Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The celebration in the hall was still a dull roar of pipes and laughter below, but the air changed the moment they hit the spiral stairs.
Harald didn't let her walk. He swept her up, his arm a solid iron band beneath her knees, the other supporting her back.
"Ye’re in an awful hurry, me laird," Enya teased, her voice a low, melodic vibration near his ear. She reached up, her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "The feast isnae even over. People will talk."
Harald didn't slow his pace. He climbed the stone steps with a graceful rush, his dark eyes fixed on the door of their chambers. "Let them talk until their tongues rot. I’ve spent so long wanting ye, Enya.”
"And now ye have me," she whispered, her humor softening into something much more dangerous. "So ye’ve decided tae kidnap me from me own wedding feast?"
Harald reached the landing and paused, his chest heaving with a sudden, jagged breath. He looked down at her, his gaze so intense it felt like a brand against her skin.
"The priest said we are united in blood, bone, and name," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, turning thick and gravelly. "But I think it’s high time we became united in... every other way imaginable."
Enya felt a flush of heat race from her toes to her cheeks. "Always so thorough."
He didn't reply with words. He kicked the heavy oak door open with a single, decisive strike of his boot.
He stepped inside and, without breaking eye contact, swung his leg back to catch the door, slamming it shut with a finality that made the latch click like a lock on a treasure chest. The world died away.
He moved to the wide, fur-draped bed and lowered her with agonizing gentleness.
Enya felt a sudden, sharp spike of awkwardness.
There, in the dim glow of the peat fire, she felt too exposed.
Her pulse was screaming, a frantic drumming in her ears that made her breath come in short, shallow gasps.
She shifted, her silk dress rustling against the furs, her skin prickling with a heat she could no longer hide.
"Harald," she breathed, her voice cracking.
Harald dropped to his knees at the edge of the mattress. He reached out, his large, calloused hand trembling as he hovered it over her cheek.
"I have dreamt o' this," he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability that made her chest ache.
He began to work the row of pearl buttons along her spine.
His fingers, usually so steady, fumbled with the delicate silk.
Each touch was a shock of fire against her skin.
Enya arched her back instinctively, her hands finding the heavy wool of his tunic, her fingers desperate to find the heat of him beneath.
"Dinnae make me wait," she rasped, her stubbornness melting into a desperate, honest plea.
He let out a low, guttural sound—a pained, joyful growl—and the silk finally gave way, sliding down her arms like water, leaving Enya bared to the amber firelight.
Harald’s eyes traveled over every curve, every inch of her skin, with a hunger that made her feel like a holy thing.
She was trembling from the sheer, overwhelming weight of being seen. Under Harald’s gaze, the shame she usually carried melted away, replaced by a fierce, pulsing heat that gathered between her thighs.
He stripped his own clothes with a frantic, focused energy, his massive frame a map of silver scars and hard-pressed muscle. The sight sent a jolt through Enya’s entire body, a primal recognition that made her blood hum.
He moved over her, and the heat radiating from his skin felt like a sun, obliterating the years of winter she had carried in her bones.
They collided in a frantic, desperate kiss, their tongues tangling as Enya’s hands scrambled to help him shed the last of his layers. When they were both finally bare, skin to skin, the friction was a shock of electricity.
He worshiped her with his mouth. His tongue moved everywhere—grazing her jaw, licking the hollow of her throat, and then moving down to her breasts.
Enya let out a jagged, broken moan, her head tossing back against the furs as he took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking and swirling until she was arching her back, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
The sensation sent sharp, jagged bolts of electricity through her entire body, a relentless hum of desire that made her skin feel too tight for her bones.
He teased her with a slow, agonizing precision until she was gasping, her head swimming, unable to bear the mounting pressure of his touch a second longer.
"Harald," she gasped, her voice a low, husky vibration. "Please..."
His hands, vast and warm, slid down her waist to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her backside before he pulled her legs wide. He looked up at her then, fire dancing in his eyes—a look of such raw, proprietary desire it made her breath hitch.
He brought his hand to her mouth, offering her his finger. Enya took it without hesitation, her eyes locked on his as she tasted the salt of his skin, her pulse screaming.
With a slow, deliberate focus, he slid that same finger between her legs.
Enya let out a sharp cry, her hips bucking. The feeling was slick and hot, a stretching pressure that made her internal muscles clamp in a desperate, rhythmic pulse. He watched her, his thumb grazing her core in a way that made white light explode behind her eyes.
"Ye want more, Enya?" he rumbled, his voice a dark, gravelly promise.
"Aye," she breathed, her pride long gone. "I want... I want all o' ye."
He moved between her thighs, his knees forcing her further open. He entered her in one slow, deliberate surge.
Enya’s eyes flew wide as her breath left her in a frantic sob.
The fullness of him was staggering, a sensation so thick and intrusive it felt like she was being split open and filled with light all at once.
Her internal walls vanished. Harald paused, his jaw tight, his muscles locking as he waited for her to find her breath.
"Are ye alright, lass?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"Dinnae... dinnae ye dare stop," she commanded, her voice shaky but fierce. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her heels digging into his back, pulling him flush against her.
He began to move then—a rhythmic, driving assault on her senses.
Every deep, punishing surge of his weight sent waves of electricity through her marrow.
He was unyielding, a force of nature that demanded every part of her.
She felt his massive hands slide under her hips, lifting her, tilting her pelvis to meet every deep strike.
The heat between them became an all-consuming weight, a golden, unbearable pressure that began to throb at her core. She surged toward him, her knuckles white as she clung to his shoulders, their moans mingling in the quiet of the room.
The tension reached a breaking point—a sudden, violent cresting of the wave. Her muscles clamped around him in a desperate pulse, and the world simply ceased to exist. A shattering, toe-curling release exploded through her, a physical scream of pleasure that left her mind spinning into the dark.
“Harald!” she cried out, her voice breaking.
Harald followed her a heartbeat later, his own muffled roar lost against her neck as he emptied himself into her, his heavy frame finally collapsing against her with a staggering, absolute finality. She held him, her heart beating against his, finally warm, finally whole.
Hours later, the fire had faded to glowing embers. Enya lay tangled in the heavy furs, her head resting on the steady, rhythmic drum of Harald’s chest. His arm was draped over her, anchoring her to the bed as if even in sleep he was guarding her from the world.
The bitterness of her secrets still flickered in the back of her mind—a cold copper taste she couldn't quite wash away. But as she inhaled the scent of him, she pressed herself closer into his heat, choosing to believe that she was finally home.