Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The chamber was a cave of warmth, the fire in the hearth crackling away.
The scent of peat smoke clung to the air, thick and earthy, mingling with the musk of their bodies.
Matilda lay on her side, the furs beneath her bare skin still damp. The weight of Ivar’s arm draped over her waist anchored her, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the curve of her hip, as if memorizing the shape of her.
She turned her head, watching the firelight play across the sharp angles of his face. His cheekbones, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows when he blinked. His hair, dark as the loch at midnight, fell loose around his shoulders, tangled from her fingers.
The man was a storm given flesh, all hard edges and restless energy, yet here, in the quiet, he was still.
For her.
His thumb brushed the dip of her waist, then slid lower, over the swell of her arse, slow and possessive. A shiver ran through her, not from cold, but from the way his touch lingered, as if he couldn’t bear to lift his hand.
“Ye’re thinkin’ too loud,” he murmured.
Matilda exhaled, a sound that was half laugh, half gasp, as his fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her already slick. That sent a jolt up her spine, her nails digging into the furs.
His lips pressed the nape of her neck, hot and open-mouthed.
His teeth grazed her skin just enough to sting, and she arched, a whimper escaping her.
His hand didn’t stop, two fingers parting her, circling her entrance before pushing inside with a slow, deliberate thrust. The stretch burned, delicious and deep, his palm grinding against her clit as he curled his fingers, finding that spot inside her that made her vision blur.
“Och,” she hissed, her thighs trembling.
His free arm banded around her waist, holding her flush against him, his manhood already hard and thick against the small of her back. She could feel the pulse of it, the way it twitched with every drag of his fingers inside her.
“Tell me what ye want,” he demanded, his breath hot against her ear. His fingers withdrew, then plunged back in, knuckles pressing against her, stretching her wider. “Tell me, or I’ll make ye beg fer it.”
Matilda turned in his arms, her hands fisting in his hair as she pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss was brutal, all teeth and tongue, her hips rolling against his fingers, her clit clenching around them.
“I want ye,” she snarled against his lips.
A groan tore from his throat, his fingers slipping free as he rolled her onto her back, his body covering hers in one fluid motion.
The furs tangled around them, the scent of their arousal thick in the air. His manhood, heavy and veined, pressed against her thigh, the head already glistening.
She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him. He hissed, his hips jerking into her grip, his muscles tensing under her touch.
“Ye’re killin’ me, woman,” he rasped, but his hands were just as greedy, palming her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her nipples until they were hard as pebbles.
He pinched one, rolling it between his fingers, and she gasped, her back arching off the furs. The sharp bite of pain only made the ache between her legs worse, her hips lifting, searching for friction.
Ivar didn’t make her wait. He guided his manhood to her entrance, the broad head pressing against her, parting her folds. For a heartbeat, he paused, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Matilda,” he said, her name a prayer and a warning.
“Aye,” she breathed, her hands sliding down to grip his buttocks, her nails digging into the hard muscle. “Now, Ivar. Please.”
He pushed inside her in one long, smooth stroke, filling her completely, his manhood stretching her walls until she could feel the pulse of him deep in her belly.
A broken sound escaped her, something between a moan and a sob, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He was everywhere. His weight pinning her, his scent in her lungs, his manhood buried so deep she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
For a moment, he didn’t move, his body trembling with restraint, his forehead pressed to hers.
Then he began to rock his hips, shallow thrusts that dragged his manhood against that spot inside her, each movement sending sparks behind her eyelids.
His mouth found hers again, his tongue mimicking the slow, deep rhythm of his hips, his hands tangling in her hair, tilting her head to take the kiss deeper.
Matilda met him stroke for stroke, her hips lifting to meet his, her cunt clenching around him with every retreat, as if her body couldn’t bear to let him go.
The sounds filling the chamber were obscene.
Wet, slick noises every time he bottomed out, the slap of skin on skin, their ragged breaths, the low, guttural sounds spilling from his throat.
She could feel her orgasm building, a tight coil of heat low in her belly, her nails scoring down his back as she arched beneath him.
His hands slid under her, gripping her behind, tilting her hips up as he drove into her with long, punishing strokes.
The bed furs tangled around them, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the air.
Every thrust sent her higher, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her fingers clawing at his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough as gravel.
His teeth sank into the curve of her shoulder, the sharp bite sending her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her, her clit clamping down around his manhood, her back bowing off the furs as a cry tore from her throat.
Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her, her vision whiting out, her body trembling beneath him.
Ivar didn’t stop. His thrusts turned erratic, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.
“Och, Matilda,” His voice broke, his manhood swelling inside her before he buried himself to the hilt, his release spilling into her in hot, thick pulses. She could feel him, deep and endless, his body shuddering above hers as he emptied himself into her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Ivar’s weight pressed her into the furs, his manhood still twitching inside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck.
She could feel him dripping out of her, the sticky heat of it between her thighs.
Her hands stroked down his back, her touch gentling as his breathing slowed.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his gaze roaming over her face like he was committing every detail to memory.
“I love ye,” he said, his voice rough. “More than the sky, more than the sea.”
Matilda cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. “And I love ye,” she whispered. “Always.”
He rolled to the side, pulling her with him, her body still joined to his.
The fire had burned low, the chamber cool around them, but she didn’t feel the chill. Not with his arms around her, his manhood still inside her. She pressed a kiss to his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, and let the silence wrap around them, thick and sweet as honey.