Slowly at first—testing, steadying—before Alistair's rhythm grew more insistent.
There was concern in his touch, but no retreat, only a relentless pull that forced Selene to open further. Each motion rippled through her, powerful enough to steal her breath entirely.
She clung to the sofa, knuckles white.
"It hurts…"
For a moment, he stilled, eyes tracing the tension in her body—then his hands tightened at her waist, heat surging again as he drew her back against him.
Her body shook at the depth of the sensation, pain and pressure coiling together until her breath fractured.
Tears welled in her eyes—not only from the strain, but from the confusion. Where had that earlier, dizzying joy gone?
"L-lord Alistair…"
"It's tight," he murmured, voice strained. "Even for me."
Her tears fell freely now, breath breaking as he looked down at her, his expression caught between restraint and resolve.
"Should I stop?" he asked, his touch slow.
