Roland frowned, trying to read her. She was fighting, and inviting, all at once. So he pushed her shoulders down onto the sheet, and wrestled his way between her thighs with force and sometimes cunning. Teresa wriggled, which she believed she did deliciously. It seemed that this was a game he’d never played before, but she was giving him every encouragement to continue.
They wrestled until at last he had her held down on her back, his body above her, held tightly between her thighs, which she’d raised and pressed against his sides, his cock pressing against her cunt.
Teresa grinned fiercely up at him again, as though it was she who’d won, and let her head fall back. She was exposing her throat.
The gesture meant more to her than it seemed it did to him, but it was clear enough. She’d surrendered.
He kissed her more tenderly than they’d been for the past several minutes, and she was loving in response. So he pressed forward, in possession of her as if she were conquered territory. He moved his cock forward, into her so that the glans was just inside her wet inner skin. He felt so good, so welcome. Teresa closed her eyes, moaned piteously and opened her thighs a little wider. He’d be a ninny if he didn’t know he was wanted.
They began to rock, slowly at first, in each others’ arms. Teresa parted her thighs still wider, so he was in complete possession.
Then she raised her knees, almost folding her body in half, and pressed her feet on his arse. His face suddenly seemed anguished. He came in her, she suspected not quite intentionally, about thirty seconds later.
He said, “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry,” but Teresa ignored him. Fortunately he desired her ferociously, and Teresa was skilled at getting him hard again, with hands and mouth, and he needed little recovery time. They were soon lost in each other again, rocking and plunging. She cried out when she came, in nonsense syllables: “Tard! Tard a ben kit toll, tard ah! Tard ah!…” He frowned, surprised, but realised that it wasn’t a distressed sound, and kissed her.