Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Laird
After her half-brother attacks the kinsmen of Blair McGregor, Lady Roselyn of Etal is brought before the stern highland laird to answer for her reluctant, unwitting role in the crime. Once she has told her story, she throws herself at his mercy.
Blair soon realizes that Roselyn is as much a victim of her half-brother as anyone, but his people’s demands for justice cannot be ignored entirely, so he strips the young Englishwoman bare and chastises her firmly with a switch applied to her naked backside.
The painful, humiliating punishment both assuages Roselyn’s guilt and leaves her yearning to be even more thoroughly mastered by the handsome laird. Though Blair makes it clear that she is free to return home, she instead chooses to remain with the him in his castle… and in his bed. Their passion soon blossoms into romance, but can the highlander protect his beautiful Sassenach when the villain who caused them both so much pain tries to tear her away from him?
Publisher’s Note: The Laird and the Sassenach includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
Roselyn opted to settle back on the bed beside him, though her sole focus was the hard length of male potency now cradled between her hands. She had nothing with which to compare, but if she wrapped just one fist around it her fingers would not meet so she judged him to be large. She ran her hands the length of him, from the base of his cock to the rounded, smooth head, then back down again. He let out a long sigh which she interpreted as indicating approval. Accordingly, she repeated the action, then again for good measure. Blair’s cock lurched in her hands.
Roselyn was startled. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nay, lass. That was good. Mind, should you be moved to reach a little lower and cup my balls I should not complain over much.”
Ever a diligent scholar, Roselyn was quick to heed his direction. She sought his balls and attempted to hold them in one hand though they seemed to possess a will of their own. Even so, she commenced a slow, steady massage whilst continuing to pump her other hand up and down the length of his shaft. She quickly realised that the head, that bulbous and smoothly rounded cap, was weeping with cool, slick liquid and becoming wetter with every stroke. Roselyn ran her thumb through the gathering moisture to spread it everywhere she could and she assumed that Blair’s moans signified his approval of that strategy.
His aroma enveloped her, the air redolent with the scent of arousal. Was it his, or hers? She could not be sure but it did not matter. The musky tang clung to her and she bent toward him to better inhale. The odour was heady, addictive… she needed more.
An idea occurred to her. He had said he would taste her, but why should she not know his flavours too? The scent sang to her of spices and freshness, but with a quality she believed to be uniquely male. She would know it better, understand this new experience more completely if she were to make use of all her senses. It was practical, prudent even… She grasped him firmly in her hand and leaned down even more.
At first she was tentative, just drawing the tip of her tongue through the wetness which coated his cock.
Blair muttered that Gaelic word again, adding in several more before he wrapped a great hank of her hair around his hand. He did not pull on it though, nor did he force her head forward. He simply held it, held her.
Gaining in confidence, Roselyn savoured the salty taste on her tongue, then she parted her lips. She took him in, just the head at first. His cock stretched her mouth, but she managed. She sucked on it as though it were a sweetmeat, and decided the similarities were striking enough. The taste was exceptional, a spicy tang which grew stronger as she increased the suction. She turned her face to the side so the head slipped into the pocket of her inner cheek and she was able to take more of the shaft. She used her hand to pump that portion remaining outside, at the same time squeezing the heavy orbs which nestled against her other palm.
Blair tightened his grip on her hair, which heightened her arousal. She was powerful, in control of what was happening between them, but only so long as he permitted it. At any moment he could haul her off or ram her face down, forcing her to take him deeper. He did neither, though he twisted more of her hair around his hand.
He thrust up with his hips, not hard, but enough to signal that he wanted more from her. Roselyn found added momentum, squeezed a fraction harder, sucked that little bit more.
“Sweetheart… you need to stop now.” His tone was muffled, pained almost.
Roselyn released him from her mouth. Had she done something wrong?
“Continue with your hands, harder, faster,” he growled. “Yes, like that. Just. Like. That.”
He jerked violently in her hands. “Let go of my balls and lay that hand over the top, right at the end.”
She obeyed, just as a surge of hot, viscous liquid spurted across her palm.
“Dinna stop. Not yet…”
She didn’t, and more of the fluid coated her sticky fingers. The aroma was even stronger, headier, and without thinking Roselyn slipped her fingers into her mouth to lick them. Rich flavours exploded on her tongue, sweet and zesty flavours with a piquancy which spoke to her of intimacy, of heat, and of erotically wicked pleasures.
Blair’s grip in her hair relaxed. He stroked her head as though to soothe away a hurt he had not caused. For long moments neither spoke.
Blair broke the silence. “Next time, you shall take my essence in your mouth and swallow it. All of it. For now, though, and since you so particularly wished to explore, I thought it best that you discover what you could expect to happen when you suck a man’s cock.”
“Thank you, sir. It was a most salutary lesson and I appreciate your… your…”
“My generosity?” put in her helpful tutor.
“Yes, that is it. Your generosity. Now though, I believe I may be in need of a cloth.”
“I shall summon Meggie.”
“No!” The prospect of being discovered naked in The McGregor’s bed, her hands covered in his semen, was not one she could quite face. Not yet. “I… I believe I might contrive to manage for myself.”
He laughed. “And I believe you to be shy. Allow me, then.” In moments he had produced a bowl of water, regrettably cool, and a cloth. He proceeded to wipe the remnants of his semen from her hands, then, she supposed from himself. There was a soft splash as he dropped the cloth back into the bowl. “I need to leave, and I will not press you for an answer at once regarding your plans. I hope though that I have managed to demonstrate that your role as my mistress would not be unduly onerous.”
Roselyn could come up with no suitable answer for that, save a somewhat bemused, “Yes, Blair.”
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USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days – her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.
At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.