At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) by Laurel Adams Page B

careful to hold his weight upon his strong arms, using his burning gaze and his cock alone to pin me in place.
    I wrapped my arms around Ian’s neck, but otherwise, I went soft. My eyes fluttered half-closed in a stupor of sublime sensation as Ian worked over me, hips flexing, his stiff manhood gliding in and out of the sheath of my sex.  
    And I remained in that stupor until I heard my laird’s command. “Look at me, lass.”
    Oh, god, the shame of it. “I can’t…I can’t!”
    “Look. At. Me.” And I remembered then how much he liked to see me shamed, and how he had insisted upon this very thing when it was Ian who was watching, and the laird working over my virgin body.  
    Jiggling slightly with Ian’s excruciatingly slow and steady thrusts, I lifted my eyes to my laird and felt myself lost in that dark gaze. He was watching me be taken by another man, and yet, I saw a fierce pleasure at the sight. “How does it feel, lass?”
    As the wind outside howled in judgement, I gave a desperate shake of my head. “Please…”
    I couldn’t bear for him to make me say it. To make me admit it. It would be disloyal and whorish in every way. But he was relentless. “I asked you a question, lass, and you do not dare lie to me.”
    No, I dared not lie to him. Even if I wished I could lie to myself. “It feels so delicious it’s awakened a hunger in me I don’t even understand.”
      My words were for the laird, but Ian heard them too, and he gave a shudder as if my words awakened something in him too. At seeing his shudder, the laird smirked. “You heard her, man. You might as well put your back into it if you mean to sate her voracious appetite.”
    Then the laird yanked my head by the hair to the side, and brought his face close so that we were nearly nose to nose. “You might reward the man whose fucking you so well by not laying still as a statue beneath him. We both know your quim is quivering with need, and that you’re going to take your pleasure on his cock. Don’t fight it.”
    Even with another man inside me, the laird still held me in his thrall. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t deny his words. I could only wrap my legs around Ian’s hips, and surrender to the cresting ache between my legs. My thighs tightened around Ian, his hot skin sticking to mine, and my arms locked about his strong neck, the rest of my body encouraging his strokes with a lewd undulation that I seemed to have no control over whatsoever.  
    I mewled with the rush of pleasure as my climax overtook me, feeling my own wetness gush around Ian’s unyielding erection. The laird’s kinsman cried out with me, then choked the sound back, denying me his own release. Again.  
    Instead, he rode it out with clenched teeth so that he could keep fucking me, even though I was so tight and tender in the aftermath. And I realized then that my pleasure wasn’t meant to bring this to conclusion, but only to heighten the experience. “Shall we take her to higher heights?” the laird asked Ian.
    But it wasn’t a question. It was a command and we both knew it.
    With a grunt, Ian rolled off me, onto his back, throwing a head of sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Kneel over me, lass,” Ian said, but neither man waited for me to comply. They put me where they wanted me. Both of them grasping at my hips and legs to set me atop Ian, where I balanced on palms pressed flat to the strong plane of his chest.
    In the light of the full moon through the windows, there was no way to avoid eye-contact now, for either of us. And though I knew my cheeks were red with arousal, they were no longer red with reluctant embarrassment. I was quite beyond that now. Beyond any sense of modesty as my hips gyrated on Ian, my wet slit sliding along the length of his still-throbbing erection. Beyond pretending that I didn’t want him inside me, as I guided him to my entrance, then sank down upon him with a hiss of pleasure.
    I wanted to ride him. I wanted to fuck Ian