Chapter 12 #2
His hand comes up to cover mine. His skin is fever-hot, his fingers trembling slightly—this massive warrior, trembling at my touch.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is gravel. “Tell me now, and I will. I won’t touch you again.”
I answer by pressing my mouth to his.
The kiss starts softly. Questioning. A brush of lips, a shared breath—giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don’t want to.
I lean into him, my hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepens. His tongue traces the seam of my lips. I open for him. Taste smoke and something darker, something that’s just him.
A sound escapes me—half gasp, half moan—and something in him snaps.
He hauls me into his lap, my thighs straddling his hips, my body pressed flush against his from chest to stomach. His hands find my waist, my hips, the curve of my backside—gripping, kneading, like he’s been starving for the feel of me.
I rock against him instinctively. Feel the hard length of him pressing against my core through layers of clothing. A bolt of heat shoots through me, settling low in my belly, making me ache.
“Kielyne.” He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine. “If we do this—”
“Stop talking.” I pull his shirt over his head, baring the expanse of his chest—dark green skin stretched over hard muscle, ritual scars crisscrossing like a map of violence survived. I trace one of the scars with my fingertip, feel him shudder. “I want this. I want you.”
His eyes go dark. Hungry.
He reaches for my shirt. Pauses with his fingers at the hem. Asking permission even now, even with want written across every line of his body.
I raise my arms in answer.
The leather comes off. Then the linen beneath. Cool cellar air hits my bare skin, making my nipples harden, and his gaze drops to my breasts with an intensity that sends heat flooding between my thighs.
“Beautiful.” The word comes out reverent. His hands cup my breasts—rough palms, callused fingers, impossibly gentle. His thumbs brush across my nipples, and I gasp, arching into his touch.
“More.” The word is a demand. A plea. “Blorjorn, I need—”
He lowers his mouth to my breast.
The sensation rips a cry from my throat. His tongue circles my nipple, teasing, tasting. Then his teeth graze the sensitive peak, and my hips buck against him, grinding down on the hard ridge straining against his trousers.
He groans against my skin. The vibration makes me shiver.
His hands grip my hips, stilling my movements. “Slow down. I want to savor this.”
“I don’t want slow.” I reach between us, palm the thick length of him through his trousers, feel him jerk against my hand. “I want you inside me.”
A growl rumbles from his chest. Before I can react, he flips us—my back hitting the wolf-pelt cloak spread across the packed earth, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the ground.
He looms over me, massive and dark, firelight gilding the planes of his face. His hands make quick work of my remaining clothes, stripping trousers and smallclothes away until I’m bare beneath him.
His gaze travels down my body. Slow. Hungry. Taking in every curve, every hollow, every inch of skin no one has touched in years.
“Look at you.” His voice is rough velvet. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How many nights I’ve lain awake imagining you spread out beneath me?”
Heat floods my face. My chest. Every part of me.
He lowers himself, pressing his lips to my throat. Trailing kisses down my collarbone, between my breasts, across my stomach. Each touch leaves fire in its wake. By the time he reaches my hip, I’m trembling. By the time he nudges my thighs apart and settles between them, I’m shaking.
“Blorjorn—” His name comes out broken. “Please—”
He puts his mouth on me.
I cry out, my hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his braids.
His tongue strokes through my folds—long, slow licks that make my toes curl and my back arch off the ground.
He finds the bundle of nerves at my center and circles it, teases it, draws patterns that drive me higher with every stroke.
“Oh gods—” My voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore. High and desperate and wrecked. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”
He slides a finger inside me. Then two. Curls them in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
I shatter.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves, radiating from my core to my fingertips, my toes, every nerve ending. I hear myself cry his name—feel my body clench around his fingers, feel him groan against my flesh like my pleasure is his own.
Before I can come down, he’s moving. Rising over me, shoving his trousers down, his thick length springing free. I catch a glimpse—dark green, veined, larger than any man I’ve been with—and anticipation tightens in my belly.
He positions himself at my entrance. Pauses. Meets my gaze with something fierce and tender all at once.
“Mine.” The word is a growl. A vow. “After tonight, you’re mine.”
“Yours.” I don’t hesitate. Don’t second-guess. “Now prove it.”
He drives into me with a single thrust.