Page 103 of Go, Rogue

“Oh,” she says, “I am.” But her attention is already turning back to his cock. It’s been too long since she touched him.

She feels greedy for him—for his skin and his moans and the grunts he makes. She wants every single touch, every sound, every taste. “How much can you move, Andrew? I don’t want to hurt you.”

He grins at her in a way that lights her up from tip to toe. “Dunnae worry, lass. There’s a way.”

He keeps his back leaning against the wall of the cabin as he pulls her astride him again with a rough, “Come here.”

He can barely think, can barely breathe, with his cock so close to her. He’s already leaking, already desperate to be inside her. In only her chemise, there’s nothing to separate them but his own willpower and desire to make this night last as long as he can.

But then she makes a little “oh” sound and brushes her sensitive outer lips against his cock. Lightly, so that he can feel her slick juices coating him. So that it would only take the slightest push to be inside her.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she murmurs, and he growls something along the lines of, “Christ, lass.” And then, when she presses against him once more, “Ye’ll be the death of me.”

“The little death,” she says and grins. “What next?”

“You take my hard cock in yer hand,” he says, “and ye guide it up into yer cunny. Go slowly. It might hurt the first time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, and he feels her lean forward to cup his face until his heart nearly bursts. He doesn’t think there’s ever been anyone who’s cared for him as she does—who trusts him and protects him and who, Elphame help him, puts herself in danger for him over and over again.

“It might hurt you,” he says. “It doesnae always, but it might. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you,” she whispers, but she grasps him in her hand anyway and squeezes, using her own slick juices to let her hand slide up and down the length of him. Christ, he’s never felt anything like it. He sees stars before he’s even inside her. His hips buck in her hand and he feels his release already curling at the base of his spine.

“Now?” she asks, and he makes some inarticulate noise that might be an aye before she slowly—so fucking slowly—slips him up and inside her.

“Are ye okay, lass?” he has just enough wherewithal to ask.

“Yes,” she says and wriggles about on top of him for a moment—such that it takes every ounce of strength he has to restrain himself. Not to move until she feels comfortable.

“There,” she says.

He groans beneath her weight and places his hands on her hips, moving her slowly back and forth. “Like that,” he says. “Christ. You move.”

She does, creating so much pleasure in him, so much feeling, that his mind walks right out the cabin door and leaves him alone with his body. All he can do is groan and feel and breathe beneath her.

“Talk to me, Catherine,” he grits out. “Can you find your pleasure again?”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I think so.” She adjusts her legs slightly and moves again, rocking her hips.

“Yes,” she says again, and he can tell from the change in her voice and the quickening of her pulse that a release is coming back upon her. And, Elphame help him, all he has to do is hold on until she finds it.

“Take it, lass,” he murmurs, his large hands grasping her hips as she moves quicker and quicker. “Take what’s yours.”

And then he’s only babbling, murmuring some string of letters and sounds that don’t mean anything at all. Pleasure ratchets up until he no longer has any hope of stopping it or controlling it. He’s desperate to fill her up with himself.

And then she begins to clench and shudder on top of him and he knows she’s found her peak once more. He has just enough presence of mind left to growl, “Off, lass,” before he grasps his cock and pulls himself free. With a few desperate, shuddering pumps, he brings himself off between them.

“Come here,” he mumbles to her when he’s finished, his eyes already closing in sleep.

“My lass,” he murmurs as she lies down next to him and he holds her. “My Catherine.”

And then he sleeps.