A Temporary Reprieve

With the same wild reluctance and fearful glare I eased from the corner toward him. Weighing my options and not liking any of them.

But the pot of stew was still on that table.

Maybe I can slosh it on him and scald him. Or conk him with the pot well and good enough to get a chair to that door and out.

It seemed my only plausible option. So I walked around the table to where he stood. Facing him as boldly as I could muster despite that I wanted to panic and slide under the bed and pray he couldn't get me out.

"Bold one, ye are. I like that." He gave me a proud look.

"Now off with me tunic." He slid a huge callused palm under the shoulder of it and pushed it off. Dropping it over my shoulder and down to my elbow.

I gasped, reflexively lifting my arm to stop the fabric from falling further but already one small breast stuck out above the neckline.

He reached and methodically did the same with the other sleeve so only my lifted forearms held it around my waist.

He gave me a warning look. "Drop it."

But I don't want to. I wanted to run.

My eyes flitted to the bed. I can fit under it.

I took one long step to try and run but he shot out an impossibly long arm and hooked me around my waist. Hauling me back to the table and stepping forward so his pelvis pinned my thighs to it.

"Please don't!" I screeched. Instantly envisioning Bonnie's wince as he'd prodded into her.

"Stop." He spoke into the hair on the top of my head. His huge body encircling mine. "Calm..."

He reached around to pull my arms straight to my sides and guide the tunic to the floor.

I was bared and shivering in fear.

"Calm down. You being tense can only hurt ye."

"Excuse me for not feeling particularly relaxed!"

He paused and chuckled. "I suppose that's fair."

He put a hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me over onto the wooden table.

Oh, God.

My small breasts were smashed beneath me. The nipples hardening at the feel of the rough surface.

With his palm in the center of my back holding me flat, I felt like I couldn't get enough air. My lungs and belly couldn't inflate.

I was panting desperately.

"Stop before ye faint." He leaned over to eye me worriedly. "I'm not even in ye yet!"

***

I met his look terrified.

"Lass, ye gotta breathe."

"I can't!" But even as I said it, I realized his hand wasn't actually squashing me. Merely holding me in place. It was my fear stilling my breath. I drew a slow unsteady breath then another.

"Good." He straightened. "More."

I continued breathing those I was shaking so hard that a metal cup on the table had begun to clatter.

"Ugh." He groaned in frustration. I felt his foot swing next to mine and push it aside. Then the other along my other foot so they were wide apart while I was bent over the table.

I knew all my most vulnerable parts were open for his access. I started drawing short quaking breaths.

"Now, listen to me. Hear what I'm saying to ye, Lass."

I closed my eyes trying to focus on his voice to keep from passing out. I couldn't throw the pot at him if I was unconscious.

I mentally calculated the distance from my shoulder to that pot and knew it was close. But I'll be able to reach it while he's distracted.

Which meant I'd have to let him inside me. Even I knew that much.

But the thought of him ripping me apart was daunting.

"I'm going to touch ye." He was telling me. And I expected rough hands hurting me below. Instead. I felt his touch on my hair. Gathering it up and moving it over one shoulder along the table. The touch nearly gentle.

The hand holding me down remained where it was. Giving just enough pressure I couldn't lurch up and flee.

He knows what I'm about.

The other trailed from my hair down the back of my neck and followed the curve along the top of my shoulder and down the outer edge of my arm which was flat back to my side.

The touch was strange. Leaving a trail of goosebumps and heating my skin.

I registered that I could feel his strong legs molding the back of mine and his pelvis was pressed into my behind with his member hardening there.

I felt my heart beginning to thrum wildly again but took those slow breaths. Focusing on the light touch which had returned to the top of my shoulder to caress over my back. Tracing the swell of my shoulder blade and down the curve at my lower back and around the plumpness of my hip to slide between us and mold the lower curve of my ass.

"Ye 'ave a sweet little body." He remarked.

I turned my head to stare at the pot. Fixating on it. Thinking that putting all my attention on it would draw me from this moment.

But his hand on the outside of my thigh was drawing my attention as it wrapped around the front of my knee and began tracing up the inside of my thigh which shivered in response.

Was that fear or something else?

"I'm going to touch your softness now." He warned.

I thought I knew what he meant but suddenly feeling the brush of his fingers rubbing my lower lips. I lurched forward into the table, slamming my thighs into it and sloshing some of the stew along the wood.

Don't do that. I need the hot fluid in the pot to throw it at him.

Without getting it on me, hopefully.

The idea of spilling the scalding liquid on my bare skin was dreadful.

Oh, no. Suddenly his fingers began to massage apart my opening and I felt his finger ease into me. As it had before but more tenderly this time.

"Please, don't!" I reflexively tried to lurch up.

But he offered slightly more weight on his palm and planted me back to the table.

I whooshed out some air on the impact and he immediately loosened the pressure but wouldn't remove his hand.