Page 54 of Three Irish Kings

I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying her to the bedroom, not caring if the other two will follow.

If they don’t, that’s their prerogative. I’ll take her as my own.

Dressed in a pair of sweats and a camisole, she pants as I drop her and remove my shirt, unbuttoning it and folding it neatly on the dresser.

“Oh,” she murmurs, looking up at me, and I can’t help but grin.

I take the way my body looks seriously, and I work out religiously, lifting to keep the weight on and not doing too much cardio.

Dare instantly gets into bed with her, sidling up next to her, and my jaw hurts from clenching it so much, but I’ve got to get through this.

Isla Quinn, or whoever she is, is still trouble. I may want her, but I’m not going to be like Dare and make goo goo eyes at her.

I grab her by the ankles and yank her to the end of the bed, removing her sweats while Dare removes her camisole.

Cillian has perched on the edge of the bed, but I’m barely paying attention to him or Dare, focused solely on Isla.

God, she’s gorgeous. Thin and lean, a four-pack abdomen, breasts that are the perfect size for cupping, her thighs thick, calves trim.

She works on herself, too, and you can see how hard. She has a long scar on her abdomen, and I trace it.

She shivers.

“Appendicitis.”

I hum, not much caring one way or the other. I have plenty of my own scars, but none from surgery.

Cillian looks worse than I do.

Isla traces a few of my scars with her fingertips, a bullet hole, a slash of a knife, and it’s my turn to gasp.

No one has ever touched them like that.

I like to keep things short and not so sweet. It’s always been quick, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. But this woman right here? Her, I want to savor like a delicacy, I want to take my time with her and learn all the spots that make her tremble, that make her moan, that hurt so good.

I want to take Isla seven ways from Sunday.

I spread her thighs as Dare takes a nipple into his mouth.

I thought I’d be jealous, angry at him for even touching her, but I love the way she throws her head back, fisting the sheets.

“Touch me, Liam. Cillian. Please.”

Cillian slowly puts a hand high up on her thigh, and I kneel, wanting to taste her.

I yank her further down the bed, letting her ass nearly hang off as I press my face against her sex.

I moan against her.

She smells both clean and musky, and it’s intoxicating.

I slide two fingers into her, pumping them in and out at an upward angle.

Going over the spongy part of her g-spot, I know I’ve reached the right rhythm when she moans out my name.

I latch around her clit, working my tongue over it until her thighs are trembling.

When I pump my fingers faster, she flutters around me, and when she comes, she arches off the bed, grinding her pussy on my tongue.