Her body lingered, straining up into that arch until the weight of the big hand planted firmly in a bare back, networked with fine scrapes and scratches from her shifting, writhing ride in the hold of the barge, pushed her back down to the table. The tips of breasts so white they seemed almost to glow, even in the dim light of the room, were tightening against the table's surface, breath warming it with a soft, low groan.<br/><br/>In he'd driven, bursting the long-maintained defense of her hidden gate with one mighty thrust... and in he remained, not beginning the rhythm of mating, but simply forcing her to hold beneath and around him, growing acutely aware of how he split open the pale pink petals of her flower. He was an inescapable intrusion, sunk deep inside and touching parts of her body that had, until now, lain quiet and fallow.<br/><br/>The urge to scream out against this invasion pressed up against the back of her bloodied lips, unhindered by her foreteeth, but still she held it in; he might wish to hear such cries, and that she was unwilling to give. She was no fair and flouncing maiden as was found in Roman cities. This was but one more strange wound in the battle.<br/><br/>He could not hurt her with this if she accepted the fair feeling that she'd heard tell could come of it. There was yet shelter to be had; all would end up well here, somehow.