Claiming Her

She tipped her head to the side. “I suppose it will do.”

He brushed the sweaty hair back from her cheeks and temples. “What of this?” Another lift of his hips, sinking him in deeper. Bright ripples snaked through her body.

“I think I like that.”

“Then rise up, and let me take you.”

Addled by pleasure, by this sudden erotic awakening, she pushed to sit up on him. He curled his hands around her hips and as she shifted, he slipped in deeper.

His hands brought her hips forward in a hard pull. “Take more of me,” he ordered roughly, and his thighs flexed as he lifted his hips and buried himself inside her.

She loved his rough words, how he demanded things that were so erotic, so dangerous, so perfectly matched to what she wished to give.

She rocked her hips, just a little, by herself. He leaned back, his hands now almost motionless, and let her set the pace. And the depth. And the rhythm.

At first she moved slowly, leaning over him, hands on his shoulders, her hair swaying beside them. Each measured movement forced him in a little deeper. Her knees slid out, and she began to move faster, their breaths pushed by the rhythm of her rocking.

His hands curled tighter around her hips, and he began moving her too, slowly increasing their tempo, harder, faster.

Bands of pleasure tightened around her: her breasts, her legs, the slippery swollen flesh Aodh was taking possession of. It was splendid torment. She leaned lower, her breasts before his face, and as he suckled them, his hips came up in a long, hard thrust. A shivery pulse of heretofore unknown pleasure snapped up her back like a whip.

She flung her head and cried out, then dropped her head back down, heavy with passion, and locked her gaze on his.

“Oh, Aodh.” It was a hot exhale of pleasure.

“Aye, bahn sidhe. We’ll do that one again.” And he did, lifted his hips just as he had done before, gripped her hip just as he had done before, and the long, hot cord of pleasure came for her again, lashing her with wicked force.

Her body bucked. Following the sensations, she let her hands fall off his shoulders and sat up straight.

He lay back on the bed and watched her, his gaze raking down her body.

She felt unleashed. To be so bared before him, to move for him so, to have him approve of it all, approve of her, she felt as if she’d been cast in liquid gold. Hot, glowing. Each lift of his hips forced the thick thrust of him in deeper, made her spread a little wider to take him. There was no retreat from this possession. She wanted no retreat. She wanted only to follow the whipcord slashes of pleasure that were slowly deepening to gold-hot undulations down her back and up her legs, and deep, deep inside her.

Aodh kept his hand on her hip, kept moving her, ensured she was dragged under the sea of pleasure. The pulses expanded, until she could do nothing but rock on him like some wanton, her shoulders back, her face up to the ceiling, her hair trailing down her spine, brushing over his thighs, like some mad, magnificent dream.

He pushed up on his elbows, his hips pistoning. “Aye, rise up, arch your back.” His words were like gunpowder, exploding her. “This is what I want from you, Katy. I am not afraid of you.”

She had a sudden, blinding flash of insight, as heated as what his body was doing to hers. She well knew the danger of woman was passion, and knew men’s desire for it, and their disdain. Their condescension to it.

But maybe…maybe they were afraid of it.

All this time, afraid… Afraid that she would do something. Be something. Something stronger than they.

The certainty of it stunned her. It was as if a flame had suddenly been lit in a dark room, and she was right up in front of it, staring into its blinding white-hot light.

Men did not disdain her.

They were scared of her.

Aodh was not.

The shocking, earth-shifting nature of the insight drove her over the edge, exploded her body. Wrecked and racked by deep undulations of pleasure, she keened in long, low moans, then collapsed atop him, her body shuddering, and he took her mouth, swallowed her cries of pleasure.

He took her then, carelessly lifted her up, and flung her back on the bed, pushed her legs apart with his knee and took her again.

She welcomed him, her body already broken by pleasure, a temple of their desire. He forced her to come again, weakly, almost whimpering. He drove her mad, took her over and over and over, until he roared his own completion, and collapsed atop her, barely held up on his elbows as he breathed onto her neck.

Aodh held himself over her until he could not anymore, then rolled away, pulling her with him, but also pulling out of her. She gave a little whimper of distress, but there was nothing either could do about it now; they were too spent.