Wicked Passions (Highland Menage Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  Callum lunged at him, but his blade was too upright, and with Alastair’s height advantage, he easily blocked the move.

  “Too high,” said Alastair. “Cutting my ear will not stop me. And if you drop that left elbow, I will trap your arms near your body with my reach, and enjoy sliced Callum for supper.”

  Isla nodded. “He’s right. Again.”

  They hunted each other then pounced; swords clashing once, twice, thrice, the shrieking sound overloud in the room. Yet this time his laird held firm, and they stared at each other through the frame of two steel blades.

  “Better, Master Graham?” asked Callum as they turned in a slow circle, each breathing hard and dripping with sweat.

  His cock jerked and began to harden. “Adequate, my laird.”

  “Ha. Damned by faint praise. What say you, Isla?”

  When she did not reply, they both turned their heads to look at her. Isla’s cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling…and one hand rested between her legs.

  She bit her lip. “Forgive me. But watching your exertions…the improvement…then the way you eat each other up with your eyes…”

  “It makes your cunt wet?” asked Alastair.

  “Yes.”

  “You need release?”

  “At once,” she replied, spreading her thighs a little.

  Alastair shook his head before walking to the chaise to sheath his sword, Callum right behind him to do the same. “Alas, you must wait.”

  “Wait?” Isla stared at him in shock, and Alastair almost smiled. Indeed, a lady well used to servants obeying her commands. But this night, if she wished for pleasure, she would have to earn it. She had taught them skills in sword fighting. Now it was his turn to teach her about pleasing a man. Or this night…pleasing men.

  “Indeed. You have been the master, but now you must be the student. Callum and I will both attend to your needs…after you learn how to suck our cocks.”

  Isla quivered. “I suppose you’ll ask me to be naked for this lesson. So you might spend your seed over my breasts and rub it into my nipples. And spank me for misbehavior.”

  So that was what the naughty lass wanted, was it?

  “Not ask,” Alastair growled. “Insist. And yes, you well know the punishment for impatience.”

  She sucked in a breath and sauntered toward them, kicking off her shoes, before halting beside the chaise to peel off her stockings and hose. Soon her spicy wetness scented the air, and his mouth watered to taste her. No matter that he was beneath her in every way the world would measure, Isla Sutherland would fully surrender to his tongue this night.

  “Kneel on the cushion, Isla,” said Callum. “You’ll be warm enough in front of the fire.”

  With a slight sway of her hips, Isla walked to the cushion and gracefully sank to her knees. Then she loosened the ties at the neck of her borrowed shirt, yanked it over her head, and tossed the garment away. Last of all, she rested her hands atop her head so they might attend to the length of linen binding her breasts.

  When she was completely naked, her creamy skin almost golden in the firelight, Alastair placed one hand on her narrow shoulder. Her flesh was like silk, warm and smooth, and he dragged his callused palm along her collarbone.

  Isla arched her back in an unspoken demand for him to stroke her jutting nipples. In response, he trailed his fingers between her breasts, down over her belly as though he meant to cup her dewy mound. Instead, he circled back, all the way up to grasp her chin and turned her head this way and that, as though inspecting her.

  “What do you think, Callum?” he rasped, rubbing his thumb along her plump lower lip. “Will our cocks fit in this pretty mouth?”

  She whimpered, and meeting his gaze, her green eyes glittering in challenge, delicately licked his thumb.

  A willfully disobedient lass.

  “I think we need to undress and find out,” his laird replied, adjusting the fit of his hose around a large bulge as he moved to stand next to Isla rather than behind her.

  To torment her further, Alastair leaned forward and kissed Callum, gripping the back of his neck in the possessive way his laird enjoyed. Then he removed his clothing and gestured for Callum to do the same.

  “Stroke your cock, my laird,” said Alastair as he handled his own thick length. “Show the lady how you like to be touched and what she’ll soon be sucking.”

  Isla moaned, her body near-swaying on the cushion as she struggled to follow his rules. The curious little kitten wanted to touch and taste; need was plain on her face.

  Showing her mercy at last, Alastair reached over and took one of her hands, then guided it down to wrap around his engorged cock. Callum did the same.

  “Now,” he bit out, stifling a groan of pleasure at the sensation of her rough palm encircling him. “Now we begin.”

  Every day, she envied Callum at the way Alastair respected him in public, and mastered him in private. Those hungry kisses. Teasing touches until he begged. Rough fucking that left him sated and dripping with seed, before being tenderly cradled. She had provoked Alastair repeatedly, hoping intemperate words or brazen behavior would lead to the same for herself, yet he had always resisted.

  Until now.

  Saints alive, the way he’d just touched her, treating her not as a highborn lady, but a lusty woman with desires he knew just how to ease. Even better, he would not gift her pleasure, but insist she earn it. Any warrior knew the greatest victories were those fought hard for.

  Isla knelt on the cushion, the fire warming her naked skin, a thick, engorged cock clasped in each hand. Yes, her nipples and cunt throbbed in righteous fury at being neglected, but knowing that Alastair would decide if she had earned a reward and would be permitted release, only heightened her arousal.

  “What must I do?” she murmured.

  Alastair settled his hand atop her head, his fingers parting her hair to massage her scalp and ease the ache of her tight braid, and she almost purred. The squire often massaged Callum, and to receive the same strong yet tender touch was thrilling. With him, she wasn’t forced to choose between warrior or cosseted lover. She could be both, and that was wondrous indeed.

  “Lick the head of each cock, Isla. Kiss it. Then take it between your lips and suck.”

  “You will…ah…go slowly?”

  His gaze softened. “Just the head. As it is your first lesson, neither of us will fuck your mouth. You decide how much to take; if it becomes overwhelming, then draw back and use your hand.”

  “We’ll tell you when we are close to spending, so you might rest our cocks on your breasts,” added Callum. “You do not have to swallow our seed.”

  “Very well,” she said, gazing up at Alastair. Then, keeping her eyes on him, she dragged her tongue against the head of his cock.

  His breath hissed between his teeth, and Isla shivered in delight. How exciting to know, that even naked on her knees and ordered to kiss and suck two cocks, she still held such power.

  Eagerly, she learned the size and texture of Alastair’s beast-sized cockhead with her lips and tongue. It was stone-hard, yet the skin felt soft, and the pearly moisture dripping into her mouth tasted almost salty. Earthy. Then she moved her head and did the same to Callum. His cock wasn’t as thick, but longer in length, and he tasted muskier. As promised, they remained still, but the ragged gasps and guttural groans at her ministrations boosted her confidence.

  Isla returned to Alastair and took the entire head of his cock into her mouth, until she could close her lips around it.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “Now suck. There’s a good lass. Use your tongue on the underside, and your cheeks. Harder. Like that...just like that. Clever Isla…”

  Warmed by the praise, sinking into a dreamy, intimate world of mouth and cocks and hands, she slid her fingers to the base of each shaft and began stroking the heavy balls dangling underneath while she sucked. Moving from one cock to the other and back.

  Callum shuddered. “You are…a fast learner, Isla
.”

  She smiled and took him deeper into her mouth, until his hand clenched her shoulder and he moaned. Then she returned to Alastair, handling his cock as she sucked and lapped at him.

  “I’m going to spend,” he bit out, the hand in her hair tugging until she arched her back. “Cup your breasts.”

  Isla lifted and pushed the small mounds together as best she could. Alastair gripped his cock and rubbed it in the narrow furrow, and as he found his release with a low roar, warm seed gushed onto her breasts. He anointed her taut nipples with the silky, sticky mess, teasing and pinching them, and Isla whimpered as jolts of sensation arrowed straight to her wet, aching cunt.

  “Spend, Callum,” commanded Alastair. “Cover her with it.”

  Now she held the laird’s gaze as he roughly handled his cock, and soon his pearly seed trickled down from her collarbone, his cry of release still echoing in the room.

  Kneeling there, the fire warm at her back, the scent of lust heavy in the air, and dripping with seed, Isla trembled. Never had she felt like she belonged, that she had a sanctuary where she could be her true self in every way and indulge her most wicked passions. But here with these two men, who yielded to her with sword in hand then ordered her to pleasure them…it felt like she’d finally found her home.

  Tears she never cried gathered in her eyes. “Alastair,” she said hoarsely, near mindless now with need. “Callum. Please…”

  Alastair crouched down and guided her onto her arse with her legs stretched out in front of her. “Aye, my lady, you’ve earned your reward. Fetch another cushion for her head, Callum.”

  Soon she lay on the woven rug in front of the fire, her thighs spread and feet flat on the floor. But to her surprise, Alastair lifted her legs and gently pushed them back toward her breasts, making her hold onto them. Now her slick folds and back entrance were fully exposed to his glittering gaze.

  “I’m going to feast on this sweet cunt now,” he rasped, licking his lips. “Callum, suck her nipples. Suck them until they are harder than diamonds.”

  Isla closed her eyes, her breathing shallow pants. “Hurry. Hurry.”

  But she received neither boon. Instead, Alastair’s hand curled around her mound and administered a sharp smack. She groaned as the delicious sting worsened the throbbing of her swollen pearl.

  “Impatience, lady?” said Alastair in a steely tone.

  “N-no,” Isla choked out. “No…Master Graham.”

  “Better.”

  A word she had often said to them in swordplay. How reassuring it was that he remembered and understood: before she had been the conqueror, now she wished to be conquered.

  To add to the occasion, even gentle Callum tormented rather than eased her; smoothing her hair with one hand while the other drew patterns on her skin, purposefully avoiding her seed-splashed breasts or the top of her mound.

  “How wet is our captive?” asked Callum, as though inquiring about the weather.

  Alastair smiled. “Sight and scent says the lady is soaked. But only with touch can I be sure.”

  Almost lazily, he petted her bush, before pressing one finger deeper, parting her slick, petal-soft folds and stroking them. Isla whined at the too-delicate touch, but in her current position she lay perfectly, wonderfully helpless.

  Callum flicked her right nipple with his thumb. “Isla is behaving now. Shall we reward her?”

  “Aye.”

  The word hung in the air like fine mist. A heartbeat later, Callum’s lips fastened about her nipple, Alastair’s tongue laved her cunt, and a shriek tore from her throat as her body bucked in release. Yet even when the first harsh spasms weakened into gentle pulses, the men offered no respite. Callum moved next to Alastair, leaning down to tease her back entrance with his tongue before pushing it inside her. Alastair pressed on her pearl with his thumb, and her hips writhed on the cushion as a second release crashed over her.

  Her head too heavy to lift from the cushion, she sensed rather than saw them move again.

  “I…I can’t,” she whispered dazedly. “Not a third time.”

  “You can and you will,” said Alastair. “With Callum’s finger in your cunt and mine in your arse…oh, look at that, my laird. Another trickle of honey at the thought of both of us inside her.”

  Isla sobbed. “When Callum wins the tourney…on our wedding night…will you take me together? Not your fingers…but your cocks?”

  Silence dropped like a heavy shroud and she inwardly cursed her wayward tongue. Once again, too soon.

  Then Callum cleared his throat. “Is that what you truly want, Isla? A husband and a lover in your bed?”

  “Not any husband or lover,” she corrected. “Callum MacIntyre and Alastair Graham. If…if that is what you wish also.”

  “You really want me too?” asked Alastair slowly, his gaze wary yet glimmering with raw craving. “Why?”

  “I should not like to choose between a masterful devilish beast and a sweet scholar. I want both. I need both. So much.”

  The laird nodded solemnly. “We’ll not make you choose. Will we, Alastair?”

  “Nay.” Taking Callum’s hand, Alastair swirled his middle finger in her honey, before slowly and gently pushing it just inside her cunt. “On our wedding night, Callum will take you here.”

  Isla cried out as the laird’s finger swirled and found a small, rough spot that sent fierce darts of pleasure shooting through her whole body. “Y-yes.”

  “And I will take you here,” Alastair continued, wetting his finger thoroughly and then easing it inside her tight back entrance.

  She writhed; the double penetration too intense a sensation for her already overwhelmed body. Yet when those two fingers became four and began a slow, sensual duel, rubbing and caressing each other through the thinnest of internal walls, her head fell back and she screamed in ecstasy.

  Soon, so soon, her world would be perfect. A husband, a lover, a new family to begin.

  Nothing could come between them and happiness now.

  Surely.

  Chapter 9

  “Wake up, Isla.”

  “No,” she mumbled, quite content to remain exactly where she was, naked on cushions in front of the fire, with the arms of two equally naked men wrapped around her.

  In all honesty, she wasn’t sure if she could move. Her limbs were heavy, her skin sensitive, her mind at peace after Alastair and Callum had ruthlessly and relentlessly pleasured her for hours. The only place she should be was right here, cradled between them.

  “Isla,” said Alastair, curling his hand around her shoulder and gently shaking her. “You must return to the castle. Before anyone notices you are gone.”

  She sat up, utterly forlorn at the reminder. With both the revels and sword fighting remaining in the tourney, six men were still determined to win her hand in marriage. If her family, the king and queen, or the other entrants knew she had given Callum sword lessons, and that she had pleasured—and been pleasured—by him and his squire…there would be nowhere in Scotland for her to hide. “I know,” she replied dully. “I hate to leave you both, though.”

  Callum kissed her neck until her toes curled. Then he rose to his feet, tugging her with him. “We’ll wash and dress you. Then walk you to within a stone’s throw of the castle gate.”

  After a sponge bath, they bound her breasts with the length of linen, and helped her with her shirt, stockings, and hose. Then they dressed themselves.

  “What about your hair?” asked Alastair, frowning.

  Isla gasped. “Oh no! Morag braids it very tightly and coils it to fit under my hat. I’m terrible at braiding, when I try to do it myself they are loose and lumpy. Devil take it, I can’t return with my hair unbound.”

  “Allow me,” said Callum.

  “My braiding is better,” said Alastair.

  “I think not, old man.”

  Isla stared at them, torn between laughter and surprise. “How? Who taught you?”

  “My mother has very long hair,
” said Callum. “She said everyone should know how to braid.”

  Alastair sniffed. “Based on some of the bird’s nests we see in the Highlands, not nearly enough do. But I shall braid yours. Fetch the ribbon, Callum.”

  The laird did so, muttering darkly the entire time, and continuing on as Alastair sectioned her hair into three parts.

  “Isla needs it pulled tight, Alastair.”

  “I am pulling it tight.”

  “Tighter. Like a rope, not a drunken caterpillar climbing her head.”

  “Any more advice,” growled Alastair, “and you’ll be taking a swim in the River Forth.”

  “Even swimming I could braid better,” said Callum, rolling his eyes.

  Her shoulders rocked with giggles. “You two.”

  Alastair spanked her arse. “Stand still or it will be a lumpy braid…there we go. Done.”

  Isla patted it with her fingers, then turned and beamed at the squire. “As good as Morag! I am most grateful to the Lady of Glennoe. And you.”

  Once she’d covered her hair with Leith’s cap and pulled on her cloak, they lit two torches and set off for the castle. The night air was cool, and light rain dampened them all, but it wasn’t that making her shiver. Only a need to hurry back to her chamber before anyone discovered the rolled-up clothing and carefully arranged pillows in her bed were not a person.

  “Don’t come any further,” she said, when the castle gate was about fifty feet away. “I don’t want anyone to recognize you. But I’ll see you at the revels...after that just two little swordfights, Callum, and we three can return home to Glennoe.”

  The laird grinned wryly. “Yes. Two little swordfights. Good evening…laddie.”

  Alastair clapped her on the shoulder as men often did to greet or farewell each other, then he and Callum walked back down the steep path toward Stirling.

  Taking a deep breath, Isla sauntered toward the torch-lit gate, as though a lad without cares. Two men at arms watched her approach and stood to attention, blocking her way.

  “State your business,” began one of the men, before pausing and peering at her in the low light. “Wait. I’ve seen you afore. Ain’t you Leith’s lad?”