Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] by Border Wedding

stiffen, cupped her mound gently to acquaint her with the touch of his hand.
    Sir Iagan coughed just outside the door.
    “I’ll kill him,” Wat muttered.
    “I hope not,” Meg whispered, clearly worried that he might. “Just do what you must, and quickly.”
    “If I insert my fingers too hastily, I’m likely to hurt you,” he said. “They are not made as well for the purpose as . . . as other parts of a man’s body. But with that part of mine as useless as it presently seems to be . . .”
    “Is there naught I might do to help?”
    “Aye, you could, but one does not expect maidens to know much about such things. On the contrary, one expects them to be hesitant to—”
    “Pray, sir, he will be upon us at any minute,” she murmured more urgently. “If there is aught I can do, tell me!”
    “Touch me.” Catching her hand in his, he slid up next to her on his side. “Here,” he said, showing her. “Use your fingers lightly, even your lips or tongue—”
    Feeling her tense and hearing her gasp, he said, “Never mind that. Just grasp me and stroke me gently until you feel me begin to swell in your hand.”
    As soon as her warm fingers embraced him, he felt himself stir and begin to harden. She must have felt it, too, because he heard her indrawn breath again, but she did not take her hand away.
    He shut his eyes, focusing on the sensations she stirred and trying to shut out increasingly intrusive noises from the landing.
    He would kill the old bastard, so help— A moan escaped him when her gentle ministrations produced an unexpected wave of pleasure.
    She released him, drawing a second moan—this time of protest.
    “Did I hurt you?”
    “Nay, lassie, nowt of the sort. Don’t stop!”
    “But it’s getting so swollen! I didn’t know!”
    He wanted to beg her again to continue. But he realized he was in a condition now that would allow him to do what needed doing—if he could just ignore the increasingly impatient noises beyond the door.
    “I can do what I must, but we’ll have these pillows out to make it easier for both of us,” he said pulling pillows from behind her to let her lie flat.
    “What must I do?”
    “Just lie still. I’ll try not to hurt you, but there is bound to be discomfort.”
    “Just do it, sir. I
don’t
want him to come in.”
    “I don’t think he will,” Wat said. “More likely, he’ll pound on the door first and bellow. But that would put me right off, so we’d best get on with it.”
    He slid into position atop her, gripping himself now to ease his way in.
    In the dim light, he could barely see her expression, but she had her lips pressed tightly together, which told him she had no intention of protesting anything he did. The thought made him exert himself more to avoid hurting her.
    As he pressed gently into her, the hot dampness of her passage enclosing him did more to stimulate him than her fingers had. Rigid and heavily swollen now, he pressed harder, eliciting a mew of protest.
    “Sorry, lass.”
    She was small, and he was not, and when she squeaked again, he knew he was hurting her, but he dared not stop. He had never taken a maiden before, but he had heard other men talk of such experiences. So, when he met the expected resistance, he pushed harder. Resistance gave way, and the damp warmth increased as her passageway gripped softly, tightly around him.
    He shifted his weight, letting instinct take over as he thrust firmly into her, feeling her contract tightly, the heat of her body burning his as if to challenge him to conquer her. Shifting to gain purchase on the sheets, he raised his hips and thrust again, faster, harder, gasping until release came at last and he collapsed atop her.
    She made no sound, but he felt her soft breath against his cheek, telling him he hadn’t killed her. Knowing they had succeeded brought a new sense of release.
    Another cough sounded from the landing.
    “He ought to do something about that cough,” Wat muttered.
    “He does