between her legs. She was breathing fast, eyes heavy lidded, body supple. So desirable it hurt him. He returned two fingers to stir her. Just when she was on the verge, head thrashing, body tensing, he grasped himself to rub the tip against her wetness.
'Si us plau,' she said on a moan. 'Please,' she'd said, sounding like she was in agony.
With care, he slowly worked just the head inside, though every part of him screamed to sink his hips into her. He didn't, even when she grew used to him. Even when she rolled her hips on the tip, the movement making her breasts quiver. 'Ah, God, Anna.' No greater torture.
Damn it, he had discipline. He knew what he wanted to happen, and now he just had to make sure it played out as he wanted. He put his hands against the wall and tried to focus on them—on the diametrical patterns of the paper, on anything but the exquisite woman writhing beneath him. On him. Focusing until he was not directly on the verge of ejaculating inside her.
The wall indented under his fingers, and the paper crumbled. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Every muscle in his body began to ache from strain.
He felt her putting her hands on his hips, trying to pull him inside. Somehow he resisted.
Finding no luck with his hips, she grasped the base of his rod. With her soft fingers wrapped around him, the head inside her…he could imagine…
He groaned, his head falling back. Without thought he pumped against her hand. He was losing control. 'No, Anna—'
'Yes!' she whispered.
Control? He bucked against her hand again, pulled back to thrust harder.
Her hand was gone.
He surged in, ripping through the barrier, groaning from the tightness even as she cried out in pain. At once she tried to shake him loose from her. She shoved at him and struggled to close her legs.
'No, Anna. No.' He took her by the shoulders and held her. He didn't want her to stop now. She would only remember pain. He remained still, praying the hurt would fade. Praying he wouldn't give in to the screaming urge to pin her down into the mattress and pump into her as hard as he needed to. He shuddered at the thought.
She'd quit moving, but her eyes were still squeezed shut.
'You have tae let your body adjust tae me.'
'This is what the girls at school talked about, isn't it? The pain.'
'You will no' have it like this again.'
She said without taking a breath, 'It hurts.'
He stroked her hair from her forehead and kissed her there. 'Mo cridhe, I wish it dinna.'
She opened her eyes. They were glittering. She was hurting, and he felt it a thousand times. He cursed himself. Too delicate, her skin too soft beneath his hands. He carefully began to withdraw—
'No, wait,' she whispered, and he froze. 'It isn't as bad as it was.'
Maybe not for her. He hurt as he'd never known. His sack was heavy and ached, his body pained him. The throbbing pressure was unbearable when her body was squeezing him like a fist. He rubbed his face against her neck.
'You should finish.'
He groaned, knowing it was over. No control. He took her legs and pinned them against his hips, then sank into her once. He pulled out and drove harder, gnashing his teeth from need.
He put his head down and licked at her damp breast, and on his third stroke he came. Like an explosion, shooting into her heat, unable to stop himself from grinding mindlessly against her as it went on and on. He yelled out from deep within his chest, lashed by a pleasure he'd never imagined.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The way MacCarrick moved, the way his muscles rippled, and the abandon he must have felt did odd things to Annalía.
The idea that his reaction was so strong that he threw back his head, with his neck and chest straining and slick, and yelled like a beast made her breaths speed up.
Though on the whole she was not pleased with lovemaking. She found it exciting because it was a new experience, and she relished his response, yet it was vastly overrated in her mind because of the stabbing pain involved.
But then, after he'd finished, he remained full inside her. It wasn't…unpleasant.
His body was heavy on her, though. She moved to find a more comfortable position and was amazed at the feeling of his chest, slick with sweat, rubbing her breasts. His heart thundered against her, and the hair on his chest rasped her nipples. That felt…nice. His harried breaths on her damp neck made her tremble, which also was nice. And she loved the way his callused hand felt when he stroked her leg, the one still levered against his hip as if he were not ever letting go.
Everything added up until she was very aware that she had not reached her end, the bliss she'd been just one of his clever strokes away from enjoying. How would he know that she wanted his hands back on her? How did one go about asking a man to massage and kiss your breasts, with careful attention to the…She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't ask him. The next best thing was another wriggle beneath him. She sucked in a breath.
'Christ, I dinna want tae hurt you,' he grated, as he rose up and began to withdraw.
'Please, stop.' He did. 'MacCarrick?'
'What do you want me tae do, Anna?' His eyes were so dark as he watched her face. She knew he was reading her expression, trying to uncover what she desired. She knew he would do whatever it was.
Yet she turned her face from him, unable to ask.
'Whisper what you want in my ear,' he said, and leaned down.
'MacCarrick,' she whispered hesitantly. 'My breasts…ache. Please touch them.'
He shuddered, every part of him tensing. Then, like a shot, his hands were on her, molding her flesh to his fingers before he put his palms behind her to arch her back and raise her to his mouth. He drew greedily on her nipples, even while groaning desperately against her.
She cried out and threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her until her head fell back. The feelings were so intense, and she was ever aware of this delicious fullness still embedded in her, making every pleasure sharper.
'Mo cridhe,' he rasped against her breast, 'tell me what else you want me tae do.'
She ran her hands down his arms in frustration. When she didn't answer he kissed her neck, putting his ear close to her lips. 'Tell me what you want, and I swear I will give it tae you.' His voice was husky and deep.
'I want you,' she said, panting, 'to try me again.'
He hissed between his teeth.
'Can we? Can you?'
'Anna, I never stopped being hard,' he said, sounding surprised. 'No difference.' As if testing, he slowly pressed forward inside her.
A swift feeling of rapture swept through her, and she arched her back in shocked pleasure. 'Oh, Courtland,' she said in awe. In that instant she understood why man and woman were made this way.
'You doona hurt any longer?' Court asked, as he withdrew and entered her again.
She shook her head but said nothing. He leaned down again, and she whispered, 'I adore what you're doing to me.'
'Anna.' His hips bucked involuntarily.
If she adored this, then he wanted her to come with him inside her, to know that feeling. He leaned down and took her mouth hard, teasing her tongue, then making his way down to her neck and breasts. When he nipped at the peak, she cried out.
He raised his chest, then laid his hand low on her belly, resting it flat, and rubbed his thumb in time with his stroke. 'Do you like it when I touch here?'
Her answer was an incomprehensible cry as she spread her legs wider and wildly scratched her nails up his
