Chapter Thirteen #7
Wilkie pushed his face into my neck. He made a low sound, like a muffled growl. He sounded as if he was in quiet agony.
“Warrior?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Wilkie,” I whispered into his ear.
“Aye,” he said, a small exhale. His body was stunningly tense and hard.
“Is it all right?”
Silence.
“Wilkie?” I whispered again.
“Be still, Roses. Don’t move.”
I obeyed him for a moment. I lay still, letting my body relax around him.
The muscles of his back were strained and rock-hard.
I ran my fingers over them, scratching slightly, teasing his skin with little pinching caresses, as he liked to do to me.
I let my body adjust to him. I tilted my hips back again, easing the pressure, then up to him. And again.
“Roses,” he said sternly. “Hold yourself still.”
“Why?”
“You reduce my control to that of an untried lad,” he said, and there was a rough rasp to his voice. “You’re so very tightly around me.” He lifted his head up to look into my eyes, and we lay like that for a moment, still and quiet. “I’m inside my Roses,” he said, a smile touching his lips.
“Aye. My warrior’s inside me. Giving me everything he has to give.”
He kissed me then, and his mouth was hungry and possessive, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as he began to move himself within me in a conjoined rhythm.
“I want to feel you pulse around me, lass,” he growled. “I want your pleasure to release me.”
“We’ll burn together.”
“Aye,” he said. “We’ll die together.”
And it was then that the discomfort began to turn.
The rubbing, burning friction of his extreme fullness inside me seemed to sprout little wings that softened the pain into something else altogether.
All sense and all feeling concentrated in the core of my body, now stretched to accommodate his deeply nudging strokes.
Sparking tufts of beauty lurked around the edges of my body’s tight-sprung tension, funneling ever so slightly, from the inside out.
Wilkie heard the tone of my soft exhale, reading there the response I was beginning to find as he nudged faster, finding the perfect balance of flesh and feeling.
He kept his pace steady, controlled, rooting out twinges of ecstasy, only to have it retreat again, just out of reach. “Let go, Roses. Surrender to me.”
He lifted one of my arms over my head, then the other, locking both my wrists easily in one of his powerful hands. My legs were fully bent, my knees clasping against his hips.
I was pinned under him, held down by him, impaled by him.
His mouth took mine. I could only submit to him.
He was all I could feel or remember. And as I soon as I embraced this total submission, a streaming current began to fill my body and my mind, as a subtle, energetic hum from within.
It began in my soul, it seemed, coiling both into and out of the center of me.
Wilkie’s deep strokes enticed it and forced it higher and ever higher, melting me utterly until there was nothing of me except this overloading devastating pleasure.
This escalating tide consumed me in a white-lit explosion of bliss, which held and glided in an expanding spell.
And as it did, I felt his own soul inside me.
As though to capture Wilkie within me, my body clenched tightly around him in welcoming bursts, pulling at the length of him in rhythmic tugs, inviting all he had to give.
Wilkie sighed in a spoken breath, mindless.
And I had never felt such an all-consuming joy as then, when his essence pooled hotly into me, flooding me and killing me with vibrant sensation, extending my pleasure into long lush brimming shudders that rolled and waved and met no resistance.
It was a long time before either of us could move or speak. We were dazed and entwined, so completely connected in every way it was possible to be.
* * *
I RESURFACED SOME time later to find he had repositioned us so we lay face-to-face on our sides, my leg hitched over his hip and held by his hand.
His eyes were open, watching me as I dozed.
The masculine features of his face, so dark and shadowed by low light and primal intentions, were heartbreaking.
My throat and my inner chest felt fluttery and reckless at the sight of him, aching with desperation, such was his beauty to me.
“Angel,” he whispered, staring deeply into my eyes, his own desperation there in equal measure. It was too much and not enough, as though we might die if we were ever to draw apart.
“Beautiful warrior, you are my heart.”
And with barely any movement at all, Wilkie gave a hint of a slow nudge where our bodies met.
That barely there pressure was enough, stoking sweet rapture, which coursed through my body, holding on, as though I was riding Wilkie’s energy.
Sensation spun from my center outward in a continuously flowing wave that caressed him peacefully from within and brought him a slow, resounding release that filled me with warmth and love and life.