Page 88 of Bonetide

He goes harder. So much harder, my lungs cease to breathe.

He grips the post above my hands with one of his own and uses it for leverage, his fingers above mine. His other hand is at my hip, holding me back against him. He is pulling me onto him with each stroke, using my body in a way I have not been used in my life, and I don’t want him to stop. I want him to do this until I can’t stand. I want him to leave me wrecked on his bed for the rest of the night and into the morning.

“Foxglove. Look at you. Holding on. Fucking hold on.”

I hold on as much as I can.

“That’s my girl,” he says, and I can’t help but beam.

“Alasdair…”

“You feel that?” he rasps.

“Yes.”

“You feel me, lass? You feel how deep I am?”

“Yes. You’re all I feel.”

“Tell me whose this is. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

I can’t speak for a beat, his language throwing me for a loop, creating a deep flush up and down my body.

He pulls almost all the way out, then stops. He holds himself there at the very edge of me.

“Tell me, Iris,” he growls into my ear.

“Yours.”

“Aye. That’s right.”

“Yours, Alasdair.”

“Mine.”

He pushes back in. Hard. The wooden post creaks faintly under my hands. He sets a pace that is not gentle and not slow and not anything I have known, and he is on me and in me and the sound of his hips on my ass is a steady wet slap in the candlelit room. His voice in my ear has gone lower than I have heard it.

“That’s right, foxglove. You take it. You take it because you came for it. You walked into my house wearing nothing under your skirt and you sat at my table and you ate my food and you let me bring you up here and now you are going to take what you came for, all of it. Every inch of me. Every fucking inch, foxglove. Take it.”

Fucking hell. A strangled noise comes out of me.

“Christ, you are tight,” he groans.

“Oh god.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“You’re wet for me. You are dripping for me. Look at you.”

“I can’t, I⁠—”

“You are going to come for me again before I come in you. Do you understand that?”

I make a feeble noise.

“Do you understand, Iris?”

“Yes. I understand,” I manage to say, breathless, heart hammering each word.