Page 30 of Wicked Passions

Callum groaned at the burn; even with the preparation, two fingers were nothing compared to this enormous length and the way it stretched his tight hole. But the oil eased the way too perfectly, and Alastair relentlessly worked his cock deeper and deeper, a little more each time. Just when Callum thought he could take no more, Isla distracted him by stroking his inner thighs, his heavy balls, and the sensitive tip of his cock.

He shuddered, the delicate touch such an erotic contrast to the rough penetration. “Isla…”

Pure wickedness lit her eyes, and agile as a cat, she climbed his body, rubbed her taut nipples and wet bush against him, then kissed him sweetly. Next, she rose on her toes to kiss Alastair as well, before retreating back down onto the cushion to close her strong, sword-wielding hands around his cock.

Callum bucked, his guttural cry echoing in the room. He would not survive this, it felt far, far too good. Yet soon it was even better, as with his feet braced on the ground, and Alastair’s hands guiding him, he began to move up and down on his squire’s length, each action ending with Isla handling his cock.

Up. Down. Squeeze. Up. Down. Squeeze.

He tried to stave off release but it hit him with the force of a Highland storm, and moments later his roar of ecstasy echoed in the room as he gushed seed all over Isla’s hands, even landing some on her breasts. Then Alastair bit his neck and thrust hard, once, twice, before spending deep inside his arse, and Callum cried out helplessly as more seed jolted from him.

Exhausted, utterly sated, he sank back against Alastair’s chest. One brawny arm wrapped around his waist, and Callum tilted his head so he could rub their cheeks together. Isla stared at them, her face the portrait of yearning, and without hesitation he held out his arms. She burrowed against him, her head falling forward to rest on Alastair’s shoulder, and Callum let out a long, slow sigh.

This. This was paradise.

He and Alastair and Isla together.

Eventually, Isla moved back, looking woebegone. “I must dress. Leith will return for me soon. Will you help me with the linen binding?”

Indeed, grim reality beckoned for them all.

He needed to practice with Alastair what Isla had shown him with the sword, rest, and also prepare for the stone put event on the morrow. If he did not progress from that event, nothing else would matter.

“Of course,” said Callum, regretfully easing away from Alastair.

With a cloth and warm water from the wooden bucket near the fire, they each cleaned themselves and then dressed. Callum reluctantly picked up his sword and unsheathed it. Unsmiling, Alastair picked up his, and they circled each other, offering the poor cuts and thrusts of frustrated men. Isla’s corrections came in the sharp tone of a frustrated woman. The room seemed darker and colder, the rules imposed by others and an uncertain future stealing the pleasure and peace they’d found together.

If he succeeded in this quest, he might have the world.

If he failed…he could well lose everything.

Chapter 7

“Smile, daughter!”

Isla bared her teeth at her mother as they stood outside the royal pavilion in anticipation of today’s event: the stone put. “Is that better?”

Anne pinched Isla’s elbow. Hard. “You have been out of sorts all morning. Are you still unwell? I shall order the royal physician to send an elixir if you are.”

“No,” she muttered, repressing a shudder at the thought. “I feel much improved.”

“Then smile. No man wants to see a scowl on a woman’s face, especially yours. We want the men to desire your hand in marriage, not run screaming from the field, especially when this wretched tourney has cost us such a staggering amount of coin.”

Isla pressed her lips together.

I am the only person who wants to run screaming from the field.

How much more of this could she take? The previous evening, Leith had returned her to the castle and Morag had helped her undress and tucked her into bed with mere minutes to spare, before her father and mother walked in. That she must continue this charade, when all she wished for was to ride back to Callum’s castle at Glennoe and enjoy a life of swordplay, lusty bedsport with her husband and lover, caring for their children and the clan…unbearable.

Children.

Isla stilled as the word settled in her mind.

Until now, she’d not seriously considered them. Even as wee lass, news of her older sisters in yet another confinement had never provoked any enthusiasm to be a mother herself. But with Callum and Alastair…suddenly she could see a new and different future. Little ones with books and sweetmeats and wooden swords creating merry havoc in the nursery. Children with fair hair and gray eyes; brown hair and blue eyes; ebony hair and green eyes. Any combination, really. Because they would all be cherished no matter what they looked like or their talents. All encouraged to pursue their dreams and true love, none belittled or ignored or abandoned. And they would witness equality, their mother respected and seen.

“Isla!”

She jumped and glanced guiltily at her mother. “Yes?”