At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) by Laurel Adams Page A
Authors: Laurel Adams
could the laird asked, “Wouldn’t you rather spend yourself hilt-deep in her hot cunny?”
At the laird’s vulgar words, Ian gulped on air, hovering on the edge. He pulled my head up so that I must look at him and asked, “Is that what you want?”
“Very much,” I said, still gasping with my own pleasure.
Because it’s what the laird wished of me. That is what I told myself. But the truth is that the haze of arousal had made me curious, too. What would it feel like to be taken by another man? Especially a man like Ian who was so distant and unknowable, but brawny and well-made, with a hard flat stomach I found myself inexplicably drawn to lick.
Ian gave a single nod to the laird, who withdrew from me, leaving behind an emptiness in my wet passage I was now eager to fill. The laird stood, discarding his plaid, then pulled me up roughly by the elbow. He was never a man for gentleness, my laird. I knew his fingers would bruise me where they dug in. But I loved those little bruises he left on me. Tokens of the pleasures we shared together. His treatment of me only made me burn hotter.
Ian stood too, leaving off his belt and plaid and sword, then letting his eyes feast almost worshipfully on me before running a hand down the front of my body. Together, he and the laird both removed the pearls from my neck—leading me to fear that whatever we were going to do together was about to get much rougher. Then Ian claimed my mouth in a kiss, his stubble scratching the tender arch of my lip before his tongue tangled with mine. I sucked on it, not knowing what else to do, then moaned as his hands kneaded my breasts.
I want you to find pleasure in his body as you do with mine.
That was the laird’s command, and I hadn’t thought myself capable of it. But finding myself pressed between the hot bodies of two strong and strong-willed men, it all seemed very pleasurable indeed. The laird’s sticky erection pressed between the cheeks of my arse, and Ian’s hard cock was pressed against my belly. The sensation of that nearly made my knees buckle.
I did wilt a bit.
Fortunately, four hands steadied me. My laird’s hands on my hips. Ian’s on my breasts. And then, deliriously, I lost track of whose hands were where.
They drew me to the bed, then pulled me down, like hounds on a stag.
Ian drank in my kisses thirstily, like a drowning man. Meanwhile, the laird’s lips fastened on the back of my neck, his teeth grazing down my spine. Both men wanted me. But I knew, that in this moment, Ian wanted me more, because he was almost sheepish to let me see it. When I tried to look into his hazel eyes, he glanced away, as if he were shamed, to be caught trembling with need. And so I let my fingers skim down the length of his strong arm, to cover the trembling hand in which he was fisting his cock.
There was a moment, I suppose, when I could’ve stopped it. If I’d wanted to. But with my shoulder-blades braced hotly against the laird’s strong and sweating chest, being taken by both these men seemed both inescapable and too delicious to resist. So when the laird lifted my leg up over his kinsman’s hip, I helped guide Ian inside me.
The mechanics of the thing were the same, of course, but the size and shape of Ian’s tool opened me in different ways than the laird’s had before him. And he was gentler about it too. The silky crown of Ian’s penis dipped inside my opening, then pulled out again with a sucking sound before he plunged home, filling me with his thickness where I ached to be filled.
Ian groaned in satisfaction at our carnal coupling, clutching me by the hips, trying to get deeper but finding it difficult in this position. Perhaps the laird knew it, for he gave way to his kinsman, letting Ian roll atop me for better purchase.
It was the laird’s way to crush his weight down upon me, making me feel small and trapped and taken. A sensation that drove me to dizzying heights of arousal. But Ian was
At the laird’s vulgar words, Ian gulped on air, hovering on the edge. He pulled my head up so that I must look at him and asked, “Is that what you want?”
“Very much,” I said, still gasping with my own pleasure.
Because it’s what the laird wished of me. That is what I told myself. But the truth is that the haze of arousal had made me curious, too. What would it feel like to be taken by another man? Especially a man like Ian who was so distant and unknowable, but brawny and well-made, with a hard flat stomach I found myself inexplicably drawn to lick.
Ian gave a single nod to the laird, who withdrew from me, leaving behind an emptiness in my wet passage I was now eager to fill. The laird stood, discarding his plaid, then pulled me up roughly by the elbow. He was never a man for gentleness, my laird. I knew his fingers would bruise me where they dug in. But I loved those little bruises he left on me. Tokens of the pleasures we shared together. His treatment of me only made me burn hotter.
Ian stood too, leaving off his belt and plaid and sword, then letting his eyes feast almost worshipfully on me before running a hand down the front of my body. Together, he and the laird both removed the pearls from my neck—leading me to fear that whatever we were going to do together was about to get much rougher. Then Ian claimed my mouth in a kiss, his stubble scratching the tender arch of my lip before his tongue tangled with mine. I sucked on it, not knowing what else to do, then moaned as his hands kneaded my breasts.
I want you to find pleasure in his body as you do with mine.
That was the laird’s command, and I hadn’t thought myself capable of it. But finding myself pressed between the hot bodies of two strong and strong-willed men, it all seemed very pleasurable indeed. The laird’s sticky erection pressed between the cheeks of my arse, and Ian’s hard cock was pressed against my belly. The sensation of that nearly made my knees buckle.
I did wilt a bit.
Fortunately, four hands steadied me. My laird’s hands on my hips. Ian’s on my breasts. And then, deliriously, I lost track of whose hands were where.
They drew me to the bed, then pulled me down, like hounds on a stag.
Ian drank in my kisses thirstily, like a drowning man. Meanwhile, the laird’s lips fastened on the back of my neck, his teeth grazing down my spine. Both men wanted me. But I knew, that in this moment, Ian wanted me more, because he was almost sheepish to let me see it. When I tried to look into his hazel eyes, he glanced away, as if he were shamed, to be caught trembling with need. And so I let my fingers skim down the length of his strong arm, to cover the trembling hand in which he was fisting his cock.
There was a moment, I suppose, when I could’ve stopped it. If I’d wanted to. But with my shoulder-blades braced hotly against the laird’s strong and sweating chest, being taken by both these men seemed both inescapable and too delicious to resist. So when the laird lifted my leg up over his kinsman’s hip, I helped guide Ian inside me.
The mechanics of the thing were the same, of course, but the size and shape of Ian’s tool opened me in different ways than the laird’s had before him. And he was gentler about it too. The silky crown of Ian’s penis dipped inside my opening, then pulled out again with a sucking sound before he plunged home, filling me with his thickness where I ached to be filled.
Ian groaned in satisfaction at our carnal coupling, clutching me by the hips, trying to get deeper but finding it difficult in this position. Perhaps the laird knew it, for he gave way to his kinsman, letting Ian roll atop me for better purchase.
It was the laird’s way to crush his weight down upon me, making me feel small and trapped and taken. A sensation that drove me to dizzying heights of arousal. But Ian was