Page 40 of Wicked Passions

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.”