Sven’s Promise (Sons of the Wolf #3)

Prologue

“Oh, God, Sven! Harder. Yes! Just like that. Ah, yeeeessss…”

Sven grunted his approval at the woman’s unfettered and very vocal enthusiasm. How often had he heard those words over the years? Dozens of times. And yet today…today they sounded different. From the heart. The woman under him, so soft and luscious, felt different, which was no wonder.

Because everything was different.

Though he was by no means an untried lad, and he’d had his share of women, Sven had never taken a woman to his bed without getting to know her beforehand, without even knowing her name.

And yet here he was, buried deep into this unknown woman’s heat and marveling at everything she did.

She was wholly unrestrained, telling him what she liked, expressing her pleasure and her needs in the most honest way.

He’d not been able to resist the admiration in the Saxon’s black eyes when he’d caught her staring at him earlier.

He’d been exiting the hut, ready to go into the forest, and she had happened to be walking past at that exact moment.

The naked desire he’d seen on her face had singed each and every one of his nerve endings.

The connection between them had been palpable, almost visible.

Sven could no more have resisted it than he could have stopped himself from hurting if someone had shot an arrow through his chest. He’d held out his hand to her, and after the briefest of hesitations, she had taken it.

He’d closed the door and told her his name was Sven.

The only reason he’d only told her was because he’d hoped she would scream it when pleasure overcame her.

When he’d sat her on the table she had let out a sigh so filled with lust that he’d feared for a moment he would unman himself.

His head had disappeared underneath her skirt before she could say anything else.

A moment later, he’d heard what he wanted to hear. His name, uttered on a long, raspy moan.

By the gods, every moment from then on had been spectacular.

He’d made her erupt more times than he could remember.

And now, at last, it was time for him to let go.

He reared up and brought both her legs up onto his left shoulder.

If she wanted it harder, he would give her harder; if she wanted more, he would give her more.

Because he, too, needed more, needed to be deeper, needed to become a part of her, like she was already part of him.

Knowing this wouldn’t be the last time he reached his release that day, he withdrew before his seed shot out of him in a series of uncontrollable spurts.

For a long moment, the Saxon remained there, limp, her stomach drenched with the pearly substance.

Marked as his in a primal, indisputable way.

The male in him roared his satisfaction.

She was his. There would be no going back after this. Deep down, Sven knew it. She was his.

“What have you done to me, woman?” he mumbled in Norse, knowing she wouldn’t understand him. They would talk tomorrow once he’d gotten his sanity back. For now, he was too bewildered. “What the hell have you done?”