At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) (10 page)

With that, the laird delivered a stinging smack to my ass cheek and it was all the spur I needed. It set me off into a state of abandon, where I rocked my hips in a frenzy, taking Ian deeper than I’d taken him before. And more roughly, too.

“
Jesus Christ
,” Ian cried out, as if he saw in me a succubus, and I felt like one. He’d been holding back from me and I wanted my triumph over him. I wickedly wanted to
make
him spill his seed. I wanted to milk him of every drop!

“Patience, lass,” the laird said from behind me, with a chuckle, his strong calloused hand rasping it’s way down the curve of my back, as he knelt behind me, between Ian’s legs. Grasping hold of the fleshy globes of my arse, he spread my cheeks. “What a verra nice view, I have here. I can see your cunny grasping tight around Ian’s shaft, wetting it with every stroke…”

Then he touched the very spot where Ian and I were joined, to gather some of the slippery stuff on his finger, and all three of us moaned.
 

Then the laird drew the wetness to the pucker between my cheeks. “You’ve taken me in your arse before, lass, but—” The laird’s breath caught as his finger sank into the well-oiled passage, meeting less resistance than he expected. His grip tightened on my hip. I couldn’t see his expression, but I felt his whole body jolt with a kind of thrill. “You readied your arse for me. You oiled this passage.”
 

His voice carried with it a husky note of strong arousal, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should kiss me or spank me or both. Humping Ian with exaggerated strokes, so that both men could see every part of my body, I answered, “Of course I did, my laird. You told me that I must always come to you readied, in case you might wish to take me there.”

The Macrae sucked in a breath, grasping me so hard I worried it might crush my bones. Then he shook me. “You little whore,” the laird choked out, with what must have sounded to anyone else like anger. Like rage. Like contempt.
 

But I knew the secret language of my laird’s arousal.

“You’ve nearly to unmanned me,” he rasped near my ear, the evidence of it in a little spurt of fluid that leaked from the tip of his cock onto the back of my thigh. “How is it you are doing the obeying, but in so doing, you’re driving me to my fucking knees!”

I’d nearly driven him over the edge is what I’d nearly done, and a little smile played at my lips to the apparent bewilderment of Ian, who tried to soothe my arms where the laird’s fingers left white marks. He didn’t understand our games, but I did, and I delighted in them.
 

Especially when the laird growled and said, “Well then, I must fuck you doubly hard. You must get what you deserve…” It was with a ruthless determination that he pressed the tip of his cock between the cheeks of my arse.
 

It was tighter than before. An impossible fit. And the pain of it quite nearly overcame my craving to know what it would be like to be filled in both holes.
Soft and pliant
, I repeated to myself, trying to ease the way for us both, wondering if I could possibly stretch so wide as to take two thick shafts in my body. But I could do anything for my laird.

As he reached round me to finger the pleasure bud of my sex, a keening sound escaped me. I could no longer buck with abandon on Ian’s cock, but was forced to stillness between them as the laird’s hard pole sank inexorably into me. I shuddered at the first inch, whimpers of pain making Ian grimace and snarl at the laird, “Stop! Do you mean to split her in half, man?”

“Do you want me to stop, lass?” the laird asked.

I would have denied it even if it were true, because I couldn’t bear for the laird to be chastised by his kinsman on my account. But fortunately, I didn’t have to lie. “No!” I cried, desperately. “More, give me more. Please!”

So I got the second inch and the third, until the quaking began in my belly and I feared I might shatter in another orgasm before they were both fully inside me. I bit my lip, hard, to hold it back, for I didn’t want it. Just as Ian had held back to make the pleasure last, now so did I.

“Good lass,” the laird said, biting my shoulder as he hit bottom.

We swayed like that for a moment, our bodies all locked together. Our limbs tangled. Our breathing matched. I thought I might die of the pleasure. It was too much. And yet, I could take more still, as I was to find out.

For my raw pleas sparked off a reaction in both men. The laird began to move, rocking me slowly with each thrust. Then I picked up his tempo, filling myself with Ian’s erection on the downstroke and being filled by the laird on the upstroke. As we all moaned and gyrated and thrust together, it was the most sinfully erotic feeling in the world.

I was being penetrated by two men. Stuffed full. The center of their lust. And the only thing that stopped me from screaming in ecstasy with
every
thrust was the fact that I was too breathless and dizzy with arousal to do it!

“
Jesus Christ
,” Ian cursed again, tapping his head back against the headboard as if to keep his senses about him.

As I said, I was too breathless to scream with
every
thrust, but I did scream at the rough, raw ride I was getting from both men and my helplessness to do anything but experience it. They touched me, everywhere. They used me with increasing abandon. Ian sucked and kissed at my neck until it became an erogenous zone of its own, pulsing and feeding my lust. And my very womb seemed to ache with need until Ian finally groaned. “Come with me. Give me that.”

His hand was somehow tangled in my hair and the laird’s hands and one might be forgiven for not quite being sure who he was speaking to. But Ian’s breath exploded in a grunt, his muscles tensing in the throes of passion as he spurted warm seed up into me with enough force, I felt it as a splash inside.

Then came the flood of it, some of it rushing up inside me, some of it leaking out around the base of his cock and balls, wetting all three of us. And it was that feeling—that sticky, tawdry, torrid feeling of Ian’s seed that set me off.

I convulsed, screaming, writhing, making sounds of another world. Clutching their bodies as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over me like the loch splashing the rocks below the castle wall. What I was in that moment I cannot say. Lover, whore, or bride. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. The only thing I was sure of was the laird’s pleasure as he, too, finished in a frenzy. Driving his cock hard and fast, plundering my arse until he shouted his orgasm with a stream of curse words, each more foul than the last.

Which is how I knew he had enjoyed it.

Then he collapsed upon me, all of us sweating and panting.
 

“She’s very beautiful,” Ian said to the laird. And then, bashfully, he seemed to remember that I was not merely an object to be spoken of. “You—you’re very beautiful. And…very…”

“Wanton,” the laird panted. “Which makes her even more beautiful. There is no sweeter music than when she screams in pleasure, which we will make her do again this night.”

And they did.
 

Ian had surprisingly clever fingers; he knew how to rub at my nipples and the swollen pearl between my nether lips, to bring me to climax again. And the laird tugged at my hair and took me again in the arse, as if he had decided it was his favorite way to take me.

It would be a lie to say that I did not desire Ian Macrae.
 

Like fire to ice, his softer touch was the balm to my laird’s rougher ways. And something came about between the three of us, that seemed to connect us beyond the body. Perhaps it was if all the ways of the world were suspended for the moment, here, in the laird’s bed, where neither man had to hide from one another the lusts of his heart. Where neither man bothered to stifle a cry or show any concern for skin against skin.
 

I came again and again, with both men, until I lost count. Until just the sight of either man’s softening cock became a challenge to rouse it again. Until both men were sated and drained and wearier than I was.

When I came to awareness again from whatever blackness had taken my mind, my head was resting upon Ian’s outstretched arm, and I heard the deep breath of his sleep behind me on the pillow. My own arm was stretched across the laird’s broad chest, fingers lightly tangled in the short hairs there.
 

I thought that he, too, must be asleep. But I’d spent enough nights in his bed to know the laird’s habits; he was too still for sleep, his breathing too shallow.
 

My laird had told me that sharing me with Ian would ease his mind and take a burden from him; that he would rest easier if I did it.
 

So why was he still awake and restless?
 

“Laird?” I whispered into the dark.

His finger pressed softly to my lips to quiet me. That’s when I realized that he was not only awake, but staring at me. He’d been watching me in the moonlight all this while, and I wished I could see his features better. What would I see in his eyes? As I wondered, he took my face in his hands and brought me closer to him. So close that our foreheads touched, making a little space between us that admitted nothing and no one else.
 

His warm breath caressing my face, he whispered two words very softly in Gaelic. So softly I was sure that I’d misheard him. Then he said them again, with more intensity than before. “
Mo chridhe
,” he whispered.
My heart.
That’s what he was saying to me. I startled at this tender term of endearment. Truly I did. Especially when he followed it with, “I have never loved a woman before. Never let myself love a woman. Never wished to love. But, oh, how I love you…”

No
. He couldn’t mean it; especially not now. Not when another man’s sweat and seed were cooling on my body. Not when another man’s skin was still naked against mine! Perhaps that is why I so breathlessly said, “
What
?”

“Shhh,” the laird whispered, pressing his mouth to my ear. “Don’t wake Ian. I would wait to say it until he had gone, but my heart will burst if I wait.” He took my fingers and held them against his heart, which throbbed hard and strong beneath my touch. “You have stolen this heart lass, little by little, each night since I met you. But tonight you claimed it completely. I cannot deny it to you, or to God or to anyone. Now
you
are my heart.
Mo chridhe.
”

Sudden tears of joy wet my lashes as I was overcome with emotion. I had his heart? Not only his protection, his kindness and his body, but his
heart
. It seemed to change everything. Such a thing seemed a
miracle
to me. A blessing beyond comprehension. I started to say as much. To tell the laird that I loved him, too.
 

When suddenly, the laird’s hand clamped over my mouth to hush me.
 

For a moment, I thought it love play. But then I realized that he wasn’t tensing for action; he was listening. Listening with all his senses. And so I listened too. I heard the faint sound of a scrape, like a shoe across the floor. A breath that wouldn’t have been discernible if I hadn’t been holding my own.
 

There was someone else in the room.
 

Someone other than Ian, who had also gone silent and breathless.

Things happened very swiftly after that.

I heard the whoosh of something slice through the air just before the laird twisted and threw me off the bed, onto the floor. The fierce fighting began while I was still prone, gasping from the shock of landing so hard on my hands and knees. Shouts erupted from the bed where I caught glimpses in the dark of my laird wrestling some shadowy figure.
 

Goods Blood
, was it Ian? Had he treacherously used this moment to—

But no.
 

It was Ian Macrae who delivered a kick that sent an attacker flying, before managing to find his sword in the dark. The clang of metal against metal filled the air, and I began to shriek, realizing that there was a second attacker. The enemy had somehow gotten over the wall—snuck into the castle—and would slaughter us all.
 

I screamed, hopelessly vulnerable in my nakedness, but searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. A dressing table went over in the close-fighting of the men and with it a candlestick—and I used my bare hands to stamp out the flame before the room caught fire.
 

We’re all going to be murdered
, I thought. But I knew my laird would fight to the bitter end, and so would I. I grabbed up the candlestick and wielded it, bashing it into the leg of the man my laird grappled with.

Another bloodcurdling scream split the night as Ian’s sword punched through a man’s guts. I saw the attacker’s figure slump against the wardrobe and fall to the floor just before my laird came down hard upon his own attacker, wrestling for a dirk.
 

Pounding footsteps could be heard on the stairs—our men, or the enemy, I couldn’t know. I somehow scrambled to my feet just as the door was flung open and the room flooded with torchlight. I screamed again, for this light revealed the exact moment that the laird shoved a blade into the skull of the man atop him.

Then the dark, grim, unsmiling Malcolm appeared in the doorway, sword drawn, and I’d never been so glad to see him before. Our men.
Thank God
.

“Laird!” Malcolm cried, as he pushed into the room.

“Are there more?” the laird snapped, shoving the corpse off him.
 

“No,” Malcolm replied, after a quick search of the room.

The laird wasn’t taking any chances though. He found his plaid and was arming himself in an instant. Meanwhile, I backed up against the wall, naked and horrified by the bloody carnage of the scene.
 

Ian was a vision from hell, naked and covered in red blood from neck to toe. The bed itself was a destroyed mass of feathers and straw, an axe stuck in the mattress just where I’d been before the laird threw me to the floor.