Isla hissed in frustration as she gripped the chaise arm. “The lady wishes you would both stop talking and start pleasuring.”
The slight sting of a punishment swat to her arse made her moan, but that was naught compared to the burning stretch of Alastair’s thumb entering that forbidden hole for the first time. Much like her need to be the conqueror and the conquered, this indescribable sensation was two sides of a coin. Pain and pleasure. Confusing and clarifying. Something her body both welcomed and rejected. Then she couldn’t think at all, as Callum’s hand delved between her legs to cup her mound and rub her aching pearl. Each time he rubbed, Alastair tugged her braid and thrust his thumb shallowly into her arse, and the feeling of restraint, of being surrounded and taken, was her undoing.
An abandoned cry tore from her throat as release hit like a storm-tossed ocean, both lifting her up and overwhelming her completely.
She’d thought she knew ecstasy.
Once again, these men had proven her wrong.
Much like a diamond, Isla had many sides. The cool-headed swordfighter. The impish mischief maker. The courageous woman navigating the treacherous waters of a world made for wealthy men as best she could. But this day he and Alastair had seen a new one…
The submissive lover.
Callum had greatly enjoyed licking Isla to a screaming release in their previous lesson, and sucking Alastair’s cock in front of her had only heightened his arousal. Neither could compare to this, though: he and his squire working together to pleasure her. The way they had teased her with words, with touch…he’d felt closer to them both. As though they truly could exist as three rather than a forced choice of two.
Callum’s breath caught.
Isla and Alastair in his heart and in his bed? And all delighted to be there?
Even the thought made his cock throb, and he bit back a groan, needing release more than he needed food to sustain him.
On the chaise Isla trembled a little, and they removed their hands from her body. She turned onto her back, and Callum drank in the glorious sight of her flushed skin, swollen nipples, and wet cunt, pleased she did not move to cover herself.
Eventually she blinked at them with dazed eyes. “I think my name is Isla.”
He smiled. “’Tis a pretty name. Rare and precious. Is there a story behind it?”
Isla stretched like a cat and pointed her toes. “No heartfelt tale, I’m afraid. My grandfather was Lord of the Isles, and my family sought to flatter him. A wasted effort, considering the king seized the estates and title when I was nine.”
“I still like it. Almost as much as you soundly conquering Alastair with your sword.”
“Ha,” said his squire. “I am quite certain, my laird, that I could conquer you with my sword.”
Callum moaned. Usually Alastair called him laird, but sometimes in tender or lusty moments it was my laird; not a term of deference, but possession. It both warmed his soul and aroused him to the point of pain. Yet in the freedom and privacy of this cottage, he desired so much more. To have that ownership demonstrated in full measure, not just with words or hands or mouth, but Alastair’s cock buried deep inside him. “Please,” he said hoarsely, the way he’d begged that long ago night. “Please.”
Isla sat up and bit her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to fuck Callum,” said Alastair bluntly. “We’ll retire to the bedchamber.”
“But I want to watch,” she whispered. “Not spy…watch. Like when he sucked your cock. May I?”
Alastair turned to him. “Can she?”
Callum shuddered as his cock jerked. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll fuck here, on this chaise. Isla, kneel on that cushion for the best view. Come here, Callum, so I might undress you.”
Never had he thought undressing to be an act of torment until this day. The removal of his shirt and hose, his shoes and stockings, each took a thousand years as Alastair stroked and licked each newly revealed part of his body. Neck and chest. Inner thighs. The underside of his knees.
But not his cock. No, his lover deliberately went around the engorged, seed-damp length now bobbing against his abdomen.
“Alastair,” he gritted out, provoked beyond endurance, for he could feel Isla’s hot gaze as much as his squire’s masterful touch.
“Fetch the oil.”
With unsteady hands, Callum reached down for the bottle of light oil Alastair had used to polish the swords. “Here.”
“Bend over.”
At the first penetration of Alastair’s oil-slick finger into his arse, he gasped in delight. Gentle to start in preparation for a rough fuck later, just the way he liked it.
“Does it feel odd to you?” asked Isla abruptly. “The way the stretch burns but you don’t want him to stop because the more he strokes the nicer it is?”
“That’s…exactly…it…” Callum stuttered as Alastair added a second finger and pushed them in deep. “But when…oh…when it’s his cock, it feels even better.”
Moments later, Alastair pulled his fingers free, and Callum nearly wept at the loss. Until he was handed the bottle of oil.
“Prepare my cock,” Alastair ordered as he nearly tore off his own clothing. “Isla, I see you there, unable to sit still. If you wish to come and assist…do so.”
Isla nodded eagerly and shuffled forward. “What must I do, Callum?”
Taking her hand, he turned it over and poured some oil into her palm. Then he did the same to his own hand. “Cover his cock in oil. It eases the way inside in the absence of honey from a cunt.”
They smoothed the oil all over Alastair’s huge length. Never had he seen his squire’s manhood so hard or so thick, the damp head almost purple. He couldn’t wait to have all of it stuffed inside him, owning him, filling him with seed as he found a shuddering release.
“Enough,” gasped Alastair eventually.
Callum sighed in relief. “How shall we fuck?”
“I’ll sit on the chaise. You’ll sit on my cock. That way Isla can touch you…if you’d both like that.”
Isla brightened further. “My hands are already oiled. Can I, Callum?”
“Aye,” he said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to stop himself releasing his seed there and then. First, he and Alastair working together to pleasure her, but now she and Alastair working together to pleasure him? God’s blood. Perfection.
“Up here, Callum.”
He rose to his feet and Alastair pulled him close, one hand at the back of his neck, one pressing against his arse, his lips captured in a hard, brutal kiss that left him panting to be taken.
“Please,” he said again, unashamed to beg. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Wordlessly, his squire sat on the chaise, before carefully turning him so he faced away. Then, those huge hands at his hips, he was guided down onto Alastair’s cock.
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.