Claiming Her

Her body jolted. She reached down for the thin fabric and tugged the chemise the rest of the way up, baring herself to the hips. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

“Och, I’m going to hurt you, lass.” He skidded his palm gently over the cool curve of her bottom. “But I think I’ll make you like it.”

He lifted his hand, and brought it down hard.

Her body jerked as if lightning had surged through it, a shocking, hard shudder of…pleasure. Her head flung up, her mouth rounded around a silent cry.

He bent by her ear. “Did you like that?”

Oh, the devil he was. He knew.

He did it again, a hard slap, first one side of her bottom, then, swift and red-hot, the other. She jerked with a panted cry, her hands still fisted around the hem of her chemise, holding it up for him to do as he would with her.

“You look fine, laying there for me, Katy.”

Her face flamed, but her legs parted when his hand slid between them. For a moment, he didn’t move, and she knew he was staring down at her, spread wide for him. The backs of her legs were cool from the air, the front of her hot from Aodh. Her bottom flamed. And ached for more.

He brought his flattened palm down on her again, hard and swift.

Her body shuddered and her head dropped, so her hair spilled across the floor. Her hips rose up to take the next one.

“Tell me you’re sorry.”

A sob broke from her. “I am sorry.”

“Good.” His hand came down again. “Say it again.”

“I am sorry.”

He spanked her again, then again, and again, first one cheek, then the other. Hot, hard, stinging pleasure. Occasionally, his hand would drop lower, smack against her upper thighs. Each time she rose to meet him, shocked breathless by the sword thrusts of pleasure it sent slicing through her body. Each time, she gasped, each time her head dropped farther, but her hands hung on to her chemise, holding it up for him.

“Now, lass,” he said, and this time, when he struck, it was oh so softly. “I don’t want to have to worry about you every time I turn my back.”

“No,” she agreed in a ragged whisper.

“Nor every time I take a drink.” He brought his hand down again, soft, on the other cheek, then his fingers skimmed into the wetness coating her inner thighs.

She could barely gasp, her body was so lightning saturated, so ready to fall.

“We understand one another?” His hand gently circled her bottom. Again, his fingers detoured to press into her swollen folds.

“Oh yes,” she whispered.

His fingers pushed up inside her. “I think you like this, Katy.” He slid out again and traced her swollen entryway. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

The tip of his finger pushed back in, skimmed up to her bottom. “Should I stop?”

“Please…don’t stop.”

Immediately, he lifted her off his legs and slid her to the cool sheets of the bed, then laid her on her belly, where she collapsed. He tore his clothes off and dragged her back up to her hands and knees. She swayed as if drunk.

He knelt behind her, his thighs hard, the hair scratching the soft skin of the back of her thighs. He rested a hand on her hip, and then, for a moment, simply held them like this, unmoving.

She dragged her head around and peered over her shoulder. His body, ranging behind hers, rose up like a mountain. His dark eyes pinned her.

“Aodh,” she whispered raggedly, reaching back. “Please don’t stop.”