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 br**sts. His heart thundered against her, and the hair on his chest rasped her ni**les. 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 br**sts, 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 br**sts...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 ni**les, 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 br**sts. 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 chest, making the muscles tense in reflex.
With each pump of his hips, he fondled her. Her br**sts bounced, her ni**les were so hard and still wet from him, and he was on the verge again. Her hands flew to her sides, and she clutched the sheets, arching her back and undulating her hips harder against his cock. But he wouldn't end this until he felt her sex squeezing his shaft.
He stroked her flesh faster, and she cried, "Yes! Please don't stop!"
"I'll do this as long as you want me tae."
She moaned, her whole body tensing as she began to come. Her back arched, her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching, her nails biting into him. Inside, her body gripped his, and the pleasure from that was greater than before if even conceivable.
His head fell back, and he gave a brutal groan when he tensed to spend. Though the sensation was so intense he had to battle the urges to yell to the ceiling, to graze his teeth against her wet skin or clench her hips and wrench her down harder on him, he leaned forward and took her face in his hands.
With his last grinding thrusts, he caught her gaze, daring her to turn away from him. But she didn't. As his seed poured from him relentlessly, the words left his lips, "Is leamsa thu. Naisgeam riut mi daonnan." You are mine. I bind you to me always. He heard them as if someone else had spoken, then collapsed onto her.
Seconds later he pushed up, remembering he was too heavy for her. She looked at him with wonder, and, he hoped, something more that he didn't deserve. He put his arms underneath her and rolled onto his back with her. He was too big to lie on her, but even when she rested on his chest, he squeezed her to him hard and felt her heart beating fast. When her breaths calmed, she put her arms around him and squeezed back. His lips curled.
"Did I hurt you again?" He stroked her hair, loving how soft it was, loving her scent.
She shook her head against his chest. "Not the second time." In a voice so quiet he scarcely heard her, she said, "Nothing could feel that heavenly." Her tone was marveling and he was proud. "But did I please you?" she asked.
When he chuckled, she rose up and looked at him with narrowed golden eyes. "What is so amusing?"
"Your question. You canna ken how much you did."
She bit her lip and put her face back to his chest. She was smiling against him. "I wasn't aware you possessed the ability to laugh."
"Aye. I've the ability." Just not much opportunity before.
"I want to hear it more," she said in a drowsy voice. Squeezing him one last time, she drifted to sleep. On this night, he knew more satisfaction than he had ever known, ever imagined a man could know. She was so warm on him, her hair spilling over his chest, her body fitting to him.
Before he grew even harder inside her again - even he wasn't enough of a beast to take her three times - he withdrew and set her beside him on the bed.
She protested in Catalan and her head fell to the side as she slept soundly as usual.
He rose to wash the sweat off him, soaking a cloth to run over his body, and saw blood. Turning to the bed, he spied it on the sheet like an accusation, and it twisted something inside him. He was a man, and no one had ever explained to him how to take care of his woman after he took her virginity. Not that conversations like that abounded, but Court was never supposed to have a woman of his own. Was never supposed to even entertain thoughts of a woman like her.