King's Pawn (MFM)

Highland Menage 7

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 45,107
9 Ratings (4.4)
[Siren Ménage Everlasting: Erotic Historical Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, HEA]
Isabel Graham loves caring for the land of Calltuin, alone but for her highborn housekeeper. An orphaned ward of King James, she's just discovered Calltuin is her dowry when she's ordered to Stirling Castle to be married. She is determined not to lose Calltuin to a vile fortune-hunter.
Tearlach and Rory MacDougal are eager for a strong, hard-working wife for Duncladach. The herald ordering them to Stirling suggests the king might approve a marriage to the woman they're to escort. Isabel's lovely but it's her wit and determination that win them over.
Isabel's first impression of the pair of huge warriors riding is awe, shortly followed by arousal. Learning they're her escorts, she decides to seduce one of them in hopes the king will allow their marriage. Then she learns MacDougals share a wife, and are far better at seduction.
But the MacDougals are not the only contender for her hand and land, and the other fights dirty...
A Siren Erotic Romance
Reece Butler is a Siren-exclusive author.
King's Pawn (MFM)
9 Ratings (4.4)

King's Pawn (MFM)

Highland Menage 7

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 45,107
9 Ratings (4.4)
In Bookshelf
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Cover Art by Les Byerley
A very enjoyable book
Great story
j. miller




“Good morn to ye, sirs.”

Two identical handsome faces turned her way. Their intense blue eyes caught and held her. It was as if everything stopped. No sound touched her ears. Though there’d been a breeze, nothing stirred her hair.

These must be Highlanders. Every solid inch of them screamed they were men. Her body knew it, flooding her with new sensations. Her nostrils flared, seeking their scent. They were too far…

The moment broke. Birds called, loose hair drifted about her face, and the warm sun touched her skin. They looked at her thoroughly starting at her bare dirty toes, over her worn work gown and apron, up to her hair. She held herself as tall as she could, showing she was a woman to be reckoned with. They turned to each other with a nod of silent communication. Rory winked at her over a purring Tommy.

“Isabel, these be Tearlach and Rory MacDougal,” said Janet. “Ye might have heard they have a message for ye, and will be bringin’ ye to see King James.”

She wanted desperately to hear their message, but courtesy and hospitality came first. So did ensuring they stayed for at least a meal. How did a lass ask a man if he was free, and interested in marriage? If not them, did they have brothers?

“Would ye care for porridge with honey and cream?”

“Cream?” Rory’s eyes widened.

Tommy, knowing the word, scrambled to escape. He climbed to Rory’s shoulder, set his back claws, and made a flying leap toward her. Though Rory winced he said nothing as Tommy wound between her legs, demanding the treat. Roderick, not that he’d let any animal get close, would have killed Tommy for a scratch. Considering what her cat had done to his face he’d be wishing to beat Tommy to death if he caught him.

“Now that my arms are free,” said Rory, “I shall great ye properly.” He placed his hand over his heart and bowed, smiling widely. “I be Rory MacDougal, Lady Isabel. And in case ye dinna notice, I be the handsome one.”

“You’ll be the one I’ll thump and toss into the duck pond,” replied Tearlach as if the threats and boasts were part of their usual conversation. He turned to her. “Good morn, my lady.”

“I be no lady.” She looked down, spreading her rough skirts. “As ye can see, I dinna sit in a solar and embroider pillows for lairds to put their arses on.”

“Isabel, dinna use that word in front of men!”

“Pardon,” she replied, not meaning it. “Do ye have brothers?”

“Aye. Fourteen other than us.” Rory winked. “Dinna worry, lass, ye have the best two right here. And may I say ye are a beautiful sight, my lady.”

They were the best-looking men she’d ever seen. They had manners and wit. And they looked at her as if she was a sweet treat, and they weren’t sure where to lick first!

Roderick had never looked at her like that. He had, however, started out with the same false praise. That had changed the first time she refused him. He’d then told her, in detail, about all her faults. Sudden fury hit at the thought these arousing men might be the same.

“I be no beauty,” she snapped. “I’m a wee, scrawny twig. I’ve got plain brown hair and eyes, and my clothes are the same.” She held up her hands and stuck a foot out. “My skin turns brown where the sun touches it, and I have calluses from working. And”—she drew a breath as deeply as she could, which wasn’t much—“I am ugly as a wren.”

“Says Roderick Graham who parades around in velvet and fur while his father gives ye but one new gown a year, and ’tis always brown or gray homespun,” said Janet. Her lips curled down. She disliked it when Isabel listened to what Roderick spewed at her. “Aye, yer eyes are brown, like a well-aged whiskey. Yer skin shows that ye’ve worked for what ye have.”

“There are other forms of beauty,” said Tearlach before Isabel could respond. “These horses are fine animals, but they are the king’s. What we wear is as well used as yer gown. We have also worked for all we have. Ye should be proud of what ye have done.” He put his free hand over his heart and bowed to her. It was the same gesture used by his brother, but somehow it held far more significance. “I be Tearlach, the third MacDougal.” His eyes flicked to his brother. “Older, wiser, and more responsible than the fourth.”

“And more stodgy, like porridge that has sat too long and gotten sticky and lumpy,” said Rory, giving his brother a scornful look. He turned to her. Without the wide smile he looked older, more caring, and someone she might one day trust. “Lass, I canna see yer eyes from here, but the sun touches the red and gold in yer hair. Ye are slender but ye have a woman’s curves.”

The smile he now gave her was real, making lines crinkle around his brilliant blue eyes. She’d love to find a dye that color. Wee Jenny would look beautiful in such a dress.

“They’ll cry ye plain at Stirling Castle if ye dinna have fine gowns and jewels,” said Tearlach. “What ye do have, and it adds to yer natural beauty, is yer wit, yer laugh, and yer temper.”

“My temper?”

“Aye, for the passion that rises with it will also keep yer bed warm.”




 “Ye want more?”

“Please!” she gasped.

Hands grasped both breasts, pinching her nipples. Still rubbing inside her pussy and on her clit, another hand slid down to scratch at her asshole. She shuddered at the intensity.

“Time to stretch this so ye’ll take my cock.”

There was barely a warning before a blunt finger intruded.


“That’s it, Isabel, let go. Take what ye need.”

The finger in her ass twisted, stretching her tissues another inch deeper. It pulsed there, the center of everything. She couldn’t think. Lips covered her clit. A marvelous tongue flicked it, then suckled. She keened, caught on the edge.

“Now!” said Rory.

A finger rubbed inside her pussy, another pierced her arse. He nibbled her clit, and white light exploded. She lay, limp and gasping. The air hissed in her ears.

“Roll her over.”

She barely understood the words. She let them prop her on her knees. Her head flopped on the pallet. Her pussy, aimed high, throbbed. She clenched, empty. And then a cock nudged against her. Slowly, pulsing forward and back, he stretched her pussy, filling her. She shuddered, a deep groan filling her ears.

“That’s it.”

Tearlach sank deep, then backed out equally slowly. She panted, able to breathe but not yet think. When a finger pressed into her arse again all her intention went to those few square inches of her body. Again and again he moved, slow and sure, keeping her from thinking of anything but his touch.

“I found something in the kitchen to ease yer way,” said Rory. He sounded breathless, as if he’d been running.

 The cock stopped. The finger in her arse came out and something cold spread over her. She shuddered at the chill, then again when his finger filled her all the way.

“Feels good?”

She nodded, her hair rasping against the sheet. Tearlach’s cock barely moved, just enough for his balls to tap against her clit. He continued the tortuously slow movement as his cock filled, then pulled back. He added another finger. The slight pinch of pain added to her excitement. She pushed back, wanting the fullness. Still he moved too slow to bring her to the edge. She clenched his cock from inside. He hissed. The sound of a smack hit her ears a second before the shock of pain. A hand on her back held her from rearing up.

“I be the one in charge,” warned Tearlach.

“I be the one wanting more!” she protested.

“Give her what she wants,” said Rory. “What we all want.”

Tearlach’s fingers filled her all the way, stretching her wide. He let his hand rest as his cock sped up. She tried to slam back against him, but Rory held her. She was so close when Tearlach pulled his hand out, grabbed her hips, and roared. The friction was wonderful! She tried to edge over as he slammed against her, coming hard, but he slumped over her back too soon. She grabbed his cock with her pussy muscles, this time with no reaction. She quivered with need, panting to breathe, so close she could smell it.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” she wailed.

Tearlach pulled out and rolled off. He lay on his back beside her, gasping for breath through his wide grin. Before she could swat him a second cock filled her pussy. She clenched Rory, trying to come.

“Not here, and not yet,” he ordered.


“I’m going to take yer arse, sweetling. That’ll make you come so hard yer eyes will spin.”

“I’d better come or ye’ll be sleeping with the pigs!”

“Not a good idea to threaten a man about to skewer ye.”

“I ken ye willna harm me.” Though he may bring her an edge of sensation that could be felt as pain or pleasure.

He pulled out and slathered her with whatever he’d brought from the kitchen. The blunt tip of his cock pressed against her arse. Blunt large tip.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Yer pussy is wet and swollen from Tearlach’s cock, and yer arsehole is winking at me.”

He pressed, breaching her, stretching her painfully. Tearlach’s hand found her clit. It balanced the sting. She relaxed, letting Rory stretch her, sinking an inch before retreating. She was so near to coming she could taste copper on her tongue.

“How are ye doin’?” asked Rory, bending over her back.

“I want to come!” She clenched her pussy, but it was empty.

“Ye will, I swear. Relax and let me fill ye.”

She did as he said, bearing down to open up. His groan of satisfaction filled her ears as his cock filled her arse. She was new to having a man enter any part of her, yet this felt very different. She’d had no idea this was possible, or could be pleasurable. It was no doubt forbidden, which made it all the more glorious.

“I won’t go all the way yet,” he promised. “Ye got her clit, brother?”

Instead of answering, Tearlach’s knuckles caught her clit. He rubbed them, pinching her inner lips between his knuckles. Rory pulsed, keeping her on the edge between pain and pleasure. Then his fingers dug deep into her hips. He groaned and filled her, taking an extra inch as he plunged in and out.

“Come for me,” ordered Tearlach.

He pinched her clit as Rory surged forward and filled her. She shuddered, quaking as her body exploded. Sun burst behind her eyelids. A rush of water filled her ears. She panted through her dry throat. Long minutes later she realized she was empty, though the ghost of their cocks remained, keeping her throbbing.

“Next time ’twill be both of us fillin’ ye,” whispered Tearlach. “At once.”

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