With her legs spread on either side of his thighs, he could keep them wide apart, her ass up-thrust, her soft folds exposed. In her prone stance, she could only take what he was about to give her. Not control it a bit. And if she tried to, all he’d have to do was kick back with a boot to still her.
Later he might give her all the control she wanted—though it would chafe him to the very core of his manhood, he’d consider letting her tie him nine ways to Imbolc if it pleased her—but right now any control he yielded her would weaken his, and his was as threadbare as the original pair of trews he’d been wearing the day he’d been imprisoned.
They’d fallen to rags half an aeon ago.
Jessi gasped when Cian stepped between her legs. She was so wet and ready for him! She couldn’t have moved her lower body if her life had depended on it, and she’d never been so painfully turned-on in her life as she was, helplessly spread for him like this.
He was behind her, her great, big, intensely sexual Highlander, and for a moment, she was reminded of the first time she’d seen him in the professor’s office, a shadowy intimidating presence in the mirror. And the thought occurred to her then that from that very moment, this very moment had been somehow preordained. Inescapable. That no matter which way she’d tried to go, it all would have ended up with her bent over a desk, breathlessly waiting for him to take her, to make her feel this wildly alive. There was a word on the tip of her tongue, something about events lining up in improbable ways. It wasn’t “synergy,” it wasn’t “coincidence” or “providence.” It might begin with an S, she thought. . . .
Then his big hands were rucking up her sweater, lifting her shoulders, tugging it over her head, freeing her aching breasts, and she thought about words no more. He cupped and kneaded, pinching and tugging her nipples to hard peaks before stretching her hands above her head and pressing her firmly forward, flush to the desk, pillowing her breasts on it. Her nipples burned against the cool wood.
“Hold on to the edge of the desk, lass. Hands over your head like that.”
Swallowing, she gripped the carved edge of the desk.
One of his big hands closed on the nape of her neck. He turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek to the desk. A band of intricate Celtic knot-work divided two inlaid panels a few inches from her eyes. His big palm cupped the back of her head, keeping her still.
He slid his other hand between her legs and began parting her slick, exposed feminine folds.
She mewled helplessly. His zipper was already open. She’d yanked it free herself the second time he’d kissed her, while the other MacKeltars had still been in the library. She waited, lower lip caught between her teeth, for that first burning hot thrust of him.
Her whole body convulsed when the hard, thick head of his cock prodded her with insistent, delicious friction. He rubbed back and forth in her creamy heat, spreading the erotic slickness on him, on her. She twitched, desperate for him to push inside her, to soothe her, to release the unbearable tension in her body. He kicked back against the jeans taut at her ankles, stilling her.
“Please,” she gasped, trying to press back with her bottom, but she was unable to move even that much, the way he was holding her.
“Is this what you want?” he purred, his voice dark and rich, guiding himself between her sleek, swollen labia. Torturing her, stopping, poised at her entrance.
“Yes, please, Cian,” she wailed.
He began to feed himself into her slowly. She clenched the edge of the desk, gripping it so hard she felt like she was gouging nail scores into the glossy wood. He was so big, so thick. Her body had never yielded for this before and her inner female muscles tensed, trying to resist the steely male intrusion, even as she was aching for it. She squirmed what little she could, desperate to accommodate him.
He hissed long and low between clenched teeth. “Bloody hell, Jessica, you’re tight!”
“Probably because I’ve never . . . ah! . . . done this before!” she managed to force out, swamped by raw, intense sensation.
He went still behind her, barely in her. “Tell me you jest,” he said tightly after a long moment.
“Cian,” she cried, “don’t you dare stop now!”
“You are maiden? At your age?”
“I’m not that old. Move, damn it!”
“By my time’s standards, ’tis unfathomable!”
“By mine, too,” she gritted. “So now that I’ve decided not to be a virgin anymore, is it too much to ask for a little h—elp!” He pushed forward, piercing her hymen in a smooth, even thrust.
He gave her but a moment of stillness to recover, to adjust. The brief stinging sensation passed quickly and once more she was burning with feverish need.