Ugly? Her eyes cut to Malcolm, who didn’t seem insulted by the remark. But she was insulted on his behalf. Yes, his face was scarred and like granite. Hard, stony, and remote. But she still thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes upon. And though he never seemed to smile, she could intuit pleasure or displeasure in his eyes. Right now, they burned into her in a most pleasurable way. A way that emboldened her to ask, “What other ways are there to share a woman?”
Davy nodded, as if he was pleased to be asked. “One of us in her arse and the other in her wet cunny. That’s a good one.”
Arabella’s breath hitched. Oh, Lord. She didn’t think she could ask another thing. And yet, she felt compelled to. “And do you…do you touch each other?”
“Not if we can help it,” Malcolm said.
Davy added, with a wicked flare in his blue eyes, “The fun is giving all our attentions to a lass and watching her come unraveled under our hands.”
Arabella wanted to come unravelled. She very much wanted that. A heat was building in her, and the source of it wasn’t her furiously blushing cheeks. No, it was somewhere in her belly, somewhere lower, between her legs. And it ached. It ached in such a way she didn’t think it could be eased unless one of these men touched her there.
She thought of Davy and Malcolm kissing her at the same time. More than kissing her. And it was so arousing, she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
“Would you like us to do that to you, lass?” Davy asked, seducing her with a sweet smile and words so velvety that the smoothness disguised the sin of them. He moved to her side, and she caught the scent of him. Clean, as if he’d bathed in the stream before the snows had come. And the heat of his body so near filled her senses.
“I don’t know,” she confessed.
It was enough encouragement for Davy to clasp her against him, and let his fingers slide up beneath the man’s shirt she’d donned. He lifted it up, his hands sliding gently to cup her breast, to flick a thumb over her sensitive nipple. It made her close her eyes. It made her moan. “But the thought arouses you, yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered, not caring in this moment if it damned her.
She was aroused, that much she knew. And it was a strange feeling, swirling about in her head and heart and body, like smoke swirling from a spark before a fire blazed in full glory. How was she to know what she wanted with the snow falling heavily outside and Davy’s warm hands on her, and Malcolm’s intense gaze sweeping over her with certain lust?
“Because the thought of it arouses me too, lass,” Davy said. “Enough that I could come right now, should I put my hand to myself.”
A glance at Malcolm and the dark lust in his eyes showed a desire to have her completely. But she had to be sure. “And it would excite you, too, to take me together?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said, resolutely.
“Is that your choice, Arabella?” Davy asked.
She swallowed. “I—I think it is. But I’m not sure. Not sure of anything…”
Davy nodded, not discouraged in the least. “Well then, you must help me get Malcolm to bed so we can help you decide.”
Chapter Seven
They kissed her that night. Both of them. Malcolm on the pillow to the left of her in the bed, pulling back the curtain of her hair to fasten his lips upon her neck. Davy, kneeling upon the floor to her right, closing his mouth over hers to leave her breathless.
They stroked her, too. Davy’s hands gently roving over her body but never stroking one place to satisfaction. Malcom’s fingers going straight between her thighs, dextrous fingers circling a spot between her slippery nether lips that forced her to cry out. “So wet,” Malcolm said with approval, and a bit of smugness at her reaction.
And Davy readily agreed.
But she wondered when one or the other of them would be overcome with jealousy, when their playful banter might become real anger, with her in the middle of it. She had never known men to willingly share anything.
“Are you sure you both want this?” she asked, because she had never wanted anything so much in her life.
“We all want it,” Malcolm said to calm her.
Davy nodded, “The only question is which one of us you will give the honor of taking your maidenhead.”
Malcolm’s grim face twitched at that—the semblance of a smirk—as if he were certain that he would be the one to have the honor. And Davy smirked back, making her realize t
hat these two spoke to one another without words, each of them cooperating to execute a battle plan upon the map of her body.
And she was happy to give them the victory, because she was overcome with a lust that made her quake. They were erasing her terrorized memories of men crowding around her, brutalizing her. Replacing them with new memories and sensations of delight. In truth, she flowered under their attentions into an utter wanton—the kind of woman she’d been taught to think poorly of. But she couldn’t stop to care. No, she wouldn’t have stopped. Not for anything but Malcolm, who shifted his hips against her side so that she could feel the glorious length of his hardness.
But in doing so, he grimaced against the pain.