Chapter Twelve #3
“Because I need the distraction.” His face turned fierce, and she felt her body responding to his words, knowing exactly why he was distracted.
Although he could fight to release the restless energy in him, she could not do the same.
And with each day that passed, she found herself searching for a way to fill the hours.
“Fighting is my skill, Elena. I’m not a merchant or a sailor. It’s not who I am.”
She knew that and was well aware that he kept up his daily training to maintain strength and agility. In his eyes, she saw the stony pride. It wasn’t doubt in his abilities. But this was about a risk she didn’t want him to take.
“Why don’t you build houses?” she suggested. “You’re strong, and you have a good eye for it.”
“No, you’re the one with the eye for it,” he countered. “It’s not what I want, Elena.”
She knew that, but it was the only thing she could think of. “I worry about you. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Is that the only reason?” he demanded. His voice deepened, and she was caught up in the spell of his green eyes.
“No,” she whispered.
Ragnar reached for her hand, and she threaded her fingers with his. The warmth of his palm was a touch that pulled her deeper into an awareness of him.
“I would never want anything to happen to you,” she said quietly. “And I want things to be as they once were between us.”
He pulled her closer, leaning in against her ear. “You already crossed the line, s?tnos. It won’t ever be the same.”
Her face colored and she bit her lower lip.
There was a new tension between them, now that Styr was gone.
And it was entirely her fault, for seeking him out that night.
No longer was there the easy sense of camaraderie between them.
It felt as if she’d not only lost her husband, but she’d also lost her best friend.
“Don’t waste your pity on me, kjaere. I’ll do what I must to earn my way.”
“It’s not pity,” she insisted. Although he likely wanted to turn from her now, she wanted to confront him, to make him see the truth.
Elena opened the door and waited for him to follow. He hesitated, crossing his arms as if he had no desire to enter. But a moment later, he did.
The air within her home was cool, for the fire had died down. Yet the anger emanating from Ragnar was a fire in itself. He didn’t want to be here—that much was clear.
Elena set down her basket and added a few bricks of peat to the hearth. The space had grown tighter somehow, and she felt her skin rise with gooseflesh in memory of the other night. His silent stare was unnerving her right now.
“I don’t like fighting with you,” she said at last. “I used to be able to talk with you about anything. After all that’s happened, I don’t want to lose that.” She reached out to take his hand, and his rough palm was warm against hers.
His expression remained dark and stoic. “You don’t want a man like me, Elena.”
From deep inside, she found a courage she’d never expected. “But you want a woman like me. Don’t you?” It wasn’t a true question. She kept her eyes locked upon him, daring him to walk away.
Ragnar stepped forward, backing her against the wall. Instead of feeling cornered, she felt as if she’d fallen under his possession.
She didn’t understand the power Ragnar held over her, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Once again, the sudden ripple of awareness slid over her body, making her wonder what was happening between them.
“I’ve always wanted a woman like you,” he murmured. “But you deserve better.”
“I think you’re afraid of me.” Another breathless flood of warmth passed over her. She didn’t understand the stormy feelings, but she didn’t want him to walk away now.
“You don’t owe me anything, Elena.”
She stared at him, realizing that he was trying to push her away. He didn’t want or need her opinions.
But this time, his words fired up more anger. She did care about what happened to him, whether he believed it or not. “I owe you my life,” she said. “You guarded me when we were both stranded and you saved me from the men who tried to attack me.”
She took a step forward, adding, “Fighting to save lives is one matter. Fighting for profit is too grave a risk.” She softened her tone, trying to make him see. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Ragnar. You’re—” She struggled to find the right words. “You’re important to me.”
“No.” He pulled her hands away from him, holding them fast. “You’re only hurting after losing your husband. You want someone to take his place.”
Did he truly believe that? Elena frowned, because she didn’t want another husband. She simply wanted Ragnar to be safe after all that they’d endured together. “That’s not true.”
“What about the other night when you came to me?” His gaze locked upon hers. “Did you think I wouldn’t guess why you were there?”
His fury was seething and she’d had enough of his suspicions. “I came to you for comfort.” She stood up to him, adding, “I thought we were friends.”
“I’m not your friend, Elena.” His voice cracked against the silence like a roll of thunder.
“No,” she whispered. You’re more than that.
Anticipation heightened within her, the memories of his touch compelling her. He said nothing and she leaned back to look into his dark green eyes.
“I feel as if I don’t even know you,” she admitted. “Not the way I thought I did.”
“You know exactly who I am.” His body tightened with tension. “And you know what I’ve done in the past.”
“What happened to your father wasn’t your fault.” Elena reached up to frame his face in her hands. “I don’t blame you for it.”
Ragnar strode away from her, as if he didn’t want her touch.
He tossed his weapons, one by one, on the table before he crossed over to her.
“Don’t make the mistake of believing I’m safe, Elena.
When Styr was between us, honor kept my hands off you.
” Slowly, he took her hand in his, leading her toward the bed.
He pressed her back on the mattress, trapping her wrists with his hands until she lay beneath him. “I can’t make that promise now.”
Her heartbeat slammed within her chest as she felt the evidence of his arousal pressed close.
Her body responded instantly, flaring with needs she couldn’t name.
“You’re trying to frighten me.” When he held her imprisoned in this way, she felt like a conquest of battle, about to be taken.
But she was not afraid. Not of the man who would die before harming her.
Ragnar’s eyes were like stone, his mouth a firm slash. He moved lower until she felt the weight of his body against her.
She knew he was waiting for her to push him away. He was trying to provoke her into hatred and she could not name the reason. But she saw through his actions to the man who believed that he was worth nothing.
“Tell me to leave you alone,” he demanded, while his mouth descended to the softness of her throat. A thousand shivers broke forth. Though she knew she should speak, no man save Ragnar had ever made her feel this way.
He was reaching past the years of hurt, pushing back the boundaries until she was made new again. She was weary of being made to feel that her body was only meant for childbearing and that she was a failure. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of his mouth.
“It’s too soon for this,” he said against her skin. He moved his hand up the hem of her skirt until his palm touched her bare skin. “If you let me touch you, you’ll hate me for it.”
In spite of his dark anger, the merest pressure of his fingers sent her body into shock. He drew his hand between her thighs, his knuckles brushing against her intimate opening.
She was wet already, almost ashamed at how fast he’d made her respond. His expression was unyielding and she forced herself not to move. Ragnar fumbled with the ties of his leggings and, a moment later, she felt his arousal pressed against her.
“Is this what you want from me?” he demanded. “To forget about Styr by using me?”
“No,” she breathed. But his actions were so unexpected, she couldn’t stop the thrill of desire that pushed through her. Needs pounded within her veins and she wanted him closer still, hoping he would slide inside.
Elena reveled in the turbulent desire that he’d kindled. It had been such a long time since she’d been with a man. And this forbidden lover brought out a side to her that she’d never known was there.
He was swollen and hard. A moment later, he lifted her to straddle him. His hands dug into the mattress, his eyes flaring. “I swear, I won’t touch you. If this is what you want from me, you’ll have to take it yourself.”
His fury held a violent edge that frightened her. He was trying to prove a point and though she ought to be ashamed, she’d never imagined it would go this far. She sat upon his lap, her skirts tangled at her knees. Likely he expected her to balk and refuse him.
He would never expect her to take the offering.
Elena reached for his erection. He was large and firm, his skin like heated silk. The moment she took his shaft in one hand, he nearly sat up, giving a sharp intake of breath.
Without speaking, she held him, fisting his length while she adjusted her skirts. He was trying to intimidate her, and it had nearly worked...except that she’d never felt such arousal before.
She wanted him inside her, despite the cold rage. He would hate her for this and she didn’t care.
Gently, she pushed the rounded head of him into her moist entrance, a cry escaping her at the delicious friction. Ragnar sat up, his hands clenching her hips. There was a blend of lust and hatred in his eyes, as if he’d never expected her to obey him.
She began to move up and down against him and the act took on a more primal note. With both of them clothed, she could only lose herself in sensation, for she could not see his body entering hers. She could only feel.
It was like a steel dagger sheathed within her as she continued to move against him, thrusting gently.
“You didn’t think I would, did you?” she accused. She lifted his hands to the thin linen covering her breasts, needing his touch to push her harder.
But he let them fall back to his sides. “No. And I’ll not help you in this, either.”
His words struck her cold and she understood, then, that he truly believed this was about using him. Her conscience cried out at how wrong it was, while her body continued to squeeze him, thrusting and withdrawing.
There was perspiration on his brow and a tightness on his features. He was trying not to take pleasure and the more he fought her, the more she decided that she would enjoy this.
She unfastened the brooches that held her apron against her gown, then loosened the laces until her bodice fell lower. With her own hands, she reached for her breasts, letting him see them as she rode him at her own pace.
The sight of her bare flesh did evoke a reaction, for she sensed him pressing back.
With her hands, she caressed her own nipples, letting him look his fill.
No longer did she care that he wasn’t going to touch her.
The heady sensation of being in command was something she’d never before experienced.
Always she had been beneath her husband, accepting him into her body. Never had she taken him. Her breathing went unsteady, and she bounced harder, pinching her own nipples as she rode him. Ragnar’s eyes were closed, his face taut as he struggled against her.
He was an iron shaft within her, so rigid—she had never felt so filled. She had done this to him. And by the gods, she would bring him to such a release, he would regret what he’d said to her.
With one hand on her breast, she moved the other down her body to the place where they were joined. Her finger and thumb surrounded him as she sank upon his erection.
More. She wanted him writhing beneath her, and she increased the pace. He closed his eyes, his face strained as she continued to thrust against him. The pressure against her sensitive nub was enough to make her come apart, shuddering as the pleasure crested within.
He was fighting to breathe and she squeezed him hard, demanding, “Did you feel the way you pleasured me, Ragnar?” She never ceased her motions, and she saw how close he was to the edge. “It felt so good.”
Her words were what changed him. His hands came against her hips, jacking against her with violent thrusts as he filled her. A groan tore from him as he emptied himself, taking the release he needed.
Elena lay atop him, her heart thundering inside.
She rested her cheek against him, her body still filled with his heat.
Her thighs were slick with his essence and it suddenly occurred to her that this joining might result in a child.
She’d not considered it before, but what if it was Styr who could not sire children?
What if Ragnar could give her the gift that she wanted most?
He didn’t embrace her or whisper words of love. Instead, he gently extricated himself from her body and adjusted his clothing, rising from the bed. Without a word, he left her there.
Leaving her to wonder what she’d just done.