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Scorching tides of heat and chills moved through her body, shocking tremors of sensation that alternately snapped and skidded and swirled. She never knew where the next whirlwind of pleasure would touch down, then blast through her like an assault. She was wasted, broken, helpless as each one took her.
Tadhg was their merciless commander, his head bent as he laved her breasts, hot sweeps of tongue, hard nips of teeth, alternating between her breasts as they met in surge after hot, sweaty surge.
Then with a muffled curse, the muscles of his arms tautened as he arched his back and rolled his body up, his eyes closed, his face contorted around a spasm of fierce male pleasure.
The sight of him lost in such hard pleasure dragged her closer to the pounding edge of climax.
He came down to his elbows, his forearms beside her head. He laced his fingers together above her head and stretched out low over her body.
The new angle made the thick curving length of him fill her at a new angle, slippery hard and rippling good.
A whipcord of pleasure snapped through her body. Her body arched up, her head jerked back, deep into the covers, and she froze, her mouth fixed open around a silent scream of pleasure.
“You like that, Maggie?” he rasped.
The breath rushed from her in a dizzying pant. “Do it again,” she demanded.
The ghost of a smile touched his mouth, but it was tight around ragged-edge need: he was close. He moved again, just as she needed.
Another broken cry stuttered from her.
They moved together now in an old rhythm, him lifting her on every surge. He was a wave she was riding from below, powerful and unstoppable. He crashed into her one last time, and their eyes locked, and he whispered, “Marry me,” a rasp of command around a silent plea.
She cried and the wave toppled and she fell, into him.
Her body broke in successive shudders, her mouth gasping his name, over and over, just as he liked it, his mouth crossing hers, catching his name, giving back hers, “Maggie, my love,” and he climaxed in explosive completion, spilling his seed inside her.
Magdalena had no idea how long it took to come back to the surface of world. She was submerged in Tadhg, swallowed by pleasure. She could barely breathe, did not want to breath, just wanted to inhale Tadhg.
She floated in the heat of their passion, Tadhg propped above her, his head bent, his hair falling down, their mouths together, his heat a blanket, protecting her.
Finally, perhaps a day or two later, his arms finally gave out, and he dropped to the bed beside her.
He pulled her to him, tucked her into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. The heavy, comforting weight of tiredness pulled itself over her. Tadhg’s hand slowly stroked down her arm and waist, down to her buttocks, then up again, his fingertips light, raising chills as she slipped into sleep.
“You have made me a very pleased woman,” she told him sleepily.
He laughed. She felt it rumble along her body, everywhere they touched. “Aye, well, that’s good to hear.” His voice was a rough whisper. “And I am a very pleased man.”
“Good. We please each other.” She closed her eyes and snuggled in deeper. “We will have many happy children.
He was still a second, then tightened his arm and rolled her over her to lie atop his hard, sweaty body.
She tried to bat him away and roll off again. “I am tired, you have exhausted me completely, you greedy man, stop,” she complained.
He was unmoved, perhaps because she was planting sleepy hot kisses across his face as she lodged her complaints. “How many children?”
“Two, four, I do not know.” She tipped her heavy head up and looked into his eyes. “How many do you think would be just right?”
“However many make you happy.”
Their eyes were inches apart, and even through her utter, almost blinding tiredness, she could see fierce happiness glint in his eye, at the thought he could make her happy, and this made her…happy.
She smiled as her eyelids drifted shut. She was powerless to stop them this time. “I think four,” she hummed as he rolled her to the bed and pulled the covers over her. “Or six.”
“We’re not home yet Maggie,” he said, a faint warning.
“Do not worry,” she murmured, her eyes were drifting shut. “All will be well.”
