Torn Between Two Highlanders Page 8

  Tears, hot and salty, flowed down her cheeks.

  And yet…and yet…

  The moment she felt her hymen tear—the moment she knew that it could be blamed on neither of them, but rather, they had both claimed it together—was amongst the most satisfying moments of her life.

  “It’s done,” Malcolm said through clenched teeth, as he and Davy both swiftly withdrew from her. It had been only a moment, but now she throbbed and ached and the pain was all mixed together with her arousal.

  Davy kissed her tears away, almost panic stricken as he cooed, “Now we’ll be gentle, we’ll be gentle, lass. I promise.”

  They were, too.

  Davy’s thumb circled the nub of pleasure at her center that sent little sparks of pleasure into her blood. Malcolm kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back. And all the while, his wet straining cock pushed between her cheeks, slowly, painstakingly nudging its way into a forbidden passage.

  “Too much?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yes,” Arabella said, shying away, then pushing back against him, unable to make up her mind. “No. I’m not sure!”

  “Well, we must make you sure,” Davy said, kissing her on the mouth. Overwhelming her with sensation, and affection, and wicked promise. Somehow, the way he touched her made it easier to take Malcolm, and she whimpered when he slid an inch into her most secret place.

  “Oh, oh, that can’t be…”

  “Yes, it is,” Malcolm said. “I’m inside you and you like it.”

  “I do,” Arabella said, clasping Davy hard, drawing him closer. “I want you both inside me.”

  “Mmmm,” Malcolm murmured against her neck. “She’s a wanton.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arabella said, embarrassed.

  “Don’t apologize for that!” Davy said, positioning himself at the entrance where she had felt such pain. “We want you lusty and desperate. Needy and voracious.”

  That was a good thing, Arabella thought. Because in spite of the pain, she was all those things. And she found that it didn’t hurt very much this time when Davy eased his shaft up into her. Sore as she was when they both thrust up inside, she was stretched, too, and now there was room enough for him without agony.

  In fact, what she felt when Davy slid up into her wasn’t anything related to agony at all. It was…strangely like relief. It was as if she had been empty her whole life without knowing it, and was suddenly filled.

  “Noooo,” she said.

  “No?” Davy asked, freezing mid-stroke.

  “I mean, yes,” Arabella said. “I just can’t quite believe how good that feels.”

  Davy’s concerned expression melted to a cocky grin. “Believe it.”

  “Take more of me,” Malcolm commanded, from behind. And she used her hand to hold her cheeks apart so that he could push in deeper. He did and when she felt the swell of Malcolm’s steely erection stretch her impossibly, she cried out, burying her face against Davy’s chest.

  Then Malcolm stopped, waiting for her to adjust. To take him.

  How Malcolm and Davy could hold so still while she writhed and squirmed, was beyond her comprehension. But they had done this before, she remembered. They had shared women together. They knew how to do it. And while some part of her exploded in sudden jealous fury at whoever those nameless women were who were blessed to be between these two men, another part of her was grateful that they’d taught the men what to do.

  The rest of her drowned in the pure ecstasy of it.

  The way it felt when they were both pressed inside her as far as they could go…the way it felt to be filled in both places. It made her entire body quake, from head to toe. It made her sob with pleasure against Davy’s pale freckled shoulder. It was too much to stand. And yet, she wanted more.

  Arabella moaned for them. She clutched at them. She was dying for them.

  It was Davy who moved first, with slow, steady, gentle strokes. She felt it so strongly, every sensation. Even the friction of a thin membrane that separated the sex organs of the two men inside her. “Do you like that, lass?” Davy asked.

  She could scarcely answer. She could only throw back her head and groan. She answered him with her eyes, which she knew were filled with a wicked lust. Surely he must see the fires that burned inside her now.

  “Tell us,” Malcolm insisted, perhaps because he could not see her face. “Do you like to be fucked this way?”

  “I like it so much,” she cried, a little sob at the end. “But I need more.”

  “Greedy girl,” Davy teased, beginning to fuck her in earnest.

  After Davy nodded to him over her shoulder, Malcolm began to move too. Arabella nearly shrieked, then. Not from pain, but from being overwhelmed by the sensation. Two men moving inside her. Alternating strokes. And though she knew this must be a very depraved act, condemned by all right-thinking folk, she felt she was meant to do this. That it was supposed to feel this way. Because it was so arousing that she had begun to pant.

  “Dear God.” She groaned, low in her throat, as a feeling coiled in her belly.

  They began to work her body harder. They began to let loose, freed to worry over their own pleasure, and not just hers. Their hands held her down. A wall of sweaty muscle behind her and in front of her, hard cocks thrusting in and out as they picked up the pace. She smelled their sweat, felt it slip over her skin, loved the base animal abandon of it all.

  She wasn’t sure what gave her away. Maybe the way her breathing fell apart, disintegrating into desperate gasps. Maybe the way heat swept down her neck and over her breasts while her belly trembled.

  Davy said, “You’re going to come off with us now, lass, aren’t you?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Arabella cried, thrashing her head upon the pillow.

  In her ecstasy, Arabella raked her nails down Davy’s chest, scratching his nipples, causing him to hiss with pain and pleasure. Her reward was a nip on the shoulder, the head of his cock burying itself deeper inside her.

  “You are going to come,” Davy argued. “No girl can help it when she’s taking this much. I told you, it makes a woman insatiable.”

  Arabella certainly felt insatiable

  Malcolm snarled, “Come with a cock in both holes. Come now.”

  It was a command. And Arabella obeyed at once. The explosion started between her legs, fire fanning outward to her belly as her body spasmed over and over, convulsing on both men inside her. Milking them. And when she screamed—loud enough to hurt her own ears—Davy stiffened, his cock pulsing and releasing a flood of warm cream inside her. Then came a chorus of orgasmic cries. She heard an agonized animal groan behind her as Malcolm pressed upon the small of her back, and found his own release. The warm rush of seed went on even as he continued to stroke in and out of her, battering against her cheeks with every jerk of his climax.

  Neither man pulled out of her throbbing body straight away. They stayed inside her until they were soft, all of them a tangle of sweating, carnal beasts. It was Davy who finally rose from the bed to bring a wet cloth to wash her with. He gently wiped her where she was so sensitive, cleaning her of blood and seed. Then Malcolm washed, too.

  “You’re a woman now,” Davy told her, proudly. “And we made you one.”

  Dreamily, Arabella asked, “How will I thank you?”

  Davy laughed. “You just did!”

  Malcolm laughed too. A sound she’d never heard before. A short, throaty, chortle. Raspy, as if much in disuse. She turned swiftly to see if she might catch an elusive smile upon Malcolm’s scarred face. But if he’d smiled, it was already gone, replaced with an expression of devotion as he bent to kiss her mouth.

  Davy stole another kiss as well.

  And though she was sore—every part sore—she felt like a woman, truly. And that made her happy. At least until she saw Malcolm’s bandage. “You’re bleeding a little…”

  “T’was worth it,” he said.

  Arabella frowned. “But—”

  “You bled more than I did,�
� Malcolm said, drawing her head to rest upon the pillow of his bare chest. “T’was worth it.”

  And Arabella murmured, “You’re right, it was.”

  Chapter Nine

  Arabella woke in a tangle of limbs. Their bodies were squeezed tight together in the bed, not a breath of space to spare. And though she ached with soreness, she also tingled with pleasure, every inch of her sensitive. So much so that when Davy sleepily moved his nakedness against her side and let his hand drift questingly to her breast, she realized she wanted him still.

  And he was obliging.

  Moving over her in silence, slipping between her thighs to push gently inside her swollen passage, he found his release again. Then it was Malcolm, who turned her to face him, taking her deep until the very last moment, when he pulled out from her and spurted his seed on her belly.

  Hours later, it was Davy again, rocking her softly beneath him while proving she wasn’t the only one who was insatiable.

  She had loved being shared by the men. Loved it so much that she longed to do it again. But there was something deeply fulfilling about taking them one at a time, too. Getting to know what pleased each of them individually. How each man best liked to be kissed, touched and stroked.

  Davy was a languorous, adventurous, experimental lover who liked to tease her endlessly, denying her satisfaction until she whimpered and begged for it. Malcolm, by contrast, denied her nothing. He took her with a fierce determination, as if meaning to bring her to climax as fast as possible and leave her dewy and dazed.

  It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that Arabella finally felt sated. But she promised herself that if either man should want her again she would never say no. Because they had given her something extraordinary and left her feeling nothing like a harlot, but rather, like a goddess…

  CRACK!

  Both men came awake, straight away. Davy leaping up from the bed to grab at his sword. Malcolm pushing himself to find his claymore at the side of the bed, cursing a foul string of curses as he was reminded of his injured leg.

  “What the devil was that?” Arabella asked indelicately, wishing she, too, had a weapon to grab.

  “Ice,” Davy called from the other room, hissing a relieved breath. In the nude, he left the bed and went to the door. He must’ve opened it because Arabella felt a sweep of cool air on her oversexed body. “It’s melting. And at a clip.”

  Using his claymore as if it were a cane, Malcolm steadied himself upright, determined to stand. “Then we ought to be on our way.”

  Davy returned, striking a pose in the doorway that made Arabella hungry for him all over again. She wanted to connect each freckle on his skin with a swipe of her tongue. Good God, perhaps she was born to be a harlot after all…

  “There may be floods,” Davy warned, concern in his eyes. “And what if you haven’t the strength to guide a horse through it?”

  Malcolm scowled. “Then you let me fall and drown and get the girl to safety.” Arabella shot him a startled look while Davy began to protest. But Malcolm wouldn’t hear it. “I’m not going to be the death of either of you. You’ve risked enough for me.”

  Davy suggested, “The war bands might wait another day—”

  “Do I need to slit my own throat, man, to get you to venture out?” Malcolm cried.

  “Gods blood, you’re a wee bit dramatic!” Davy snorted. “What do you think, lass?”

  He was asking her? He trusted her, she realized. Maybe they both did. And that made all the difference. Arabella took a deep breath and reached inside her for the wild girl who had dwelled there all along. “It sounds like we have an adventure in front of us…and I could scarcely say no to that.”

  Davy smiled, proudly. “It’s decided, then. Bundle up, lass. It’s still chilly out there.”

  It was.

  Venturing out of the warm cottage, the world seemed bleak and cold. She didn’t want to leave their charmed idyll, but she didn’t want any of them to die, either. “Ride with Malcolm,” Davy said low, near her ear. “He needs your warmth and you can keep him steady.”

  He made her feel as if she was a partner; another warrior, albeit one without a sword. And she thought she might love him for it…

  ~~~

  Malcolm was in pain. Arabella knew he was. She could feel the strain of his body against her back as the horse beneath them struggled through the melting snows. He didn’t complain; of course he didn’t. Though he did grunt every now and again as they passed beneath snow-covered branches, and trampled the leaves that did little to hide their tracks.

  At one point, when the dark stallion stumbled, Malcolm actually cried out and nearly lost his hold on her. Arabella swiftly grasped at his hands, using all her strength to keep him from falling. But she feared that if it happened again, she wouldn’t be able to keep hold of him. And when she looked down, over her shoulder, she thought she saw more blood seeping into his bandage.

  But there was nothing to be done.

  Hour after hour, they made their way across Macrae clan lands, skirting away from the main paths, using little known routes so as not to be seen. Arabella was cold, and sore, and miserable. But she dared not complain. Instead, she kept her eyes peeled for green plaid; the kind the Donalds sometimes wore. Listened attentively for the sound of men laughing, of warriors sharpening swords. Anything that might betray enemies nearby.

  But it might be that the Donalds feared the melting snows and floodwaters more than they did. With luck, they had a head start on the war bands. With luck…but as they neared the castle, it was clear luck was not to be theirs.

  Having scouted ahead, Davy returned, a wry tilt to his lips. “The bad news is the castle is under siege. Not just the Donalds, who we could slaughter to a man in a fair fight. But the MacDonalds too. We’ll never get in by the main road.”

  The castle was on the sea, where three lochs met. It was an island—approachable only by a bridge. It made it highly defensible against just such an attack. And it made it impossible to reach.

  “What is the good news?” Malcolm asked, his voice shaky and weak; the journey had taxed him nearly beyond his endurance.

  Davy mounted his horse again and clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “The good news is that the enemy is as cold and shivering as we are, and night is soon to fall.”

  “Is that supposed to cheer us?” Arabella asked.

  “Aye,” Davy said. “Because it means they’ll be huddled around their fires in the darkness. And they’d never dare venture out onto the loch.”

  “Venture out onto the loch?” Malcolm snapped. “Only a madman would risk it!”

  Davy nodded, like just that kind of madman. “Aye. But it’s the only way to reach the sea gate. It’s guarded, but if they don’t shoot us full of arrows and we don’t fall out of the boat and drown, they’ll let us in.”

  “What boat is this?” Malcolm asked, his eyes widening.

  “Our fishing boat,” Davy said, with an inane grin.

  And his madness seemed to infect Arabella, because she heard herself say, “The one we’re going to steal.”

  At that very moment, Davy bent to kiss her full on the mouth. “You’re magnificent.”

  “Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “She is at that. So let’s keep her alive.”

  Two things occurred to Arabella in the course of their desperate theft from a village fisherman. The first thing that occurred to her was that Davy loved danger; he was nearly giddy slipping past a sleepy watchdog and making off with a boat that Arabella helped him drag to the shore. The second thing that occurred to her was that she loved the danger, too.

  At least a little bit.

  And then, a third thing occurred to her.

  Malcolm didn’t like danger at all.

  He didn’t shirk from it. But he never liked to leave things to chance. “I’ll go across the water first and if I don’t make it, you take the lass and find another way.”

  “Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Davy said. “You can’t do it.
”

  “It’s my leg that’s wounded, not my arms,” Malcolm replied. “I can row.”

  Davy snorted. “But you can’t swim. So you can stand watch at the shore and be able to do nothing at all if things should go bad. Or you can put your fate in with us and we do this together.”

  They’d done everything else together, Arabella thought. It seemed wrong to separate now. And though he groused and complained, climbing into the skiff, Malcolm obviously agreed.

  In the moonlight, the loch was a beautiful but eerie thing. Cold and foreboding, with deep black waters that beckoned as if to steal their lives and steal their souls. Every soft splash of Davy’s paddle made Arabella’s heart stop. They needed not to be seen or heard by the enemy warriors on the shore. Meanwhile, they needed desperately to be heard and seen and recognized by the Macrae warriors in the castle.

  What Arabella remembered most of the castle, on the days she’d been there for market, was that it was well-manned. It was a large, beautiful, wealthy place. A place only for visiting. But she realized now, her sister lived there. Her sister was behind those walls. And so she began to long for it, not only for safety, but because it now meant a place like home.

  They were spotted as they neared the sea gate.

  Arabella knew, because a flaming arrow came whizzing past her head in the dark before fizzling into the cold, dark sea. “Get down!” Malcolm shouted, pushing her to the bottom of the boat as it rocked and heaved. And, absurdly, as she contemplated her death for the thousandth time in the past few days, she was overcome by the stench of fish. There was a bloated one by her nose, dead and stinking in the boat. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that it was so close to her face, she nearly retched.

  And then she nearly laughed.

  A fish. Why did every adventure with Davy involve a bloody fish? Except this time, they weren’t going to live to tell the tale. As another volley of arrows came their way, and one of them stuck in the boat with a thunk.

  Davy called out the Macrae war cry. “Sgurr Uaran! Stop shooting arrows, you accursed idiots.”

  “Davy?” came the reply.