Chapter 39 Seris
SERIS
The door swings open to reveal chaos masquerading as romance.
Wildflowers—actual wildflowers, the first brave blooms of early spring—carpet our wooden floor in scattered handfuls of yellow and white.
Candles of varying heights and dubious symmetry cluster on every surface, their flames dancing like drunken fireflies.
The wax has clearly been shaped by hands more accustomed to wielding axes than crafting delicate things.
I step inside, shaking mud from my boots, and survey the disaster with growing amusement.
"Well," I call toward the bedroom, where I can see Vargath's silhouette filling the doorway like a mountain deciding to visit indoors. "Either we've been invaded by the world's most romantic bandits, or someone's been busy."
He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. The candlelight catches the ritual scars along his forearms, turning them into rivers of gold against his dark skin.
"Where is Theron?" The question emerges automatically—six months of motherhood have rewired my brain to account for our son's whereabouts before I can appreciate romantic gestures.
His mouth curves into that particular smirk I've learned means trouble of the best kind. "Kaela was kind enough to keep him for the night."
Laughter bubbles up from my chest. "Of course she was. Did she volunteer, or did you actually have to ask?"
"She took one look at the flowers I was carrying and practically snatched him from my arms." He pushes off from the doorframe, moving toward me with predatory grace. "Something about giving us 'proper time to reconnect.'"
"Reconnect." I shake my head, still grinning. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Among other things."
The space between us evaporates as his hands find my waist, pulling me against the solid warmth of his chest. His mouth descends on mine with the kind of hunger that makes my knees forget their primary function.
I melt into him, months of careful touches and whispered affections giving way to something rawer, more urgent.
His hands map territories they've explored before but never claimed with such confident possession. One traces the my spine while the other tangles in my hair, tilting my head to grant him better access to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
"The flowers," I manage between kisses, "are going to get trampled."
"Worth it." His voice rumbles against my throat as his fingers work at the laces of my work dress. "I'll pick more tomorrow."
My body responds with embarrassing enthusiasm, heat pooling low in my belly as his hands find bare skin.
The months since Theron's birth have been careful, gentle—healing time wrapped in patience and understanding.
But now his touch carries different intent, and my body remembers what it means to be wanted rather than simply needed.
"Vargath." His name comes out breathier than intended as his fingers trace patterns that make coherent thought increasingly difficult.
"Tell me what you want." The words vibrate against my collarbone where his mouth has found new territory to explore.
"You."
The world tilts as Vargath scoops me up like I weigh nothing more than one of Theron’s swaddling blankets. My laughter bounces off the walls as he tosses me onto the bed, the scratch of wool blankets beneath me a sharp contrast to the molten heat in his gaze.
“Careful,” I tease, propping myself up on my elbows. “This might not withstand your enthusiasm.”
He answers by grabbing my ankle, calloused fingers branding my skin as he drags me to the edge. My squeal cuts off when his mouth finds the inside of my thigh, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch. “Still talking,” he rumbles against my skin.
“You’ve always hated that.”
“Hate?” His tongue flicks higher, slow and deliberate. The bastard smirks against me. “I consider it a challenge.”
Any retort evaporates as his mouth seals over me.
My back arches off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets as he coaxes sensation from every nerve I own.
Six months of careful tenderness shatter under the skill of his tongue—this isn’t the tentative lover who’d treated me like cracked porcelain after Theron’s birth.
This is the predator who once made me forget my own name against a tavern wall.
“Gods damn you—”
He hums approval, the vibration ripping a moan from my throat. His hands slide under my hips, tilting me to his mercy. “Louder,” he growls against slick skin. “Let the whole settlement hear who you belong to.”
My hips jerk involuntarily. “Says the man on his knees.”
He lifts his head just enough for me to see the feral gleam in his eyes. “Careful, little bird. I’ll have you singing soon enough.”
The dress tears a little as he yanks it over my head, but neither of us care. His mouth finds my breast, sucking gently before scraping teeth over the peak. I hiss, nails digging into the muscle bracketing his spine. “Tease.”
He nips my collarbone, breath hot against my ear. “You think I’d rush this? After watching you walk around in that dress for weeks, smelling like honey and wanting—”
I hook my leg around his hip, rolling us until I straddle him. The hard length of him strains against his trousers, and I rock once—just once—to watch his composure crack. “You talk too much.”
His hands flex on my waist, blunt nails leaving moon crescents in my skin. “And you,” he rasps, “are playing with fire.”
The laces of his trousers snap under my tug. He hisses as I free him, thick and heavy in my hand. “Fire’s useful,” I murmur, positioning myself above him. “For keeping warm. For forging.” I sink down slowly, watching his pupils swallow the amber of his eyes. “For burning.”
His groan vibrates through both of us as I take him fully. For a heartbeat, we’re still—his forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling, the world narrowed to the pulse point where we’re joined. Then his hands tighten, and he thrusts upward hard enough to steal my breath.
“Vargath—!”
“Mine,” he snarls, lifting my hips only to drag me back onto him. The rhythm’s brutal, punishing, perfect. “Say it.”
I choke on a laugh that twists into a moan. “Yours—fuck—”
He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around my back to keep me impaled as he stands. The wall meets my shoulders, cold stone against my feverish skin. His free hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back. “And?”
The stretch burns deliciously, every snap of his hips lighting sparks behind my eyelids. “And you’re mine,” I gasp.
His answering grin is all teeth.
Vagarth’s hands clamp around my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh above my hips. He lifts me effortlessly, the friction vanishing for a terrible, breathless second before he slams me back down onto him. Hard. A sharp gasp tears from my throat, my spine arching off the bed.
"More," I gasp, the word ragged. "Please, Vargath. I need—"
"Louder." His command is a low vibration against my ear, his hips snapping up to meet my desperate descent. My hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into the dense muscle bracketing his neck. "Tell me what you need."
"You." My voice cracks, breath hitching as he pistons up, filling me impossibly deep. "I need you. Fuck me. Please." The plea is shredded, raw. "Harder. Gods, don't stop—"
He grunts, a primal sound of satisfaction. "Fuck, I've missed seeing you like this." His mouth finds the frantic pulse at the base of my throat, teeth scraping. "So wet and needy for me. Begging. Desperate to be fucked." Each word punctuated by a brutal thrust that steals my breath. "Mine."
Then the world spins. Wool blankets scratch my belly as he flips me onto my hands and knees.
One large hand lands between my shoulder blades, pressing me down, forcing my hips higher.
The other grips my waist, holding me steady as he sheathes himself completely in one powerful drive.
I cry out, knuckles white against the bedding.
He’s everywhere. Behind me, inside me, surrounding me.
The sheer size of him is overwhelming like this, the position deepening the angle until I’m trembling.
His rhythm is relentless, punctuated by the slap of skin and his low growls.
My head bows, a keening sound escaping me as I push back, meeting him thrust for thrust.
"Vargath!" The name is a sob wrenched from my chest. Pressure coils, unbearably tight, low in my belly. "I'm going—"
His hand moves from my waist, fingers tangling roughly in my hair, pulling my head back. "Do it," he commands, his voice thick with dark promise. The shift in angle sends a shockwave through me. "Come for me. Now."
The command unravels me. Pleasure detonates, white-hot and consuming.
My muscles clench violently around him, drawing a ragged groan from his chest. Wave after wave crashes over me, leaving me trembling, crying out into the rough fabric, vision blurring at the edges.
My arms give out, and I collapse onto my elbows, spent, gasping.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. His fingers tighten in my hair, keeping my hips raised.
The rhythm turns punishing, deep, hard drives that push me against the bed with each powerful thrust. My whimpers are muffled by the blankets.
Just when I think I can’t take it, that I’m too sensitive, his control shatters.
A guttural roar rips through him, half frustration, half ecstasy.
He slams into me one final time, grinding deep, his body stiffening as he empties himself inside me with a shuddering pulse.
Heat floods me, a possessive claim that leaves me trembling yet again.
He collapses forward, his heavy chest pressing against my back, his breath hot and harsh against my shoulder.
The weight pins me, grounding, claiming. Complete.
"I love you, Seris," he says, his voice rough and gravelly.
Snuggling into his broad chest, I breathe a sigh. "I love you, too."