With a smirk, she gently placed his hand down in his lap. Mayhap ‘twas just her way of signaling the massage was done, but in doing so, she covered his erection. And he was left with his palm only an inch from his aching member.
It took all his willpower not to touch himself, to clench his hand into a fist instead.
“Giving up control doesnae have to be painful, Alistair,” she said with a smirk, stepping away from him.
He felt a momentary spike of disappointment, but she didn’t go far; Lara grasped her hands in front of her and leaned her hip against his desk.
“Giving more responsibility to Kiergan…” He let the thought trail off.
“Just consider it.”
‘Twas a command, and his brows rose at the realization. Give up control.
“I confess,” he ventured, “there seem to be benefits to giving up some control.” He never considered asking Kiergan to help, or delegating, but if he did, then once this bloody celebration was over, he might have a bit more time for himself. Assuming Kiergan accepted.
She smiled softly. “Think of it this way, Alistair: One of yer brothers might verra well end up as laird. What will happen if ye’re still the one running everything? Ye need to allow them some control as well.”
He frowned. “That is…a verra good point.”
“See?” Her smile grew. “Giving up control can feel good.”
Snorting, he shook his head and sat forward in the chair. “I dinnae ken about that, lass.”
“I do. Women have to do it all the time.”
“Give up control?” He thought for a moment. “I suppose ye’re right.”
“Aye, it can be frustrating, especially if the man who controls us willnae listen to our thoughts or feelings. But if ‘tis something we choose to do, it can be verra freeing. Liberating, almost.”
Alistair shook his head. “I’m sorry, lass. I dinnae understand.”
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. Finally, she nodded. “Give me a command.”
“What?”
“I will give ye control over me for a moment. Give me a command for something I wouldnae normally do.”
Scenarios flashed in his mind, one after another. Lara, feeding him slices of an apple. Lara, sitting on his lap. Lara, on her knees in front of him, her hands gliding under his kilt, her lovely lips parted in desire…
‘Twas that image which caused him to croak out the command, “Get on yer knees.”
Something new flared in her eyes.
‘Twas desire, aye, but also anger. The anger flashed for a moment, then was gone as she bowed her head.
“Aye, milord,” she murmured, as she grabbed her skirts and sunk to her knees.
St. Elzear’s left nostril! She was kneeling behind his desk, only inches from his knees. The fantasy of her smiling as she lifted his kilt and reached for him had his cock going rock-solid.
But…
But the memory of that anger was impossible to ignore. She’d been angry at his command, yet had followed it anyway.
Was that what she’d meant about choosing to give up control?
Nay. Nay, instinctively he knew giving up control to someone he trusted wouldn’t result in anger. And he hated the thought of her being forced to do anything she didn’t want to.
Suddenly disgusted by himself, he reached for her shoulders. “Nay, lass,” he croaked, standing and pulling her up as well. “Nay, I dinnae want that kind of control over ye.”
She was standing now and was close enough she had to tilt her blonde head back so she could look him in the eyes.
“Do ye no’?” she murmured.
“I dinnae.” He was firm. “I dinnae need that kind of control over anyone.”
“Then why do ye want to become laird?”
The question struck him like a blow, and his hands dropped from her shoulders. In fact, he even took a step back, staring at her. His expression was likely a mixture of horror and surprise, but he couldn’t hide it.
He’d spent the last few years working for the Oliphants. When Da had announced that ridiculous race in order to become the next laird, Alistair had been genuinely angry. Angry that his contributions and sacrifices were being ignored like this; angry, because the position, which should be his, was now being left up to fate.
He’d been angry all summer, ever since Da’s ultimatum. But now…?
Fook.
She hadn’t touched him when she’d delivered the question, but she’d rocked him just the same. Staring up at him with those changeable eyes, Lara’s beautiful lips parted. “If wielding power over me makes ye uncomfortable, Alistair, why do ye want more of it?”
And the truth suddenly struck him. “I dinnae,” he gasped, and when he staggered back, his legs struck the chair. He sank down into it, his eyes wide. “I dinnae want more power. I want…”
I want to give up responsibilities to my brothers. I want to be able to relax. I want to be happy.
“Ye want to give up control.”
Aye.
But he shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts in his mind. “I…I dinnae ken how, Lara.”
Her lips curled enigmatically. “I do.”
“Show me,” he whispered. And he heard the pleading in his own voice.
Her nod was firm, then she whirled and strode toward his cot. He was surprised to see her scoop up the stool he kept beside his bed and carry it back toward him.
He watched her place the stool so that, with his chair angled the way ‘twas, he could face either the desk or her, and the desk stood between them and the door. Not that anyone would barge in on Alistair when the door was closed, but he appreciated the privacy at that moment, not knowing what she had in mind.
She sat on the stool, folded her hands in her lap, and studied him.
This wasn’t what he’d expected. But for some reason, his cock was throbbing in anticipation.
One of his brows rose—in question? In challenge?—and her lips curled upward.
“Are ye wearing braies under yer kilt?”
St. Elzear’s nipples! Was she going out of her way to try to surprise him? He couldn’t understand how her mind worked, and his other brow joined
