Page 89 of Bonetide

“Aye. That’s right.”

His hand leaves the post above mine. It comes down between my legs. His fingers find me where I am already swollen and wet and he works me with them while he fucks me, hard, the combination of his cock and his fingers and his voice in my ear undoing me in a way I didn’t think possible.

I come hard again. I come crying out against the post with my hands gripping the wood so hard my knuckles go white, and he fucks me through it. His voice in my ear has gone hoarse, and I’m afraid we might break the fucking bed.

“That’s it, foxglove. That’s it. Christ. You are mine.”

He’s close now. I can feel him close. His pace stutters. His hand at my hip tightens.

He pulls almost out again. He holds.

“Tell me where you want me.”

“Where you are right now,” I manage to say.

“Tell me where you want me to come.”

“Inside me.”

“Iris.”

“Inside me, Alasdair. I want you inside me. Come inside, come inside. Come inside me, please.”

I can’t see his face, my forehead is still pressed to my knuckles, but I can feel him looking at me for a moment that stretches on forever.

“That’s all I needed,” he says.

And with a loud, shaking groan, he pushes back in to the hilt and he stays.

Then…he comes.

He comes inside me with a sound that is more animal than man, low and broken and almost a growl, and I feel him in me, the hot pulse of him deeper than anything has been in me in my life, his hand fisted in the bedpost above mine and his other hand at my hip hard enough to bruise.

He stays, riding it out, his pumps short and dragged out, his breath ragged, until he stops entirely.

He stays inside me for a long beat after.

His forehead drops against the back of my neck. He is breathing in a way I’d never heard from him before, hard, winded, undone.

The room is very quiet.

The rain is still pattering on the window, a little louder now.

He kisses the back of my neck. Once. Soft.

“Foxglove.”

“Yes.”

“I have you now.”

“You have me,” I say dreamily.

He withdraws from me slowly. He helps me unwrap my fingers from the post. They are stiff and hurt but who cares about pain right now when I have been so thoroughly ravaged. He turns me carefully and lays me down on the bed and the sheet is cool against my back while the rest of my skin is sweaty hot.

He goes to the basin and wets the cloth.

He comes back.