Page 45 of Kilted Sins

Once again, Enya looked at him over her shoulder. “I said show me how much ye want it.”

When their gazes met, Cillian’s was glazed with lust. At her demand, he gritted his teeth and grabbed her hips, keeping her still as he began to thrust into her with abandon, this time almost pulling all the way out before he slammed back in.

Only a few thrusts was all it took for Enya to be reduced to a moaning mess, laying boneless on the table. There was sweetness in being taken lovingly, that much was true, but this had its own kind of sweetness, one she hadn’t expected. It was as though Cillian could hardly control himself around her, and yet he always did until she asked him to let go. And now that he had, the pleasure he was giving Enya was unlike anything she had experienced before.

Their position made it so every thrust would push Cillian deep inside her, his manhood rubbing relentlessly against a spot that drove her mad with lust. She could do nothing but hold onto the table as he took her, the slap of their hips loud in the small room, covered only by their moans.

“Is this what ye wanted?” Cillian asked, his voice strained and hoarse already. “Dae ye like it like this?”

“Aye,” said Enya, breathless and quiet. She hated to admit it, but she loved this, the way she could simply surrender to him and think about nothing else but pleasure. “Aye, Cillian… please.”

“Dae ye feel how deep inside ye I am?” Cillian asked, reaching under her to press his hand against her. “Ye take me so well. Such a sweet lass, takin’ everythin’ I give ye.”

Cillian’s words were like the strongest wine, making Enya feel drunk on them. She pressed her forehead against the bench, closing her eyes tightly as wave after wave of pleasure shook her, each thrust more delicious than the last.

“Tell me how much ye like it,” Cillian demanded as his hands closed around her rear, squeezing the ample flesh.

“I like it,” Enya said, cheeks heating when she realized it sounded more like a whine. “I love it, Cillian, I love it. Just like that.”

Behind her, Cillian groaned, sounding like a broken man. When he pulled out of her, though, Enya was left wondering what was wrong, until he grabbed her and flipped her over on the table so that she was on her back, his strong hands pushing her thighs apart.

“I want tae look at ye when ye fall apart fer me,” he said just as he entered her once more, and Enya knew she wouldn’t last like this. It felt as though she was being thoroughly claimed, as though Cillian wanted to consume her whole. With every well-placed thrust, he gazed into her eyes and no matter how much Enya wished she could avert her gaze, the intensity and intimacy of it too much to bear, she could do nothing but stare right back, lips parting in a silent scream.

When she finally managed to tear her gaze away from him, she thought for a moment that this unbearable tension would break, but Cillian was quick to cup her cheek, the gentle gesture a stark contrast to his hard thrusts. Gentle as his hand was, he made her look at him once more, curling over her to make it impossible to look at anything else.

“Eyes on me,” he said. “Let me see ye.”

That was all it took for Enya to reach her peak, the pleasure so intense it was almost blinding. The world around her went white, her orgasm so powerful that it left her shaking on the bench, overwhelmed and overstimulated.

She didn’t know when Cillian pulled out of her, but soon, she felt his release against her thigh. She opened her eyes, not knowing when she had closed them, and saw him hovering right over her, heaving, his brow coated in sweat.

Before he had even managed to catch his breath, he said, “Ye’ll be the death o’ me.”

For a few moments, Enya could do nothing but lay there, still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm. Even as Cillian pulled a handkerchief out and began to clean her thighs, she simply lay there, allowing it until he was done.

“Are ye alright?” he asked her in a tentative voice. Enya supposed she wasn’t as opaque as she would have liked about her feelings, some of her guilt seeping out of her, but she reeled it in before it could ruin the moment.

“Aye,” she said, sitting up on the bench and stretching her arms over her head. “I’m… very good.”

Laughing, Cillian fixed his clothes and then pulled Enya close for a kiss. She allowed that, too; she wasn’t strong enough to refuse it, to push Cillian away from her. She didn’t want to push him away at all, in fact. All she wanted was to hold onto him, and so she did, wrapping both arms around his to keep him close. With a smile, Cillian pressed a kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling her hair for a moment.

“I never thought I would dae this in the forge,” he said, sounding amused. “Though I dae spend plenty o’ time here.”

“Dae ye like it so much?” Enya asked. “Workin’ with steel?”

Cillian gave it some thought, pausing for a moment. It seemed to Enya that even he didn’t really know the answer.

“I like tae make swords an’ I suppose I had a goal in mind if I ever became good enough. I always wanted tae have a sword just like me faither’s,” he said. “Ye may have seen it. He’s holdin’ it in the portrait in the great hall.”

Enya had, indeed, seen the portrait and the impressive sword his father was holding in it. “Why have ye nae made one?”

Cillian shrugged a shoulder, staying silent for a short while. “I dinnae think I am worthy o’ such a weapon.”

It wasn’t the first time Cillian had expressed the belief that he was not worthy of something. First it had been his clan, now this weapon. Enya took a few faltering steps closer to him once more, feeling the need to comfort him, but before she could, a soldier appeared, calling for Cillian.

“Me laird! Mr. MacThomas wishes tae speak with ye,” the man said. Cillian tossed his tools on the large bench by the fire with a sigh and gave Enya an apologetic look, but a part of her was relieved about his departure.

She was on the verge if leaving too, when the blacksmith emerged once more. Upon seeing him, she stopped and turned to face him, a thoughtful expression passing over her face.