Wicked Passions (Highland Menage Book 1) Page 9

  “Yes, lady.”

  At last, Alastair became more watchful, using his advantage in height and reach with an admirable downward thrust.

  “Ah,” she said as she deflected the blow, her sword shuddering at the impact. “Now you are thinking like a fighter. But still too slow, beast. You wish to conquer me? Move swiftly.”

  The angry hurt eased from his face. Now, his eyes glittered like sapphires, a wicked grin lifting his lips as they circled each other. “You invite a conquering, Isla?”

  “And what if I did?” she shot back, forcing him to retreat and defend against a flurry of slashing blows before stepping out of his reach. “What if my desire to conquer halts at the bedchamber door, where instead I wish to surrender and be conquered most thoroughly…by not one man, but two?”

  Alastair stumbled, his sword clattering to the floor.

  Isla winced, not at the sound but at her recklessness. How often had Sir Lachlan scolded her for making her move too soon? Ugh. She’d been so caught in the thrilling dance of learning an opponent, the rasping shriek of clashing blades, the heady scent of sporting sweat and leashed power, that she’d blurted words that could never be unsaid.

  She sheathed her sword and leaned it against the wall. “I mean…er—”

  “I feel like I’ve learned a great deal today, watching a master swordfighter at her work,” said Callum, clasping his hands. “Telling me is one thing. But you showed me, and I am most grateful. I believe you deserve…a reward.”

  “Oh?” she said huskily, her nipples hardening to a point that made the linen binding unbearable.

  “I believe the bargain was a sword lesson for a pleasure lesson, Alastair?”

  “Aye. And as the lady is the victor, she must decide her spoils.”

  Pure excitement swirled. In a world where she often had no choice at all, how marvelous it was to have a voice in her own destiny. And each time, these two men made her feel safe; to explore and learn, to speak openly of her needs and desires, all while remaining free from retribution or unwanted attention.

  “I should like kisses,” she said slowly.

  “Where?” asked Callum casually, as though they discussed a cloudy sky rather than where on her naked body she wished to have his mouth.

  “My lips. My nipples. Oh, and my pearl stroked with two fingers. Also…”

  Alastair raised an eyebrow. “Also?”

  She folded her arms. “I am the victor, am I not?”

  “Aye. Tell us plainly, then.”

  “Before…you talked of me on my hands and knees, your fingers tangled in my hair and your thumb in my arse. I should like to know what that feels like.”

  There was a brief silence.

  Then Alastair’s gaze scorched her from head to foot. “As you desire.”

  “Shall we undress you, Isla?” asked Callum politely, but he could not disguise a growing bulge tenting his hose.

  “Yes. Oh yes.”

  The men set to work, lifting her borrowed shirt over her head, before sending her into a slow spin to remove the tight linen binding her breasts. All the while they stroked and caressed, and by the time her taut nipples were freed from their linen dungeon, Isla panted for breath, already desperate for release.

  As promised, Alastair curled her braid around his fingers and tugged until her scalp prickled delightfully. Then his hard, hot lips were upon her, kissing and nipping at the sensitive place where her neck met her shoulder. If that weren’t wondrous enough, Callum leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, back and forth, coaxing her mouth to open for him so he could dart his magical tongue within. Saints alive. Not even her lewd dream had prepared her for the sensation of being pleasured from all sides.

  Soon Alastair slid his free hand around her ribs, and cupped her breast. Like an expert baker he gently kneaded the slight curve, before taking her nipple between two fingers and squeezing it to a heady point just below pain.

  “Mmmm. More.”

  “Suck her nipple, Callum,” rasped Alastair, and Isla shuddered. She couldn’t see him, but his voice in her ear and his big hands on her body were a wicked delight.

  She bucked at the first lash of Callum’s tongue, gasping when his hot, avid mouth engulfed the taut peak and sucked it firmly. He attended to both her nipples until they darkened from rosy pink to the color of wine, and even a light puff of air seemed too much.

  Just when Isla was about to beg for her throbbing cunt to be eased, the two men led her over to the chaise. She was quickly stripped of the remainder of her clothing, then placed on her hands and knees. With anyone else, such a vulnerable position would be unthinkable. But she trusted Callum and Alastair, for they had both demonstrated they cared about her well-being and comfort. Always offering choices. And that only heightened her desire and affection for them.

  Instinctively, she arched her back and parted her thighs. They made her wait until a needy sob tore from her throat, then at last, Alastair’s thick thumb delved into the slick folds of her cunt and wet itself thoroughly before smearing her own honey across the tight hole of her back entrance. Over and over his thumb dipped and smeared, and unable to remain still, Isla rocked to meet it in an attempt to hurry penetration.

  Callum laughed as he circled her nipples. “I believe the lady wishes your thumb inside her.”

  “I am equally certain she wishes you to stroke her pearl,” said Alastair.

  Isla hissed in frustration as she gripped the chaise arm. “The lady wishes you would both stop talking and start pleasuring.”

  The slight sting of a punishment swat to her arse made her moan, but that was naught compared to the burning stretch of Alastair’s thumb entering that forbidden hole for the first time. Much like her need to be the conqueror and the conquered, this indescribable sensation was two sides of a coin. Pain and pleasure. Confusing and clarifying. Something her body both welcomed and rejected. Then she couldn’t think at all, as Callum’s hand delved between her legs to cup her mound and rub her aching pearl. Each time he rubbed, Alastair tugged her braid and thrust his thumb shallowly into her arse, and the feeling of restraint, of being surrounded and taken, was her undoing.

  An abandoned cry tore from her throat as release hit like a storm-tossed ocean, both lifting her up and overwhelming her completely.

  She’d thought she knew ecstasy.

  Once again, these men had proven her wrong.

  Much like a diamond, Isla had many sides. The cool-headed swordfighter. The impish mischief maker. The courageous woman navigating the treacherous waters of a world made for wealthy men as best she could. But this day he and Alastair had seen a new one…

  The submissive lover.

  Callum had greatly enjoyed licking Isla to a screaming release in their previous lesson, and sucking Alastair’s cock in front of her had only heightened his arousal. Neither could compare to this, though: he and his squire working together to pleasure her. The way they had teased her with words, with touch…he’d felt closer to them both. As though they truly could exist as three rather than a forced choice of two.

  Callum’s breath caught.

  Isla and Alastair in his heart and in his bed? And all delighted to be there?

  Even the thought made his cock throb, and he bit back a groan, needing release more than he needed food to sustain him.

  On the chaise Isla trembled a little, and they removed their hands from her body. She turned onto her back, and Callum drank in the glorious sight of her flushed skin, swollen nipples, and wet cunt, pleased she did not move to cover herself.

  Eventually she blinked at them with dazed eyes. “I think my name is Isla.”

  He smiled. “’Tis a pretty name. Rare and precious. Is there a story behind it?”

  Isla stretched like a cat and pointed her toes. “No heartfelt tale, I’m afraid. My grandfather was Lord of the Isles, and my family sought to flatter him. A wasted effort, considering the king seized the estates and title when I was nine.”

  “I still l
ike it. Almost as much as you soundly conquering Alastair with your sword.”

  “Ha,” said his squire. “I am quite certain, my laird, that I could conquer you with my sword.”

  Callum moaned. Usually Alastair called him laird, but sometimes in tender or lusty moments it was my laird; not a term of deference, but possession. It both warmed his soul and aroused him to the point of pain. Yet in the freedom and privacy of this cottage, he desired so much more. To have that ownership demonstrated in full measure, not just with words or hands or mouth, but Alastair’s cock buried deep inside him. “Please,” he said hoarsely, the way he’d begged that long ago night. “Please.”

  Isla sat up and bit her lip. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to fuck Callum,” said Alastair bluntly. “We’ll retire to the bedchamber.”

  “But I want to watch,” she whispered. “Not spy…watch. Like when he sucked your cock. May I?”

  Alastair turned to him. “Can she?”

  Callum shuddered as his cock jerked. “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll fuck here, on this chaise. Isla, kneel on that cushion for the best view. Come here, Callum, so I might undress you.”

  Never had he thought undressing to be an act of torment until this day. The removal of his shirt and hose, his shoes and stockings, each took a thousand years as Alastair stroked and licked each newly revealed part of his body. Neck and chest. Inner thighs. The underside of his knees.

  But not his cock. No, his lover deliberately went around the engorged, seed-damp length now bobbing against his abdomen.

  “Alastair,” he gritted out, provoked beyond endurance, for he could feel Isla’s hot gaze as much as his squire’s masterful touch.

  “Fetch the oil.”

  With unsteady hands, Callum reached down for the bottle of light oil Alastair had used to polish the swords. “Here.”

  “Bend over.”

  At the first penetration of Alastair’s oil-slick finger into his arse, he gasped in delight. Gentle to start in preparation for a rough fuck later, just the way he liked it.

  “Does it feel odd to you?” asked Isla abruptly. “The way the stretch burns but you don’t want him to stop because the more he strokes the nicer it is?”

  “That’s…exactly…it…” Callum stuttered as Alastair added a second finger and pushed them in deep. “But when…oh…when it’s his cock, it feels even better.”

  Moments later, Alastair pulled his fingers free, and Callum nearly wept at the loss. Until he was handed the bottle of oil.

  “Prepare my cock,” Alastair ordered as he nearly tore off his own clothing. “Isla, I see you there, unable to sit still. If you wish to come and assist…do so.”

  Isla nodded eagerly and shuffled forward. “What must I do, Callum?”

  Taking her hand, he turned it over and poured some oil into her palm. Then he did the same to his own hand. “Cover his cock in oil. It eases the way inside in the absence of honey from a cunt.”

  They smoothed the oil all over Alastair’s huge length. Never had he seen his squire’s manhood so hard or so thick, the damp head almost purple. He couldn’t wait to have all of it stuffed inside him, owning him, filling him with seed as he found a shuddering release.

  “Enough,” gasped Alastair eventually.

  Callum sighed in relief. “How shall we fuck?”

  “I’ll sit on the chaise. You’ll sit on my cock. That way Isla can touch you…if you’d both like that.”

  Isla brightened further. “My hands are already oiled. Can I, Callum?”

  “Aye,” he said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to stop himself releasing his seed there and then. First, he and Alastair working together to pleasure her, but now she and Alastair working together to pleasure him? God’s blood. Perfection.

  “Up here, Callum.”

  He rose to his feet and Alastair pulled him close, one hand at the back of his neck, one pressing against his arse, his lips captured in a hard, brutal kiss that left him panting to be taken.

  “Please,” he said again, unashamed to beg. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

  Wordlessly, his squire sat on the chaise, before carefully turning him so he faced away. Then, those huge hands at his hips, he was guided down onto Alastair’s cock.

  Callum groaned at the burn; even with the preparation, two fingers were nothing compared to this enormous length and the way it stretched his tight hole. But the oil eased the way too perfectly, and Alastair relentlessly worked his cock deeper and deeper, a little more each time. Just when Callum thought he could take no more, Isla distracted him by stroking his inner thighs, his heavy balls, and the sensitive tip of his cock.

  He shuddered, the delicate touch such an erotic contrast to the rough penetration. “Isla…”

  Pure wickedness lit her eyes, and agile as a cat, she climbed his body, rubbed her taut nipples and wet bush against him, then kissed him sweetly. Next, she rose on her toes to kiss Alastair as well, before retreating back down onto the cushion to close her strong, sword-wielding hands around his cock.

  Callum bucked, his guttural cry echoing in the room. He would not survive this, it felt far, far too good. Yet soon it was even better, as with his feet braced on the ground, and Alastair’s hands guiding him, he began to move up and down on his squire’s length, each action ending with Isla handling his cock.

  Up. Down. Squeeze. Up. Down. Squeeze.

  He tried to stave off release but it hit him with the force of a Highland storm, and moments later his roar of ecstasy echoed in the room as he gushed seed all over Isla’s hands, even landing some on her breasts. Then Alastair bit his neck and thrust hard, once, twice, before spending deep inside his arse, and Callum cried out helplessly as more seed jolted from him.

  Exhausted, utterly sated, he sank back against Alastair’s chest. One brawny arm wrapped around his waist, and Callum tilted his head so he could rub their cheeks together. Isla stared at them, her face the portrait of yearning, and without hesitation he held out his arms. She burrowed against him, her head falling forward to rest on Alastair’s shoulder, and Callum let out a long, slow sigh.

  This. This was paradise.

  He and Alastair and Isla together.

  Eventually, Isla moved back, looking woebegone. “I must dress. Leith will return for me soon. Will you help me with the linen binding?”

  Indeed, grim reality beckoned for them all.

  He needed to practice with Alastair what Isla had shown him with the sword, rest, and also prepare for the stone put event on the morrow. If he did not progress from that event, nothing else would matter.

  “Of course,” said Callum, regretfully easing away from Alastair.

  With a cloth and warm water from the wooden bucket near the fire, they each cleaned themselves and then dressed. Callum reluctantly picked up his sword and unsheathed it. Unsmiling, Alastair picked up his, and they circled each other, offering the poor cuts and thrusts of frustrated men. Isla’s corrections came in the sharp tone of a frustrated woman. The room seemed darker and colder, the rules imposed by others and an uncertain future stealing the pleasure and peace they’d found together.

  If he succeeded in this quest, he might have the world.

  If he failed…he could well lose everything.

  Chapter 7

  “Smile, daughter!”

  Isla bared her teeth at her mother as they stood outside the royal pavilion in anticipation of today’s event: the stone put. “Is that better?”

  Anne pinched Isla’s elbow. Hard. “You have been out of sorts all morning. Are you still unwell? I shall order the royal physician to send an elixir if you are.”

  “No,” she muttered, repressing a shudder at the thought. “I feel much improved.”

  “Then smile. No man wants to see a scowl on a woman’s face, especially yours. We want the men to desire your hand in marriage, not run screaming from the field, especially when this wretched tourney has cost us such a staggering amount of coin.”r />
  Isla pressed her lips together.

  I am the only person who wants to run screaming from the field.

  How much more of this could she take? The previous evening, Leith had returned her to the castle and Morag had helped her undress and tucked her into bed with mere minutes to spare, before her father and mother walked in. That she must continue this charade, when all she wished for was to ride back to Callum’s castle at Glennoe and enjoy a life of swordplay, lusty bedsport with her husband and lover, caring for their children and the clan…unbearable.

  Children.

  Isla stilled as the word settled in her mind.

  Until now, she’d not seriously considered them. Even as wee lass, news of her older sisters in yet another confinement had never provoked any enthusiasm to be a mother herself. But with Callum and Alastair…suddenly she could see a new and different future. Little ones with books and sweetmeats and wooden swords creating merry havoc in the nursery. Children with fair hair and gray eyes; brown hair and blue eyes; ebony hair and green eyes. Any combination, really. Because they would all be cherished no matter what they looked like or their talents. All encouraged to pursue their dreams and true love, none belittled or ignored or abandoned. And they would witness equality, their mother respected and seen.

  “Isla!”

  She jumped and glanced guiltily at her mother. “Yes?”

  “The king and queen approach,” Anne hissed.

  Isla sank into a curtsy, her gold-embroidered brown velvet gown swirling around her legs. Today promised to be unusually warm; already she could feel sweat gathering under her gable hood. Others in the crowd might envy her being in the royal pavilion, but with so many people in an enclosed space, the stench of food and overheated bodies could be nauseating.

  “Ah,” said the king with a friendly smile. “Lady Isla and her dear mother. Good morrow to you both. Lady Sutherland, would you indulge my queen in some advice about her wardrobe? She admires you so.”

  Anne inclined her head, but irritation flashed in her eyes. “It would be an honor, Your Grace.”