Oh, thank fuck. Sweeney releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, sighing softly into her mouth as he allows himself to fill her fully again. It feels so...right, in a way he can't place. It's not as if he hasn't fucked his fair share of lasses, deep and hard. Perhaps it's because she's his wife, or perhaps because he was her first, and he feels a sense of obligation to protect her, even if it's from him.

But the way she pulls at him banishes those worries, and in short order, he's found full strokes. He savors the grip of her along every inch, only to delight in claiming them back again. Even as he tries to pace himself, his thrusts gradually build in vigor, and his voice escapes more freely. Groans and whimpers are speckled with hitched breaths. Every so often a word sneaks past.

"Beautiful...beautiful...wife beautiful..."