At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) Read online

  My blood was running so hot that the cold air was almost a welcome respite as it swept over my naked body. And the laird feasted on the sight of the body he’d exposed, his eyes lingering a bit on my soft, pale belly as if searching for swelling, and wondering if he’d yet left a bastard there. I think it would please him if there were…

  I wanted to reach for his hands and guide them to my breasts, but I knew better. He was not a man to be led. He would touch me when and as he wished to. He would be touched by me at his command and never otherwise. Finally tearing his heated eyes away from the expanse of my trembling belly and flared hips, he hoisted himself up in the bed. “Bend over my knee and get that rump in the air for me. Now!”

  A whimper escaped me. I knew what he meant to do. His grip tightened around the handle of the paddle and I heard a trill of fear echo inside me right alongside the arousal. My skin tingled in anticipation as I hastened to crawl over his lap, my hardening nipples skimming over his bare thighs—a delicious sensation that made me quiver.

  As the laird’s broad forearm came down over the small of my back to pin me in place, I thought I knew what to expect from the paddle. I’d suffered my father’s lash as a girl, whenever he was in an ill mood. I’d taken strokes from the laird’s belt as well. But let me just say that I was in no way prepared for…

  CRACK!

  My laird was a man who swung swords with such strength they could cleave men in two. Thus, his new paddle landed with an ungodly force against my backside, enough to push the air from my lungs and leave me in total shock. Tears sprang immediately to my eyes as the pain was so sobering, I thought better of this game. Regretted it instantly.

  Regretted it even more when the second blow came.

  CRACK!

  This one forced a scream from me. Not a shriek, but a true scream as the sting of it seared its way over my bottom and I scrambled to get away. I was no match for the laird; I couldn’t escape him, and it humiliated me that I should try. I had no right to struggle against this discipline—discipline I’d goaded him into giving me—and yet, my whole body rebelled against me. And as I kicked and writhed to no avail, I begged, suddenly blubbering in tears that flew from my lashes.“Please, no more, please, laird, please!”

  “I like it very much when you beg, lass,” he said, with low menace. “But I like more how red your arse is right now. I can see it even in the dim firelight. Such a pretty color. One I’d like you to wear for me on your bottom at all times…and I cannot tell you how very much I want you to take more for me.”

  Oh, the torment of it! The pain of the paddle was such that it now struck fear in my heart, but to hear him say how much he wanted to paddle me some more…that was a faerie enchantment to me. Not only did I know he could paddle me again, no matter how hard I fought him, but I wanted him to do exactly as he pleased. Even if it made me sob.

  And it did make me sob. Even as I went limp over his legs, offering with my body what I couldn’t find the words to submit to. “Beg me again not to paddle you, lass,” he said. “But beg knowing that it’s not going to do any good. Let me hear it.”

  That broke something in me. Some well of desire that made my sex flood with wetness even as I sniffled and shrieked my pleas, “Please, no more, laird. Please, no. It hurts, it hurts terribly!”

  CRACK!

  There is, I s’pose, within every person a breaking point. A point of fighting or fleeing. As this strike sent a shock of pain reverberating through my bottom to my jiggling breasts, I lashed out at him against all reason, trying to snatch the paddle from him. Like a mindless animal in panic. He captured my wrists easily in one hand, chuckling all the while. “There’s my little hellcat,” he said, pinning me face first to his bed. “Go on. Fight me if you wish. It won’t matter. You’ll have exactly as many strokes as I wish to give you, no more, no less.”

  But in pinning me down, his body slid over mine, and the sensation of his body hair and hot skin against the tender flesh he’d just beaten made me groan. Oh, how I wanted him. How desperately I wanted him!

  “I shouldn’t fight you,” I sobbed into the mattress.

  “If you fought me and I didn’t wish it, what would you deserve?”

  “Another paddling,” I cried, even though I didn’t think I could take it.

  I truly didn’t!

  “Aye, but you have my permission to struggle, and yet you’ve gone strangely still…”

  That’s because I was paralyzed with the turmoil of lust and fear and shame that swirled inside me. “Because I want to please you more than I want anything…”

  “Then please me,” the laird said, releasing my arms and rising up again to a seated position. “Please me like I’ve taught you to do.” Turning to look, I saw that he’d discarded the paddle and was now fisting his thick cock, stroking it slowly, his expression turning from forbidding to amused at the unthinking way I licked my lower lip. “You’ve finally come to like suckling my cock, haven’t you?”

  “I loved it from the very first time,” I said, defiantly, tears still streaming down my face. “Before I even knew what to do.”

  “Oh, you did well enough not knowing, you saucy wench. But show me what you’ve learned.”

  I tried to rise up to my knees but in so doing, groaned, for the paddle had left in me a bone deep agony. It would bruise, I knew, and I felt nearly an invalid crawling to him. But some surge of arousal, anticipation of tasting him, made me ignore the pain. Grasping him at the base of his shaft, delighting in the heat and width of him in my palm, I wet my lips and slid them down over the bulbous head, careful to cover my teeth.

  “Nicely done.” His hand went to my hair, gripped it tight.

  God, how I loved that. How I loved when he tugged my long hair, how he showed such control over me and made me feel like a wee doll in his grasp. I’d learned to take him deep into the back of my mouth without gagging, learned precisely how he liked it. I was keen to prove it to him.

  Bent forward with my bottom in the air, I bobbed over his lap until his free hand strayed to my burning backside. Just the merest touch was such an agony that I jolted up with a cry. “Got more than you bargained for with that paddle, didn’t you?” he asked with another chuckle, and the devil in his eyes. “Well, we cannot let such a red and burning bottom go to waste, can we? Go to the chest at the foot of my bed and you’ll find within it a little vial of oil. Fetch it, and bring it here.”

  I did as he bade me to, hissing a bit with every step, but more curious than ever when I returned to the bed and pressed the vial into his big hardened palm. He patted the warm bed beside him. “Lay down, on your belly.”

  I sprawled on the bed, stretching all the way to my toes, watching over my shoulder as the laird poured some oil between his hands, replaced the stopper in the vial, then rubbed his palms together. Then, something glorious happened…

  He turned onto his knees and put his palms flat to my shoulder blades, slowly kneading the flesh there in a way that made me go boneless.

  A long, slow breath escaped me. “Ooooooooooh.”

  “Feels good?” the laird asked, slowly rubbing my shoulders and neck.

  “So good,” I groaned again, melting into the mattress.

  Short of sexual climax, I’d never felt something so wonderful in my life.

  “Has no one ever massaged you before?” the laird asked, his hands moving lower, kneading gently along my spine.

  “Never,” I said, wondering why I should be granted such an indulgence.

  It felt positively foreign and forbidden.

  I moaned again when the laird’s slippery hands reached the small of my back, tension easing under his thumbs, my whole body going lax in surrender to him, and to his touch. “Well, then, lass. That explains why you’re going to mush in my hands. But that’s how I want you now. Soft and pliant. Because I’m going to take you as you’ve never been taken before.”

  Little spears of excitement shot through me at that promise, but then his oiled hands c
ircled lower to my poor, abused backside, and the moans of pleasure turned into a throaty groan. I wasn’t sure I could bear to be touched on my bottom, swollen and likely bruised as it was. But the flat expanse of his palms warmed my flesh and actually soothed the pain.

  With still-slick hands he slowly worked my legs apart, and stroked the insides of my thighs. My tears dried up, my breathing deepened, and a sweet, languorous feeling spread through me.

  Then his hand slipped between my legs, fingers pushing through the wetness there and I fisted the bed-linens in my hands. He was readying me, I knew. But for what? The answer began to make itself clear when he pulled my own slickness back between the cheeks he’d spanked so hard with the paddle. And when I felt his thumb rest upon the forbidden place, I startled and stiffened.

  “No,” he said, harshly. “How did I just say I wanted you?”

  Chastened, I murmured, “Soft and pliant, my laird, but—”

  “Soft and pliant,” he repeated, prying my cheeks apart so that I felt a cool rush of air across my puckered entrance. “I’m going to fuck you here, lass. Right up your arse.” It sounded not only impossible, but debased and profane. And yet, before I could form any objection even in my mind, his thumb pressed against the opening and slipped shallowly inside. “I’m going to do it to you. What’s more, I’m going to teach you to like it. If I’m feeling particularly wicked, I’m going to teach you to love it. To crave it. To beg me to fuck this pretty pink pucker.”

  No, that could never happen, I thought. I was quite sure. Especially since the sensation of his thumb moving slowly in and out was uncomfortable. Not painful, not precisely, but so strange as I clenched upon him, that I couldn’t imagine liking this, much less loving it.

  Still, the laird had told me what he wanted.

  Soft and pliant, I repeated to myself silently. But at my silence, the laird unstopped the vial again and trickled a line of oil between my crack. Then he used both thumbs to massage and slip and slide in and out, oiling the passage well. The feeling of vulnerability began to sink into me, overwhelm me, put my mind into a bit of a fog. It went on and on, until both of the laird’s thumbs eased in, and he said, “You’re gorgeous, front to back. I love the shape of your mouth. The shape of your cunt. The quiver of your arse. Every part of you arouses me. I’m enjoying this, lass. And you’re going to enjoy it too. Touch yourself, and aim to bring yourself to the brink…”

  Lazily I slid my hand beneath me, finding myself to be even wetter than I thought. And the nub of my clitoris was so swollen and sensitive that it jumped at the touch of my fingers. Then the laird knelt behind me and lifted me by the hips, forcing my body to roar awake again. I felt the hard pulsing head of his cock nudge between my cheeks as he said, “No man has taken you here before…it’s another maidenhead I intend to claim.”

  I groaned, remembering how it had excited us both for him to claim my virginity. I flushed, wondering if this would feel the same. He pulled his thumb out, leaving an emptiness that was swiftly replaced by the pressure of his erection—or the crown of it anyway. He didn’t stroke deep into me, as he would in my cunt. Instead, he stroked very shallowly, while I gasped. “Oh, god!”

  “Soft and pliant,” the laird growled in reminder.

  I tried, truly I tried, as the intensity of the sensation threatened to undo me. I couldn’t take it. It was too much. I rubbed myself harder because the pleasure of it battled the discomfort. It would be a race, I thought, to find my climax before I broke. He stroked a little deeper, forcing a more guttural groan from me. And then it became more as the laird popped past some ring of resistance, then pushed all the way in, his hips pressing tightly to my reddened backside.

  But the sound he made when he bottomed out made it all worth it; a cross between an animal growl of satisfaction with a panting breath of desperation. That’s when I realized how he was straining to hold himself back. Straining not to do me harm. He would discipline me, my laird. Even until I cried. But he would never harm me.

  “How does it feel to be taken this way?” the laird asked. “Tell me.”

  “I feel…low, and obscene, and full, so full.”

  He rewarded me by grinding his hips in a circle that made me moan with the sensation of it, which had somehow turned wonderful. He moved over me then, his muscular chest pressing tight against my back. His weight deliciously pressing down on me. His breath warmed the back of my neck as he continued to grind into me. “Aye, what I’m doing to you is obscene lass,” he said, his deeply aroused voice sending a shiver up my spine. “This is dirty. Filthy. Sinful. Wicked. And it’s going to make you come so hard you see stars.”

  My heart began to race, my breath stuttering, because much as I might have denied it to myself, the discomfort was now a memory, replaced by raw animal need. I lifted my hips to urge him on, and he grunted his approval. “That’s a good little whore. You like it, don’t you?”

  “I don’t—I—I’m not certain,” I babbled.

  He pressed deeply, but didn’t pull back out again. “You want more, don’t you?”

  Oh, he taunted me like the devil himself!

  “I asked a question, lass,” he said, his iron erection throbbing inside me. “Do you want more?”

  “Yes!” I cried, as my fingers danced over my clitoris, bringing me closer.

  “I’ll give you more,” the laird promised. “But you’re going to ask for it.”

  No, no, I couldn’t do that, my mind insisted.

  But my body screamed otherwise.

  “Just as you begged me when I took your maidenhead.”

  The reminder loosened my tongue, for I remembered that I had no shame. Not with him. Or at least, whatever shame I had belonged to him. And he would feast upon it. “Please…my laird…”

  His hand gripped my hip hard. “Please, what?”

  “Please fuck me.”

  “Where?”

  On this very bed, I almost said, just to be contrary. But the thought of the paddling I would get for it made me hold my tongue.

  His hand went from my hip to my hair, and wrapping it in his fist, he jerked my head back. “Say it if you want it. Don’t lie to me if you don’t, but if you want it, you owe it to me to say so.”

  God’s blood, I did want it. I did! “Please fuck my arse,” I finally whispered. And once the vulgar words came out, it was like the burst of a dam. A torrent of pleas burst from my lips that I couldn’t hold back. “Please do it! Please fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard. I want to feel you spurting up inside me. Please take me. Please take me and make me yours.”

  He grunted with satisfaction. “You’ll come to bed naked and with this passage oiled from now on, in case I wish to use it,” he said, with a feral snarl.

  A command, or perhaps a condition.

  “Yes!” I said, willing to promise anything. A sob escaped me, and my pleas became nearly hysterical. “Please do it. I need to feel invaded and plundered and … please, please, I’ll do anything. I need it. I need it. Please!”

  The laird unleashed a string of curses as if I’d pressed against his flesh a hot poker of desire. I felt his skin flame hot against mine, as if he hadn’t expected me to beg so desperately. “Aye, I need it too, and you were made for fucking, lass,” he whispered just before his mouth fastened upon the side of my neck, kissing me there, sucking me there, even as his hips began to thrust in earnest.

  Oh, it was happening. He pushed deep, deep, inside my back passage. Then withdrew, and did it again. He was fucking me as easily in the arse as he’d fucked my mouth or my cunny. And I—well, the begging had put a fever into me. Our bodies slid against each other, lubricated with sex and sweat and oil. And I knew I was going to climax the moment he did.

  I also knew he was straining, holding back, waiting for me to get closer. The noises I made were scarcely recognizable. Something animal in nature. He knew them for a sign and so did I. What I didn’t know is that he would need to come first.

  Fortunately, he knew it.
>
  With an animal howl of his own, he plunged deep, his cock jerking and driving a warm flood of seed into my bowels. And the release—the force of it, drove me to the edge. How could I have anticipated the shattering climax that worked its way through me from between my legs, through my whole pelvis, then my belly until even my toes curled?

  I groaned, quaking, my mind slipping into pure ecstasy. It was an orgasm unlike any he’d given me before. Such pleasure I hadn’t known existed, mixed as it was with a feeling of violation. But as he’d taken me, now my body took him.

  My orgasm forced me to clamp down so tight that he hissed at the grip.

  Beneath him, I could do nothing but whimper and writhe, and as he collapsed upon me, our hands tangled at the top of the bed. His breath came in heavy pants, and mine matched his in tempo.

  In the aftermath, I was lost in a sea of happiness. Not only for the lingering waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed through my throbbing body, but also because of the laird’s rumble of contentment.

  As he softened inside me, he said, “Now I have had you in every way a man can take a woman. Or nearly so.”

  “Nearly?” I asked.

  “There are variations on the theme,” he said, with a husky voice. “And ways that involve the mind more than the body.”

  “I want to know them all,” I said, marveling anew at what he did to me.

  At how much pleasure he gave me.

  At how I felt a glow from within that seemed the very opposite of sin.

  He drew me closer, squeezing me into his arms, kissing me again and again, as if he were the one marveling at me. “How do you know to do that?”

  “Do what?” I asked, brushing softly at his lips with mine.

  “How to draw all the poisons from me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “…you are more of a healer than my physicker.”