Page 16 of Wicked Passions

Callum shuddered, and those silver-gray eyes widened in need, his expression pure yearning. “I am weary after the race. But I also find myself feeling…restless. A need to touch and be touched. I know I ask far too much after I pushed you away, but…would you kiss me, Alastair?”

Lust surged through him, more powerful than the rush of a waterfall. Between his frustrated desire for Lady Isla and the hot, rough, wickedly good acts he wanted to do once again to this man...

Instead, he nodded. “Aye.”

Slowly, so slowly, for although his laird had expressed the need he still had an air of skittishness about him, Alastair cupped Callum’s face and brushed his lips against the younger man’s. Then he gently flicked his tongue until Callum permitted him entry to his mouth. His laird tasted sweet and heady like wine, and desire jolted through him, hardening his cock to stone.

At the stealthy slide of Callum’s hands under his shirt to rest on his chest, those slender, nimble fingers stroking the wiry hair and teasing his nipples, Alastair groaned. In retribution, he dropped his hands to Callum’s tight arse, then began grinding his hose-covered cock against the rapidly hardening bulge of his laird’s.

Callum gasped, the sound echoing in the room. “More.”

“Of what, laird?” he murmured, leaning down to nip the other man’s shoulder. “Tell me…exactly.”

“Pleasure,” said Callum hoarsely. “Your hands and mouth on me until I gain release. It’s been so long. Please…”

“I’m going to taste every inch of you. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard and deep you’ll feel me for days.”

“Now?”

Alastair nodded, ushering him across to the chaise. “Yes. Now.”

* * *

“Are ye sure about this, lassie? There’ll be grave trouble should anyone find out where ye truly are.”

Isla smiled reassuringly at Morag and her husband Leith, the two middle-aged treasures who had quietly assisted more rebellions than anyone knew. As longtime Sutherland servants, the childless couple had taken her under their wing; Morag soothing upsets and scolding foolishness, Leith presenting her with the most cherished gift of her childhood: a little wooden sword. He’d also taught her how to hold it correctly and move her feet. Really, she loved them far more than her own mother and father. While they had come to Stirling because of Morag’s unmatched sewing ability and Leith’s position as chief messenger, she needed them for a different purpose entirely.

“As far as anyone knows, I am perusing the market in Stirling with trusted servants. Now you can visit your sister, Morag, and when the time comes to return to the castle for supper, I’ll be waiting here for you.”

Morag didn’t look fully convinced, nor did Leith. But they nodded and continued down the path to the village.

Glancing both ways to ensure no one watched, Isla straightened her shoulders and approached the front door of Glennoe’s cottage. Leith knew where all the tourney entrants were lodged—he’d had to deliver messages at various times—and this information was proving invaluable, for she hadn’t needed to ask anyone and create suspicion.

She raised her hand to knock, but the door wasn’t properly latched and swung open. Not wanting to be seen loitering, Isla stepped inside the cool stone building and latched the door behind her.

Just about to call a cheerful greeting, the words died in her throat.

Saints alive.

At first glance, it appeared that a seated Master Graham attended to a small wound on his half-naked laird’s lower belly or hip. But no. Glennoe’s hose rested about his knees. His hands were braced on his squire’s shoulders, his head tilted back in ecstasy as his fully erect cock was roughly handled.

Saints ALIVE.

Isla had seen cocks before; the lads in her training group had never been shy when needing to relieve themselves, or for a jest. But a grown man’s? At full mast? Never.

She sank against the wall, unable to tear her gaze away from the shockingly erotic sight of one man pleasuring another, for now Master Graham teased Glennoe’s cock with long, slow laps of his tongue, before engulfing the entire head in his mouth.

The laird made a sound of such delight that Isla scarcely suppressed a moan of her own. Her horrid green gown felt several sizes too small as it chafed her taut nipples, and the heavy fabric combined with her kirtle meant she couldn’t easily access the throbbing pearl between her legs, begging to be stroked.

All she could do was watch.

Watch and yearn and imagine.

Isla pressed her knuckles to her mouth as Glennoe shuddered and panted, his fingers tangling in Master Graham’s luxurious hair as he thrust. They gazed at each other with lusty tenderness, the way Sir Lachlan and his ladies had, and envy nearly choked her. She wanted to join them. To have Glennoe’s cock in her mouth, his fingers in her hair, and Master Graham’s talented tongue buried in her wet cunt.

“Alastair,” Glennoe rasped. “Feels so good…I’m going to spend…”

Master Graham continued to rub and squeeze the laird’s swollen cock as he sucked and lapped at it. A moment later a raw, brutal cry echoed in the room as the laird’s back arched and pearly seed erupted from the tip into his squire’s mouth and onto his bearded chin.