Page 86 of Steel & Surrender

And then, slowly, inch by inch, he worked himself into her.

She was tight—no surprise there, as it was her first time—yet there was no pain, just discomfort that made her breath quicken.

What if she couldn’t take him?

But the fear was fleeting, for the steady pressure, the firm weight of him, sank deeper and deeper until he was buried to the hilt inside her.

“Oh,” she whispered. “That feels …” Her voice drifted off as she struggled to find an adequate description.

“Tell me then,” he said, slowly rocking his hips against her so that their pelvises ground together.

Her breathing caught. “So … full,” she whispered. “Complete.”

His dark gaze seized hers. “Aye. That’s because this is right.” His voice was husky now. “We were made to fit together, ye and I.”

And they were. She knew it too.

He rolled his hips, and pleasure clutched deep inside her. She’d thought she’d been wet before, ready for him, but it felt as if her loins were melting now.

And as he started to move inside her, swiving her in slow, deep thrusts, her core began to tingle, and an exquisite rippling sensation deep inside followed.

Brìghde bit down on her lower lip. She wanted to cry out, to make wanton, animalistic sounds. But despite that they had relative privacy here, she held herself back.

He started to move a little faster, deeper, his hand pushing her knee back even further.

“God, Brìghde,” he gasped as he plowed her. “Ye feel so damn good.”

She whimpered, letting her eyes close as pleasure twisted and tension tightened even more.

“Open yer eyes, lass,” he said roughly. “Look at me as we do this. I want us to stay together … right to the end.”

Her eyes sprang open, and then their gazes locked, and true to his word, he held her fast.

His words inflamed her, moved her.

With his free hand, he braced himself against the bench, his hips lifting and pumping now.

Brìghde’s lips parted. “Oh God, Greig,” she cried. “This is—too—oh God—”

And, gaze still fused with his, she splintered, her hips thrusting wildly, her body shuddering as exquisite sensation throbbed and pulsed.

And all the while, they looked at each other.

His face went taut, a nerve flickering in his cheek, his breathing hitching, his broad chest swelling.

He cursed then and thrust deep—so deep—one last time, before heat washed through her core.

Greig braced himself there against the bench, still buried inside Brìghde’s unforgettable body.

His heart was racing like a bolting stag. His gut was molten, sweat slicked his skin, and his legs had turned to porridge. He wasn’t sure whether, if he hadn’t been bracing himself against the bench, he would have remained upright.

Smiling, for she’d done as he demanded and not broken his gaze, Brìghde wrapped a leg around his hips, drawing him firmly against her, keeping him inside.

By God, he was irresponsible, taking her like this—spilling inside her so recklessly.

He was an idiot, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

They’d both wanted this, and to withdraw from her at the critical moment had seemed wrong somehow.