Loving the Enemy [Highland Menage 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “The laird had his mind on his wife instead of the sword in his enemy’s hand, so I gave him a reminder to think straight next time,” said Niall.

  She narrowed her eyes at both of them. All the men she’d known before her marriage to Somerled had been simple. They did what they wished to whomever they could, as long as it did not go against the laird. These twins cared for their clan and their brothers, and thought before acting. So did Ewan and Torquil. Dougal and Finn were jokesters and often acted without thinking, but it was never malicious.

  Meg hadn’t met the two youngest, Artair and Zander, as they were off helping the recently-knighted Sir Tearlach and Rory train young men. She had to thank their wife, Isabel, for sending a tub, huge bed and feather mattress, and a wee padded chair for the new Lady MacDougal. Isabel had not got on well with Somerled, who’d put her to work scrubbing for the few weeks she was at Duncladach.

  She’d seen his anger recently, though it had quickly been extinguished. Somerled rarely lost his focus when he had a job to do. That included the times he’d decided her pleasure was the job that needed doing. Though he’d been a virgin when they met and she an unsatisfied widow, he was a quick learner and enjoyed pleasing her in the bedchamber, and elsewhere. Niall was the same, both of them eager to make her scream.

  Her nipples hardened into nubs. Maybe she wasn’t too tired to play this night after all…

  She sat up in their giant bed, raising her knees and letting the sheet drape to just above her nipples. Two pairs of eyes took notice. Two cocks thickened. Though he avoided her during the day, Somerled certainly was eager for her at night.

  “Methinks there’s more to this than Somerled thinking of lifting my skirt instead of cleaving Niall’s head in two,” she said to distract them.

  “Well, he got right fashed when Torquil called me Laird Niall. Such a wound would have him bleed out and die, leaving me to rule.” Niall flashed her a wink. “Then I’d have ye all to myself, wife.”

  She shifted, just enough to let the sheet drop another inch. “Ah, but could you keep up with my demands?”

  Niall blew her a kiss of promise but didn’t move. He could sense his twin’s emotions and knew when it was best to hold back.

  “I went in the sea,” said Somerled. “The cold sea works on all wounds.” Somerled stalked toward her, cock first. His intense blue eyes blazed. “So does my wife’s hot mouth. Methinks ye’d best put it on me cock and suck out the bruising.”

  “Your bruise is in your shoulder, far away,” she drawled.

  He yanked the sheet out of her hands and off the bed in one violent burst. He raised an eyebrow and there was no doubt which brother was laird. “Then ye’d best suck harder, aye?”

  She looked at his cock, tilting her head as if contemplating how to fix a wound. “’Tis red and purple. It does look a wee bit bruised.”

  “Dinna use the word ‘wee’ when ye’re talking of me cock,” he warned.

  “Ye might be a few minutes older,” said Niall, elbowing him out of the way and breaking the mood. “But I’m bigger. See?”

  Meg laughed, greedy with desire. “I’d best take a closer look.”

  Their earlier contest, and Niall winning it, had not been forgotten. They placed their raised right arms together, clasped palms, and tried to push the other aside.

  “I thought there was no wrestling allowed inside the walls,” she said as they silently struggled, identical eyes locked on each other.

  “The laird makes the rules, and there’s none to ken this but us,” replied Somerled through clenched teeth.

  “Mayhaps I’d best take care of myself as my husbands are too busy playing cock of the walk with each other. Or I could just go to sleep for the night.”

  “’Tisn’t sleep I have in mind for ye,” said Niall.

  She laughed at their good-natured, though serious, jesting. The brothers were always trying to prove they were better than the others. It was entertainment and kept their skills sharp. Her own brothers did it to harm.

  Niall ended the match with his free fist in Somerled’s gut. Their laird bent over with an oof. Niall shoved him aside and knelt on the bed, his hard cock invitingly near. “Are ye truly tired, Meg?”

  “Aye, but this will make me sleep better.”

  She grasped Niall’s cock. It filled her hand, and more. She loved the taste of him, the texture of his hard, smooth flesh. His cock, and his lips, were the smoothest parts of his body. The rest was rough with calluses, dusted with hair, and hard with muscle. She flicked her tongue over him. He sucked in his breath.

  “God, woman! What ye do to me with yer mouth!”

  “And what is it I do to you?” she asked, teasing him by drawing her thumb over his wet tip.

  “I might tell ye later, but I canna think when ye have me in hand.”

  She took him in her mouth, sucking him over her tongue. His groan gave her a heady sense of power. Men held the power in her world. They controlled every part of her life, even her death. Yet in this chamber, with her two husbands, she had a chance to rule.

  * * * *

  Niall could not move or think with Meg’s hands and mouth on him. Her tongue danced over his cock, flicking his shaft from base to tip. At the same time she clasped her hand, holding him tight, the way he liked. There was a form of release in giving her control. He was never sure what she would do, other than it would feel good.

  Good? Satan’s beard, there was no words strong enough to describe this!

  “Enough of that,” said Somerled with a growl. “There are two men in this bed, so dinna spend all your time with one.”

  Meg released Niall to take a breath. “You are not laird in this chamber,” she reminded him.

  “Mayhaps, but I am always the eldest.”

  “By a mere few minutes,” replied Niall.

  “Minutes, and inches, matter. Aye, wife?”

  “As do tongues and fingers,” she replied. “And I’ve yet to feel any of those this night.”

  While Niall loved her tongue on him he also loved to hear her squeaks and moans when he returned the favor. He moved out of Somerled’s way, taking his time just to irritate. When Meg’s mouth was filled with his twin’s cock he splayed her thighs and inhaled her scent. The woman was a marvel, in bed and out. She was smart, beautiful, and good with the villagers and his brothers. Even Dougal, who was as irresponsible as a MacDougal could get, would do anything for Meg.

  How had they managed to live without her? But then they hadn’t lived, they’d merely survived.

  He used his tongue and lips on her thighs, easing his way toward her swollen, wet pussy. It was a miracle she not only agreed to put her mouth on their cocks, she did it eagerly, and it made her wet and hot. He slid his tongue between her lips. As her mouth was full she moaned instead of gasping. She made such lovely sounds.

  He slid a pair of fingers inside her, curling them forward to find that rough spot, the one that made her groan. He stroked it, pressing hard, again and again. It was a process, one that took time but was well worth it.

  Somerled grumbled something about teeth and what she might accidentally do to his cock if she came. Niall grinned to himself and set to work. His tongue danced over her clit as his fingers kept beckoning. A burst of nectar encouraged him. He gathered some of her juice and pressed a finger into her arse. Somerled was the one to gasp.

  “Careful, brother,” growled his twin. “Two can play at this game.”

  There were three playing their game, and Meg was in the middle. The taste of her changed, warning him she was close to peaking. He probed deeper with his tongue and his finger in her arse. Somerled cursed and pulled back.

  “Och, Niall!”

  She gushed in his mouth, pussy clamping on his fingers as she came.

  “Ye’ll pay for that, brother,” warned Somerled.

  Niall kissed the inside of each of Meg’s sturdy thighs. “Is my lady happy?”

  “’Twas lovely,” she murmured. “I think I shall
sleep now.”

  “Och, nay, ye willna leave yer husbands hard and wanting.”

  “You have time for more?” she asked, pretending innocence.

  “Where’s the oil?” demanded Somerled. “If ye wish to play games with both of us, wife, then yer men will play good games.”

  By unspoken agreement Niall laid on the bed while Somerled got the flask of sweet oil. Meg would ride him while her laird took her from behind. Meg squeaked when Somerled lifted her. She was so small, yet she opened herself fully to them both. He reached for her breasts as Somerled lowered her. She smirked at him, knowing how much he enjoyed her nipples. Hands on her breasts, he guided her down. She grasped his cock, giving it a squeeze.

  “Tease,” he said.

  “’Tis no tease, but a promise.” She guided his cock until her hot, moist, heat enveloped him.

  “God, Meg! What ye do to me!”

  She grinned proudly, perched on his groin. Her breasts were heavy in his hands. He flicked her nipples, enjoying her gasp. She clenched him with her inner muscles and then he was the one hissing. Somerled pressed down on her back. She complied, bringing her face to his for a kiss. These lips, like her others, were hot and sweet. But these had a tongue he could wrestle with. She sucked it as she had his cock. Her eyes suddenly widened.

  “If ye tease yer laird he will get ye back,” said Somerled smugly.

  “I wasna teasing,” she replied, turning over her shoulder to speak. “And anyhow, you liked it.”

  “Aye, just as ye like my fingers in yer arse.”

  Instead of answering she began moving, sliding back and forth on Niall’s cock and grinding her pussy into him.

  “Meg, if ye do that I willna last!”

  “Aye, you will,” she replied. “Unless you are no man?”

  He was a man, a MacDougal, and would somehow manage to stand the torture!

  “That’s three,” said Somerled proudly.

  Three fingers in her arse weren’t enough. She needed four, and those twisting, before they could enter her with their cocks. So Niall gritted his teeth as she rode him slowly and far too sensuously. He would not come until she did, and then Somerled. He would be last and enjoy it all. Niall couldn’t touch her clit as she was grinding it so he worked on her nipples. Big, berry-like nipples. He rolled them between his fingers, remembering their taste and texture.

  “Four! Willna be long now.”

  Meg may have heard Somerled, but she was too far into her own pleasure to respond. Niall grimly held on, to his growing need to come as well as Meg’s nipples.

  “Now?” she demanded.

  “Aye lass, let me get some more sweet oil in ye, and then I’ll stick my cock as deep as it’ll go into yer arse.”

  Meg shifted back, almost off Niall’s cock, in preparation. She could take but one of them at a time. Sometimes she lost herself and rode them both. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was marvelous. Meg’s new position gave him a chance at her clit. He wasted no time, putting his finger on her button and wiggling. She made that sound in the back of her throat that he thought of as a reward. A grimace on his brother’s face meant he was entering Meg slowly and fighting the need to go deep.

  “More!” she ordered. “I wish all of ye in me, husband!”

  Somerled choked. “Yer wish is my command.” Her eyes went wide. Niall kept her clit busy. “This what you wanted, wife?”

  Meg didn’t reply. She sank onto him. Niall wasn’t prepared for it and hissed at the need to control himself at the pressure and friction. She rose and fell, then rubbed back and forth on him.

  “Make her come for I canna last,” ordered Somerled.

  Niall couldn’t do anything with his cock as Meg held him down, but he could play with her nipple and clit. It worked. She gasped and clenched around him. He gritted his teeth, fighting the need for his own cock to explode as Somerled roared, hauling Meg back to fill her arse. He bellowed, pumped again, and then fell back with a groan.

  Meg panted, eyes glazed, holding herself up with her palms on his chest. He took her hips in his hands and met her golden eyes.

  “Aye, lass?” he asked.

  “Do you think you can give me a third?” she asked between gasps for air. ’Twill help me sleep.”

  It was a joke as she was near gone as it was. His laugh was closer to a choke. This was his Meg, full of her men, having had two orgasms yet able to joke and demand a third. He angled himself and her body to hit the part he knew would set her off. At least he hoped it would. He pumped, thinking he might not succeed this time. But Somerled leaned over Meg and took over her breasts and nipples.

  She convulsed around Niall’s cock, keening. Finally, he came, filling his wife with his heart and soul, the only way he could say his love. Meg cried out, his name on her lips. A moment later she collapsed. He held her tight, her breasts to his chest, as they both fought to breathe.

  “God, how could we live without ye?” he murmured.

  “I dinna wish to be without you, either.”

  He barely heard her over the pounding in his head. When his ears cleared she was asleep on his chest, small kitten snores proving it. Somerled lay beside them on his back, splayed out, eyes closed. His own muscles were tight, his breaths short.

  “After that, how can ye still mistrust Meg?”

  Somerled winced. “’Tis fine when she is in my arms. But then the memories of a wife’s deceit whisper in my head, and I wonder…”

  “What memories, of what wife?” Niall waited a long time as Somerled twitched beside him.

  “’Tis ugly,” he finally said.

  “Tell me,” ordered Niall. “Was it one of father’s women?”

  Silence. A deep sigh. “Nay, Aunt Grizel, Laird Fingal’s wife.”

  Niall had to think to figure out who they were.

  “Ye canna have memories of that. They died long afore Father married.”

  “They didna die, they were murdered, along with the rest of our uncles, and ’twas because of Grizel!”

  Niall had not heard the details, nor did he think of it much. He accepted they had no living relatives and so could count on help from no one.

  “Do ye have proof ’twas Grizel?”

  “I heard Father speak of it once.” Somerled stared out at the sea. “Fingal was alive when Father returned from Stirling Castle.”

  “What?”

  Niall sat up. He’d heard whispers about the massacre from the older villagers. Their father, the spoiled youngest son, had returned from a pleasure trip to find all his brothers poisoned, their throats slashed. Lady Grizel had not been poisoned, but she’d been badly used before her throat was cut.

  There’d been no sign of how it had happened, or who had done it, though Campbells were suspected. That attack was the reason for their father’s determination to breed many sons, and for their clan accepting Somerled's insistence he stay near Duncladach. No one in the village had seen a thing as it was Beltane so they were drinking and dancing around the bonfires.

  Each year their father disappeared before Beltane, not returning for days. And yet Somerled had a different story?

  “Tell me of it,” ordered Niall.

  He gently moved Meg off him. She curled on her side like a cat, still asleep. He covered her and wrapped himself in his plaid, expecting Somerled to follow.

  Chapter Three

  Somerled followed Niall outside with heavy footsteps. He never thought he’d speak of this, or that he’d care so much about a wife. Meg had already lied by omission once to hide the name of her first husband’s clan. He was sure she had another secret, perhaps even worse, and it was ripping him apart. How could he trust her, knowing what another MacDougal wife had done? His feet slowed. Hadn’t Grizel also been a Stewart?

  “Speak!” ordered Niall when they reached the wall walk. “This has naught to do with Meg, so why are ye thinking the worst of her?”

  “Meg’s a Stewart, just like Grizel,” he said in a low growl. He should hav
e thought of that before. He’d been so worried about Campbells that he hadn’t considered other enemies.

  Niall grabbed his arm, finding the exact spot where he’d been hit earlier. He gripped Somerled hard, bending his fingers into the sore flesh.

  “Is this why ye were so lost in yer thoughts that my waster reached ye? The reason ye look at Meg sideways as if she is an adder and ye are waitin’ for her to strike?”

  “Aye.” He ripped his arm away, but not without a final squeeze. Niall’s fingers would give him another bruise on top of the first.

  “What does Aunt Grizel have to do with Laird Fingal being alive when Father returned from Sterling?” demanded Niall furiously. “He said they were all dead. He wished he’d seen the ones who attacked, or one of the villagers had, but ’twas Beltane and all were celebrating.”

  “’Twas a lie,” replied Somerled harshly. “One Father told for his own sake, as well as the clan’s.”

  “He told ye this as ye’d be the next laird, and swore ye to secrecy, even from yer own twin?” Niall looked away when Somerled didn’t answer. “Did Father also lie about kenning how they got in, and who did it?”

  Somerled had shoved the vile secret so deep that he’d forgotten about it years ago. All knew it had happened. He could do nothing about the reason why, other than be vigilant. Now was the time to speak, as Meg could do the same to them.

  “Father didna tell me, I found out. And aye, he kenned it all as Laird Fingal told him afore he died.”

  “They were alive when Father arrived?” Niall held his stare for a moment, until Somerled nodded. He wiped his face. “This needs whiskey.”

  “Aye, so I brought some from the cellars,” said a third voice.

  Both of them pulled their dirks as they turned, cursing when they saw Ewan. He could walk as silent as Shadow stalking a mouse.

  “Satan’s toenail! We could have killed ye!”

  “Nay, I’d have dropped the whiskey?” He lifted a jug. Somerled shook off the need to attack and replaced his dirk.