. He tasted of everything she thought he would—earthy, musky, and sensual with whisky overtones to match her own.
Their tongues mingled for a brief moment then he broke free, glancing down at her chest where she knew he’d see her nipples straining against the fabric of her top. Harriet arched her back and leaned back onto her elbows.
He set his teeth together and let out a growl of desire, roughly shoving his hand up her top to her breast, kneading it free of her bra and running his thumb over her nipple.
Sparks of pleasure surged and shot straight to her pussy and their mouths met again. Lips and tongues colliding with pure feral want. She heard the thud of her crutches falling to the floor and the bed dipped where Archie knelt his full weight onto it, simultaneously pushing her back by the breast and climbing on top of her. It was the horniest fucking thing that had ever happened to her and Harriet was throbbing with desire.
“Is this what you’re wanting, is it? To be fucked by a real man.”
Harriet whimpered at the shot of arousal his voice dragged from her aching cunt.
“Is it?” He nuzzled into her neck under her ear, letting his wet lips leave trails of cooling kisses as his voice turned even darker. “Aye, those weak-suited bankers dinnae know how to treat women like you…”
Harriet faltered. Women like her? What did he mean by that? She bristled for a split second but melted again as his tongue twisted up behind her ear into her hairline…
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