She thought for a second, and then shook her head. “It just feels...full.”
Christ. He groaned and sank in a little deeper, kissing her again. She responded, and slowly he could feel her body opening to him again. But there came the point when it resisted, and he knew he was going to have to hurt her. He hesitated—hating it but telling himself only this once—and thrust.
She cried out, her entire body stiffening with pain.
He forced himself not to move, which wasn’t easy when every inch of his body was screaming with pleasure. She was so hot and tight, gripping him like a fist.
They were joined—connected—in the most primitive way. She was finally his, and he wanted to roar with satisfaction. But, most of all, he wanted to move.
With soothing words and tender kisses, he waited patiently—or not so patiently—for the pain to subside. He met the silent accusation in her eyes with whispered apologies and promises between kisses that it would get better.
She didn’t believe him. But she would.
When at last he felt her body relax, he began to move. Slowly at first, with more gentle little thrusts and circles of his hips calculated to tease. To entice. To make her body yearn for more.
He made love to her as he’d never made love to a woman before. Because no one had ever been her. It had always just been her.
It didn’t take long before she started to make those half-eager, half-surprised gasps that drove him wild. When she started to lift her hips, her body unconsciously seeking more, he lengthened his strokes. Deeper, harder, faster, until they were both lost in the delirium of pleasure.
Virgin.
It was hard to remember when she met him stroke for stroke. When her body responded to every touch with demands that matched his own.
She liked it hard. Liked it fast. Liked it raw and a little rough.
She felt the same frantic need and wicked desire. He didn’t need to hold back. Not anymore. It didn’t matter if she was the lord’s daughter and he was the smith’s son. Passion had stripped away the barriers between them. In bed they were one. He gave her everything. And she gave it back.
Their bodies started to move on their own, control and deliberation giving way to sensation and feeling. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that it felt incredible and she liked it. She was telling him so, urging him on with words, moans, and frantic pounding of her hips against his.
“Oh God... that feels so good... please, Thommy...”
It was too much. Too perfect. And he’d been waiting too damned long.
He loved her so much.
The pressure twisting into a tight ball at the base of his spine was too intense, the urge to release almost overwhelming. But he had to hold on. Just a little longer...
Her gasps started to quicken; her moans turned more urgent. She couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, the pleasure was overtaking her. He watched her face as her head fell back, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed and lips parted.
Oh God, yes. He thrust hard and deep—as deep as he could go—and it was as if he’d set off an explosion.
The first spasm of her release gripped him hard, snapping whatever threads he had left of his restraint. They came together, their cries of pleasure mingling in the sultry air of the forge as their bodies shuddered with release.
He’d never experienced anything like it. The sensations seemed heightened and more intense—more significant somehow—and the emotions deeper. He felt transcended to a different place—a different level of connection—that he’d never imagined.
They were bound together in a way that could not be undone.
It took Elizabeth a moment to regain consciousness—or rather return to any semblance of her senses. The feelings, sensations, and emotions that had taken hold of her were so overpowering they did not give way easily—or quickly. Only when the last ebb of pleasure had slipped from her body did some level of awareness return.
She felt so deliciously exhausted. Her body was warm and melty; she didn’t think she could move if she had to. But it was a different kind of exhaustion—a satisfied kind. A contented kind. Although contentment hardly captured the happiness that glowed inside her and seemed to fill her to bursting.
But it wasn’t until Thommy rolled off her—taking his heat and solid weight with him—that her thoughts became cohesive enough to speak.
“Thommy?”
She heard the heavy fall of his breathing before he answered. “Aye, love.”
He drew her against him and she snuggled into the warmth of his body as if she’d done so a hundred times. Propping her chin on his chest, she stared up at him. He was so unbelievably handsome sometimes it took her breath away. Like now.
