He spoke unintelligibly above her as he pressed down against her back; the words were nothing to her, but she could feel the arrogant pleasure that threaded through his tone. He fancied himself to have bested her - but it was no punishment, this, not if she could find the joy in it to thwart him.<br/><br/>As his grip shifted, her body undulated faintly under his hand, seeking to move him in her, but then he began to do that for her. It was an ungentle thing, the push and press of him inside and against her, and her mouth fell half-open for a soundless inhalation as his thick manhood dragged over the torn flesh within.<br/><br/>But this was not only a thing of pain; she'd often heard the elder women of her tribe speak of the many ways the touch of the goddess could be found in this act, and her mind was inexplicably brimming still with senses and images and feelings of fecund fields and arbors dripping with grapevines. His strange muttering barely registered as her hands shifted under her, one pushing up a little to arch her body upon the table, feeling the rough wood under her bared breasts, abused nipples dragging against it as she swayed from the work of the warrior-man in her.<br/><br/>The other hand reached back, touching his for but a moment before swooping down, around and in between her thighs where she pushed her fingertips across her own skin, shuddering a little with the remnants of Anastasius' lingering touch on it as she sought out the join of his body with her own.