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

John could hear his own blood rush past his ears as his cock strained with a need for her. Watching her do this thing because he had commanded her to do it made him want her more than he had ever wanted her. He had held himself back from her so long because he feared to crush her, feared that she was as delicate as the flower that was her namesake. But as she whored herself for him, the laird saw not only her devotion, but her strength.

The very fortitude that was his clan’s motto.

And he?

What a coward he had been not to ask this of her before. He had told himself that he didn’t share her because he loved her too much, but that wasn’t the whole truth of it. He hadn’t done it because he was afraid she would see in his strange desires something even more dark and depraved than what he’d already shown her. He feared that he would repulse her and that he would see disgust and judgement in her beautiful violet eyes. He feared that she would never, ever, accept it. Or accept him. And it mattered to him that she accept him. Care for him. Perhaps even love him as he loved her.

It mattered deeply. Now more than before.

That is why he was determined to make this good for her.

She would enjoy this; he would make certain of it.

~~~

HEATHER

The taste of Ian Macrae’s cock was different than my laird’s taste. Clean but saltier. He was velvety against my tongue, shaped somewhat differently, such that my lips slid more easily over his shaft. All the way to his brown pubic hair, which tickled my nose on the downstroke.

I made a careful mental inventory of each taste and texture, and each grunt and groan as I sought to bring him the very great pleasure I’d promised. And the laird encouraged me, saying, “That’s a good lass…she’s well-trained, is she not?”

It embarrassed me to hear him speak of me this way, even as it made some low and submissive part of me preen to be praised. “Fuck,” was Ian’s reply, spoken between clenched teeth, as his body tightened—every muscle tense.

He must have wanted me very badly for a long time, because he reacted to my touch as if it put him on the rack. As if he didn’t want to enjoy me, but was helpless against my charms.

All the same, though Ian’s hand was laced through my hair and my hands caressed his hips beneath his plaid, trying to draw him deeper into my mouth, this didn’t feel like an act of intimacy between us.

I was aware of him—aware of his pleasant scent and his every twitch in response to me—but it was the laird I felt I was performing for. Perhaps that is why I became so wet between my thighs as the laird rose from his chair and knelt behind me. While I bobbed my head up and down Ian’s hot, pulsing shaft…the laird’s rough hand came to rest on the small of my arched back.

And I began to tremble, because I knew he meant to take me from behind.

“I love the flare of your hips, lass,” the laird said. “And the pretty pink folds that peek out between your legs when you arch your back for me like this. You’re glistening already.”

The laird cupped my sex, his touch such a welcome relief that I moaned around the cock in my mouth. And that, in turn, made Ian groan.

“Good little slut,” the laird said, his voice becoming harsher, as it always did when he enjoyed carnal pleasures. He was a different man during sex; a harsher man. A man who would be denied nothing. A man who sometimes seemed as if he cared nothing for my pleasure except insofar as it stoked his own. But my pleasure always stoked his.

Perhaps that’s why he slipped a finger between my folds to stroke the hardened little pearl at my center. Oh, but his touch sent fire through my blood! Yet it didn’t satisfy, only teased, just as I was teasing Ian…letting my tongue flicker along the veins, slurping a bit at the wide, purplish head of his cock.

When my eyelashes fluttered open, I saw Ian staring at me, his hazel eyes narrowed with something between pain and pleasure. The the laird had given his permission and encouragement, I sensed Ian was fighting his desire for me, even now. I couldn’t guess why; I only knew it was a battle that I must win.

But it was so hard to do anything but surrender when I felt the laird position himself behind me, the thick head of the laird’s prick nudging against my opening. An ache to be filled blossomed in me anew, and a flood of my wetness bathed the laird’s cock as he slowly pushed inside until I was filled to the brim.

He might have thrust painfully and abruptly, as was his custom. I’d learned to love that. The sharp painful sensation followed by the sweet buildup of pleasure as I stretched to accommodate him and each thrust became easier.

But that wasn’t how my laird had his way with me that night.

That night, as I trailed my hands down Ian Macrae’s hard, flat stomach to grasp at the base of his shaft, determined to suck him as deeply as I could, trying to coax an orgasm from him…my laird stroked inside me with careful strokes aimed to coax an orgasm from me.

And I’m ashamed to say that he wouldn’t have to work hard at it.

Naked upon my knees, penetrated by powerful men fore and aft, I felt needy and lustful. Ian’s hand in my hair, guiding my mouth up and down the length of his erection. The laird’s big hands on my hips, angling me so that the knob of his cock hit a spot inside me that made my bare thighs quiver. Shoved back and forth between their needy cocks, I felt the heavy sway at the pearls between my breasts, my nose banging into Ian’s groin, and the slap of the laird’s heavy balls against my sex.

The room was filled with the heavy breathing of both men, punctuated by my own low moans. I’d believed myself quite incapable of enjoying such a thing, but now buffeted between two men, I was made a shipwreck of desire. I came powerfully, moaning in bliss around Ian’s shaft as my body contracted around the laird’s cock. There was something in me that thrilled to be the object of their lusts and I melted at the thought they would both make use of me to find their own release.

>

Ian’s powerful thighs clamped and released, guttural sounds rising from his chest, and I felt strangely triumphant at the knowledge he was going to spill his seed in my mouth. But before he could the laird asked, “Wouldn’t you rather spend yourself hilt-deep in her hot cunny?”