The Aelinor he held in his arms once the doors had been barred was a wild thing. Brynden could feel her desperation. She did not want to be made love to. Her need was not be held or caressed, she simply wanted to closeness of another human being, he suspected. So he caught her body between the sturdy desk and his own weight.
Aelinor raked her nails down his back, urging him on as if she was unaware of anything but the clenching muscles and powerful thrusts rocking her body into a harsh rhythm that stole her breath away. She came apart underneath him with a muffled keen, fingers twisting in his hair without a trace of gentleness. Brynden followed of her heels.
He kissed the hollow of her neck, feeling her tremble underneath him. His rhythm dwindled into a gentle swaying. And suddenly she was crying, silent tears flowing down her cheeks. Brynden hissed and became rigid in her hold.
"Aelinor," he prompted softly.
"He wants to sleep with me," she blurted out, her legs squeezing him almost bruising.
And he finally understood her fear. "Sweet Gods!"
