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

the kiss, taking him until her pretty pink lips were stretched around his manhood.
      God’s blood , she did this while holding the laird’s gaze.  
    All for you, my laird , her silent stare said. I can do anything for you .
    And it was like a bolt of lightning to John’s chest. A bolt that should have felt like thunderous, fury or pain but actually felt like pride. Something powerful arced and connected between them in that glance, almost as if Ian wasn’t even in the room. As if the laird’s kinsman were merely a belt or paddle or play-toy incidental to their love play. As if Heather wasn’t sucking another man into her mouth, but some extension of the laird himself…
    Could that be possible?
    Once, when John had despaired that it was Ian’s sword that defended Heather against the enemy, and not his own sword, she had said, His sword is your sword. He’s yours and I’m yours. Everything and everyone in this castle is yours. If only you would accept it. I’d happily be whatever it is you need me to be.  
    The laird hadn’t believed her then. Those had seemed only words. But now she was proving them true. She did not desire his kinsman. She didn’t welcome the thought of Ian’s hands on her. But she’d wrestled these things down in order to be obedient to her laird.  
    And the reality sent arousal coursing through his veins.  
    Heat swept over him with outrageous desire.  
    Even when Ian carelessly threaded a scarred hand in Heather’s hair to better guide and enjoy her ministrations. Even handled this way by another man, she arched her back as if to tempt the laird.  
    And tempt him she did.
    John could hear his own blood rush past his ears as his cock strained with a need for her. Watching her do this thing because he had commanded her to do it made him want her more than he had ever wanted her. He had held himself back from her so long because he feared to crush her, feared that she was as delicate as the flower that was her namesake. But as she whored herself for him, the laird saw not only her devotion, but her strength.  
    The very fortitude that was his clan’s motto.
    And he?  
    What a coward he had been not to ask this of her before. He had told himself that he didn’t share her because he loved her too much, but that wasn’t the whole truth of it. He hadn’t done it because he was afraid she would see in his strange desires something even more dark and depraved than what he’d already shown her. He feared that he would repulse her and that he would see disgust and judgement in her beautiful violet eyes. He feared that she would never, ever, accept it. Or accept him. And it mattered to him that she accept him. Care for him. Perhaps even love him as he loved her.  
    It mattered deeply. Now more than before.
    That is why he was determined to make this good for her.
    She would enjoy this; he would make certain of it.
    ~~~
    HEATHER

    The taste of Ian Macrae’s cock was different than my laird’s taste. Clean but saltier. He was velvety against my tongue, shaped somewhat differently, such that my lips slid more easily over his shaft. All the way to his brown pubic hair, which tickled my nose on the downstroke.  
    I made a careful mental inventory of each taste and texture, and each grunt and groan as I sought to bring him the very great pleasure I’d promised. And the laird encouraged me, saying, “That’s a good lass…she’s well-trained, is she not?”
    It embarrassed me to hear him speak of me this way, even as it made some low and submissive part of me preen to be praised. “Fuck,” was Ian’s reply, spoken between clenched teeth, as his body tightened—every muscle tense.  
    He must have wanted me very badly for a long time, because he reacted to my touch as if it put him on the rack. As if he didn’t want to enjoy me, but was helpless against my charms.
    All the same, though Ian’s hand was laced through my hair and my hands caressed his hips beneath his plaid, trying to