“Relax,” he breathes. “Don’t tense, sweetheart.”
I take a breath then let it out. He doesn’t move at first, until I take another breath. I can’t imagine how this would feel good. All I feel is an ache and fear, like someone’s tearing me apart.
And then he shows me. And it’s beautiful.
He glides out then in again, the pain still present but abating, the walls of my channel clenching around him. The frissons of pleasure he built earlier return, and I can’t help but moan when pain and pleasure become one.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he groans. “Christ, that sweet cunt…” his voice trails off. I’ve never heard these words and I know they’re dirty, but it pleases me to know I please him. A man like Keenan joins love with possession, and I know as he takes me this means more to him than he can say.
My body aches and throbs with the need for more, and even as it hurts, the pleasure builds. Pain can heighten pleasure, he told me. And now, I think I finally understand how.
With perfect, gentle, but purposeful strokes, he glides in and out, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back, filling me so tightly I’m stretched and aching. My pulse begins to quicken, my breaths shorten, and my skin begins to tingle.
And still he works his slow, deliberate magic, thrusting in and out and fondling my breasts, kissing my lips, my jaw, the column of my neck. I’m panting with desire when his body tightens. “Come with me, Caitlin,” he growls in my ear. “Let yourself go.” Another firm, glorious thrust, and I’m splitting apart, splintering, my breath caught somewhere between ecstasy and oblivion. He groans, his body tightens, and his hot seed lashes inside me. I close my eyes, hold his neck, and fly.
Spasms of pleasure ripple through me, weaving through my body and taking my breath away. He groans again, still pumping his hips, and my hands anchor on his hips, holding onto him for dear life as a second wave of ecstasy washes through me. It’s exquisite and mesmerizing, and absolute utter perfection. I don’t even realize I’m moaning out loud until he chuckles, but when he looks at me he sobers.
“You’re crying. Oh, God, lass. Did I hurt you? I tried not to—”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, still riding the aftershocks of bliss, my words coming in pants. “I mean it hurt, but it was perfect. I don’t know why I’m crying. It was just… more intimate than I imagined somehow.”
He holds my gaze for long seconds before he drops his head to mine and kisses me.
“Christ, woman. “Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.”Chapter NineteenKeenanI’ve done terrible things on this earth. I’ve commanded an army of criminals without regret. And yet, somehow, somewhere I’ve done something good in my life to have earned this privilege. This woman. This moment.
Her tight, virgin cunt still tight around my cock, I kiss her in thanksgiving. I make a vow to never forget this, how she trusted me, how she granted me this gift.
My heart is in you.
I’m not a sentimental bloke, but I suppose Caitlin brings it out in me.
She’s nearly asleep, still joined together, and I don’t wish to hurt her anymore. I brush damp tendrils of hair from her forehead and kiss her gently.
“Let’s get you ready for bed,” I tell her. But before I take myself out, before I move away, she’s wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you? For what, lass?”
“For taking your time and making it memorable. Though I don’t have much experience with these things, I suspect that isn’t always the case.”
Not always the case indeed. My first time was in the back of this very building, with a girl whose name I don’t even remember.
“You deserve nothing less, lass,” I say simply, and I mean it.
I gently draw myself out, noting there’s little blood from her first time. Good. I don’t want to frighten her, though I have to admit she’s handled everything so far with such bravery. We clean up, dress, and both fall into bed exhausted after all that’s happened. Before I sleep, I send a text to Malachy, with strict orders to have no one wake us in the morning. He’ll see to it I’m obeyed.
I roll her over beside me, her thick, fragrant hair enveloping my senses. “You’re like a black-haired version of Rapunzel,” I say with a smile, my eyes too heavy to keep open.
“And you’re the prince come to rescue me?”
Hardly. I chuckle just the same. “Naturally.”
“The lighthouse would’ve been—” she yawns widely— “a suitable tower.” She sighs, tucking her body closer to mine. “I’m glad you rescued me.”
Our breath becomes slower, her body melded to mine, and I wrap my arms around her. I haven’t held a woman like this ever, but Christ if I can tear myself away. She’s permeating every inch of me, and I’m loathe to be separated. Somehow, miraculously, the horrors we’ve endured tonight fade into distant memory, as I fade off to sleep.