My laird was untroubled. “That's what you offered me. Shame. That's what you have always offered me. We’ve always understood one another, you and I. Ian doesn’t understand, but we do. We didn't need words to say it. We understood what the currency was. And only a girl who understands shame, and its beauty and worth would have offered it.”
With that, he lifted his tunic and climbed between my legs. My body respond to the certain proximity of his cock with instant pleasure. My hips undulated under him, brushing his skin, feeling the length and strength of him on me.
“Heather, you obey me because you want to. But for tonight, for this moment, when I take your maidenhead, you can go ahead and hate me. Feel angry if you need to. Feel taken,” he said as his thick cockhead probed at my entrance.
My eyes lolled back slightly in ecstasy and anticipation as I reached out for him in sudden eagerness, wanting him to sink the length of him inside me. But he slammed my hands back onto the bed. “No. A skilled harlot gets paid to touch her laird, but you’re still a crofter’s girl. I haven’t taught you how to touch me yet, in the way that I most enjoy. And though you’ve a natural instinct for it, tonight is about only one thing. Me taking you. So, feel Ian’s eyes on you. He’s going to watch you lose your maidenhead and be able to tell the tale of how you begged for it.”
My insides seized. He was waiting for me to beg? He wouldn’t command it, but he’d wait for it. And he wouldn’t have to wait long, because I was desperate for him. The heat of his cockhead as it slid against my clit and thighs drove me mad. And Ian’s judgmental, but hungry gaze made me wanton. “Please take me. Please take me. Please!”
“Look at me,” the laird said, crushing down upon me with his wide chest and hovering above me with his strong arms.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I can’t.”
“Look. At. Me.”
My eyes lifted and met his. I felt captured by his gaze, and then was rewarded by a sharp thrust up inside me. It was brutal, painful and quick. I saw the expression of triumph on his face. It was a crude mixture of emotion. A certain compassion for me, possession of me, tenderness and cruelty melded into an unmistakable expression of ownership. I was a slut and a whore in that moment, and his. And I would never forget it.
I let out a cry and let my fingers dig into the bed linens as the pain washed over me in waves. I was torn. But expertly. He’d done it quickly. And knowing that he’d known just how to do it made the pleasure seep over me and block out the pain.
Soon, I was being fucked. My breasts jiggled with every thrust, and I tried to hold them still, but he stopped me. He wanted me to lie still and do nothing but get fucked. He working inside me, pushing me. Stretching me.Giving me feelings I’d never known before. “Oh, god. Sweet Jesus!” I cried, wanting to curse profanely at the shocking relief and pleasure of it all.
I tried to hold it back, but found that I couldn’t. I was coming. Crying out and straining against the bed, my body reached its shuddering climax to be taken this way—the ultimate shame. They all saw it. They all knew it. I couldn’t even hide it. His cock was pinioning me. It was in me, filling me. Unrelenting and possessive. And I was climaxing, overcome with a rush of release that made me scream. Made to feel so much pleasure at the way his tool opened me that I would want to do it a thousand times again.
At my orgasmic screams, the laird growled, grunted, grasping me hard as he began to jerk his seed into my pussy. It was with such force, such intense pleasure that he pulled out for a moment, and splashed some across my belly and breasts before he finished inside me. He collapsed on me, his hands on my face. And he kissed me. Kissed me as if for the first time. With lust and release and a tenderness he hadn’t had before. His skin was hot and wet, and his lips full and affectionate. His breathing was hard and his satisfaction made him almost worshipful.
For Ian’s benefit, he asked, “And do you think you’ll be curled up and weeping tomorrow, lass?”
“Only if you don’t do this to me all over again,” I replied, kissing him back.
He chuckled, kissed both of my hands, and nuzzled against my cheek. Then eyed Ian, whose eyes smoldered from across the room. And I wondered if he would have me next. I even dared to hope, for a moment, that they might both have me together. The laird noticed, and held me tighter. “You want her. I know you do. But just like this clan, she’s mine.”
Ian glowered. “So is that what this is about? You want to rub my face in everything you have that I want and can’t have?”
My laird pulled the blanket over him and leaned on one elbow, his expression taking on one of sympathy for his cousin. “I want you to know what kind of man you’ve given your fealty to, Ian.”
“I know you,” Ian said. “Known you since we were bairns together.”
“And we were friends then, weren’t we?” my laird said, and for the first time, I realized how much it pained him to have lost that friendship. “I’m a hard man, with faults. With strange urges, yes. But I’m still the lad who was your friend. I’m not a rapist or an abuser of women—at least not the way you think I am. If you still think so, after what you’ve seen tonight, then I release you from your oath, and you may leave the castle freely.”
Ian seethed. “You’ve got a war band coming from the Donalds and you need every sword you can get! Even a half-crippled one, still bleeding from a wound.”
“I know,” the laird said. “But I won’t force a man to fight for me who doesn’t want to anymore than I’d force a woman to my bed.”
“I fight for clan Macrae,” Ian said, his throat working. “Which means that I fight for the clan’s laird. And that’s you, you sick bastard.”
The words were harsh, but the sentiment in them was surprisingly tender. I’d never heard any man call another a sick bastard with such affection before. And Ian’s eyes misted over, as if he, too, had been pained by their long estrangement.
It was so tender a moment, I nearly forgot that I was naked on a bed beneath my laird, his sweat cooling on my body, my tenderest parts still pulsing with desire. He noticed, and kissed me again, this time, with something that felt like more than lust. And he kept kissing me, so tenderly, that Ian let out a little snort of impatience. “You want me to stay or go? You’re kissing her like you love her.”
“I do,” John Macrae said, staring down into my eyes. “She’s brave and beautiful in her rawness, and as willing to sacrifice as any of our swordsmen. So you might as well go, because I’ll be a while abed…”
No injured man ever fled a room faster than Ian Macrae, leaving us alone, leaving me reeling with the words I’d just heard. John Macrae loved me? Love. Like in the poem he’d helped me learn to read. A beautiful thing that whores weren’t supposed to have, but then, rules didn’t apply to the Macrae. He didn’t need me to say it; he knew I loved him too. I wouldn’t have surrendered to him this way if I hadn’t. But now he was bashful in light of his admission. “I know I said I’d share you, lass, but I’m not sated of you yet. And have this fear, in truth, that I never will be.”
“Nor will I be sated of you,” I said saucily, happy as I’d never been happy in my whole life.
DEAR READERS
Thank you for reading The Highlander’s Harlot!
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DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story engage in some risky behavior and make some questionable decisions; it should go without saying that this behavior is not to be encouraged in real life. But that’s the beauty of fiction; they can do this, and we can enjoy thinking about them doing it, without anyone getting hurt.
In the meantime, please enjoy the following excerpt from a more modern tale of lordly possession, Claimed by the Crown Prince!
EXCERPT
CLAIMED BY THE CROWN PRINCE
Laurel Adams
~~~
Nicole first heard about the prince’s harem in Scandal Sheet, the rumor-mongering magazine she’d been hired to take photos for. Given the rag’s reputation, she didn’t give the stories much credence until she saw it covered on a television talk show. The western media was fascinated by the harem of the party-boy crown prince of Qumari. How did he lure modern American women to his tiny island nation to become his plaything?
It helped that he was handsome, of course. Prince Bashir Al-Jazar was tall and dark, with a muscular physique that spoke of personal trainers. He’d been educated in the states, knew how to charm American women, and was catnip for the paparazzi.
What Nicole knew from the magazines was that it was the prince’s habit to offer the prettiest girls he met a six month vacation in Qumari. And when Nicole’s best friend Mandy met the crown prince’s in an LA nightclub, he made that same offer to her.
Mandy was beside herself with eagerness, but Nicole had protested, “What’s wrong with you? You do realize that he wants you for a sex toy!”
Mandy wouldn’t hear it. “And he can have me as a sex toy; he doesn’t have to pay me to take a trip to his island to do it. Prince Bashir’s eyes are like chocolate and his voice is even more delicious. If he’d wanted to fuck me, he could’ve done it right there in that night club. I’d have let him. But he just wanted to talk; he knows everyone and he’s interested in everything. Did you know that he was a pre-med student at USC?”
She sounded half in love with him already, and Nicole couldn’t talk her out of it. But when Mandy said that she’d be allowed to bring a guest, Nicole wasn’t about to go with her. “Mandy, even if this weren’t a crazy idea, I just got this new job with Scandal Sheet. I can’t just drop out of my life for six months, even for an all-expenses-paid vacation.”
“But we’re best friends. We do everything together!” Mandy had protested. And her last words before getting on the plane were, “You’re going to regret not coming with me to Qumari!”
When the letters came, describing how much fun Mandy was having on her trip, Nicole half-wondered if she’d been foolish not to go along. It’s not every day, after all, that a girl gets an offer to see an exotic part of the world and doesn’t have to pay a dime to get it. Mandy’s letters described lolling on the beach, meeting famous people, and only occasionally seeing the crown princes at a party or function. She said she was having the time of her life…
…but then the letters stopped.
Nicole went with Mandy’s family to the authorities, but once the police confirmed that Mandy was, in fact, alive and well, there was nothing else that could be done. Qumari was a foreign country, so they had no jurisdiction.
Nicole wished she could think of some way to help. Then it came to her. Anything having to do with the crown princes fascinated the media, so Nicole offered to go under cover for Scandal Sheet and give them the juiciest story she could find. Of course, they’d have to help her smuggle in a hidden camera and vouch for her safety.
The boss loved the idea, and it was surprisingly easy to arrange once she wrote a letter to Mandy saying that she’d like to come out and visit. Nicole was a pretty girl; prettier than Mandy even. She was long and leggy and all-American in a way she hoped the prince might find exotic. And when she received her invitation in the mail, delivered in an expensive carved-wood box, she found herself a little eager for the adventure.
Getting off the plane, she was greeted by polite, uniformed guards, who informed her that cameras were not allowed. Luckily, they didn't find hers where the magazine had secreted it in the handle of her purse. She was driven by limousine to a very luxurious mansion filled with women from all over the world. Thailand, Ethiopia, the Philippines…let it not be said that the prince did not have diverse tastes.
Some of them were rich, some of them were poor, but all of them seemed to be having a good time. Nicole asked to see Mandy, but was told that her friend was one of Prince Bashir’s favorites, and now stayed in the palace.
As for Nicole, she was allowed to spend her days doing anything she liked. She went to the beach to deepen her tan. She bought all manner of baubles with the money the prince’s gave her. She read books and talked with other women. The only real rule was that at night, every night, the women were required to make themselves pretty and go to a dance club where the prince partied with his guests.
Nicole wasn’t required to do anything there but dance and meet people, really. Which left her more than a little confused. The whole thing was less sinister than she had suspected and probably wouldn’t make for a very good expose. Instead, Nicole was enjoying exactly the sort of carefree vacation that Mandy had promised, and that she’d written about in her letters.
But why had the letters stopped?
“I haven’t even met the prince,” Nicole complained one night.
One of the other women explained, “Lots of ladies come to this island and leave without ever spending time with him. The parties and dance clubs are just a way to show off to his associates that he can buy and bring all sorts of women to his island. At the end of the night, he might choose a woman out of the crowd and take her off privately…”
Now this was what Nicole wanted to know. She leaned forward so far that her frosty drink almost spilled. “And?”
“Those women almost always return the next day stating that either nothing happened or that just a little kissing went on.”
“Just a little kissing?”
“The prince likes female company. He likes to talk and enjoy himself. He doesn’t need to force anything. I mean, look at him!”
Nicole had to admit, there was a certain magic about the prince here in his own country. The entire island treated him like the royalty he was, with escorts, and curtseys, and fluttering hearts. There was a thrill whenever she saw him from a distance. There was something about the stride of a man who knows he owns everything he sees. About a man whose guards are wary and a little fearful. About a man whose power is subtle but real. It was easy to be caught up in it, and Nicole started to fear that if the prince was to whisper the right words in her ear, even she might melt and succumb to his seduction.
It wasn't until the second week that she saw Mandy at one of the night clubs. Nicole was thrilled to see that her friend was, indeed, perfectly healthy. But Mandy was dressed differently. Slightly less self-consciously sexy than usual. Her clothes clung to her more tightly, and when she walked through the crowded nightclub, men casually put their hands on her and she let them.
“Mandy!” Nicole called, pushing through the crowd.
But the moment her friend saw her, Mandy blushed a deep scarlet, and turned to leave. This reaction wasn't what Nicole expected and so she followed Mandy out. But the prince’s guards stopped Nicole just as her friend stepped into the prince's car and was driven away.
That night, Nicole found a note under her pillow.
Leave, it said.
Had Mandy left that note? If she had, Nicole wasn’t about to leave her friend in trouble. She was an American. She had a hidden camera. A whole magazine editorial staff was looking out for her. She was going to get to Mandy no matter what she had to do…
Read Claimed by the Crown Prince
LAUREL ADAMS writes hot, dark, sexually transgressive tales of dubious consent. With her bite-sized serial stories, she likes to push boundaries and leave her readers tingling and titillated.
ALSO BY LAUREL ADAMS
CLAIMED BY THE CROWN PRINCE
Prince Bashir is rich, good-looking, and has a penchant for luring young American women into his harem...
As a newly-hired photographer for an international gossip rag, Nicole bets she can make a fortune off any pictures she takes of Prince Bashir, who is he fascination of the western media. But when Nicole's friend falls under the spell of the party boy prince, Nicole warns against becoming his plaything. Her friend g
oes off to the tiny island nation anyway and stops sending letters home. Worried that something terrible has happened, Nicole sets out on a mission to save her friend only to be claimed by the prince himself!
Claimed by the Crown Prince
BLACKMAILED BY THE BOSS
When her billionaire boss gets ahold of embarrassing pictures of Maggie, she worries that her career is over. But when he convinces her that playing the office slut is a game she can win, Maggie revels in her humiliation and all the punishment he wants to dish out. But when her jealous boyfriend comes up with a plan for revenge, Maggie is caught between a very sexy rock and hard place.
Blackmailed by the Boss (Part 1)
Blackmailed by the Boss (Part 2)
Blackmailed by the Boss (Part 3)
Blackmailed by the Boss (Part 4)
Blackmailed by the Boss (Bundle 1-3)
BORROWED BY THE BILLIONAIRE
Jessie has always fantasized about her husband's billionaire boss...
This wife of a high-powered executive thinks her husband is joking when he says that he intends to make her fantasies come true. But it's no joke. When he takes her to a penthouse apartment, and shares her with his billionaire boss, Jessie becomes insatiable. Then the pleasure of her first menage turns to something else entirely when the billionaire insists on borrowing her for the entire weekend...
Borrowed by the Billionaire (Part 1)
Borrowed by the Billionaire (Part 2)
Borrowed by the Billionaire (Part 3)
Borrowed by the Billionaire Bundle (Parts 1-3)
LEARNING TO LIKE IT
When it comes to sexual experiences, Kim hasn’t had many, which makes her college boyfriend a little nervous. Chad and his friends tease Kim, daring her to be more adventurous, and because she wants to fit in, Kim soon finds herself in way over her head. A dare in a strip club turns into a lap dance and much more, leaving this former innocent shaking with lust and tempted to try anything new. Kim is straight and has never had any interest in other women, but when the sexy stripper wants to meet after hours, and let her boyfriend watch, Kim finds herself addicted to kinky sex acts she’d never before imagined…
The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) Page 7
