Chapter 36 #2
“No.” I glance away from the phosphorescent veins that remind me of my beloved stones and set my gaze on another beloved sight: Nordin.
His thumb’s circles are unhurried as though he’s enjoying keeping me on the edge. Then again, what rush is there?
“Auroras are said to be maps created by the Norns to lead soulmates toward one another.”
Goose bumps contour my limbs.
His gaze slips back to mine. “Do you see why I tried not to dwell too hard on it in the past?”
I swallow. “How do you feel about it now?”
“I feel like legends aren’t just pretty stories meant to enrich the imagination.”
Oh, my heart…
I curl my hand around Nordin’s neck and tug to bring his lips back to mine. I decide that the legend of the auroras is now my favorite legend ever told and that I will spread it far and wide.
“Silk,” he breathes against the corner of my mouth. “Your flesh is pure silk.” The pad of his thumb carves up and down my cleft.
I moan, turning my face to muffle the sound against his hot skin. When he resumes targeting the small bead, fire blooms in my veins and proliferates until every inch of me feels lit from within, glowing like the twin pools of brilliance devouring me whole.
He neither quickens his strokes nor presses harder. He works me in measured passes that make the tension coiling between my legs swell into an inferno. His restraint is both maddening and intoxicating, surely designed to unravel me one breath at a time.
His thumb winds me tighter and tighter…and tigh—My spine arches as I rupture, euphoria melting my edges, changing the fabric of my body into something radiant and weightless, like the auroras above.
Nordin’s mouth brushes against mine, grounding me back into the earth, into his bathtub, into the solid heat of his body. I collapse against him, chest heaving.
His thumb scrapes again. My flesh is so sensitive that I squirm. The tiny movement works in tandem with his touch, sending me hurtling right back into the precipice of pleasure.
“Holy Fenrir…” I sigh contentedly. “I’ll never want my own fingers again.”
“Good, for I’d be insulted if you relied on them now that you have mine,” he rasps, flattening his palm against my sex as though to appease the tingling flesh. Except it appeases nothing. Only heightens the delicious ache.
I rock my hips, craving more friction. His sex twitches against the small of my back, and his breath catches. I do it again.
A soft hiss whispers through his lips as his fingers clench. One of them curls and slips in between my folds, drawing a straight line from the tight ring of my ass to the aching hollow that pulses, desperate to be filled. I lose all control over my body, surrendering it to him again.
He outlines my entrance like a contemplative potter coaxing soft clay wider, as if still deciding what he wants to shape. When he adds the barest amount of pressure, my stomach clenches and oxygen snarls in my lungs.
He keeps circling me, penetrating a little deeper, stretching me wider. Which isn’t very wide. To think it’s only his finger.
He kisses my temple. “Relax.”
I try, but my body remains wound tight and only stiffens when he sinks his finger knuckle-deep. I suddenly want to cry, and not in ecstasy.
Why am I clamping up like some spooked clam?
I try to stifle my mounting panic, but it lurches out in the form of a pained whimper.
He withdraws his finger. “Hey.” Mouth still flush with my temple, he murmurs, “What’s going on…?”
I affix my glower to a streak of lather on the water’s surface. It’s shaped like some leering mouth, poised to mock the idea that shifters and valkyries could ever belong together.
“Zas?”
I grind my teeth.
“Tell me.” When I remain mute, he pulls back and combs over the stubborn set of my mouth and rigid brace of my shoulders with his eyes. “Out of the bath.”
“No. Wait…” I’m suddenly desperate for him not to give up.
He splashes water over my chest to rid me of soapy residue, then bands his arms under my knees, plants his feet wide, and stands. In one fell swoop, he climbs out of the tub and strides to his bed. When he lays me out, my heart jumps, and I scramble onto my elbows right as he kneels.
He grips my thighs and scoots my ass to the edge of the mattress, spreading me so wide, my leg muscles cramp with the need to scissor shut. “Relax, love.”
How the Hel am I supposed to relax with a man’s face so near a part of me I’ve never even seen up close myself? What if the sight is ghastly? Or unusual? Are valkyries shaped the same as female wolves? I never dared ask Mor or Saga.
“Am I…?” I swallow, trying to push the end of the sentence out, but shame chokes me up. I scour his expression, terrified I’m about to spot revulsion.
“Are you…?”
I scrunch up my face. “Built like what you’re used to?”
His thumbs glide in a slow arc along the crease between my legs and lips.
“If you’re asking whether your cunt has become my favorite sight on Midgard, the answer would be yes, Zas.
It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Softest thing I’ve ever felt.” His unexpected reply pumps a blush into my cheeks.
One that spreads and mottles my flesh some more when he kisses my core and rasps, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. ”
My blood burns as his thumbs crest over the plump flesh and part it like a book. He stares so long and hard at me that my clit begins to pulse. “So, it’s the same?”
“No.”
A fresh wave of distress throttles me.
“It’s more.” He claims my mouth and then my stare. “It’s perfection. Like the rest of you, Zas. So fucking perfect.”
When he sheaths his tongue into my entrance, my elbows lock up and my ribs clinch. Unlike his finger, though, his tongue feels…it feels…