Page 110 of Scornful

He kisses me softly. "Love you, princess. Whatever comes next, that won't change."

"Love you too. Always."

We stay outside until the cold drives us in, finding most families have retreated to their rooms.

The main room's almost quiet as a mouse, just a few brothers sitting around on the couches.

Finally, exhausted and full, we stumble to our room.

The second the door closes, the day's tension transforms into something else.

Geirolf watches me with dark eyes as I shed my clothes, his gaze tracking every movement.

"Been thinkin’ about you all day," he says, voice rough. "How fuckin’ beautiful you looked in that kitchen washin’ dishes. Domestic shit shouldn't be sexy, but on you..."

I go right up to him, trying not to be too teasing. "Just in the kitchen?"

"Everywhere. Always." He reaches for me, but I drop to my knees before he can, hands working his belt. "Astrid?—"

"Shh." I free him from his jeans, already hard and ready for me. "It’s my turn to give thanks."

His hand tangles in my hair as I take him in my mouth, the groan he tries to muffle music to my ears.

I love this—the power of bringing this strong man to his knees with just my touch.

I work him with lips and tongue, taking him deeper, finding the rhythm that makes his hips buck.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, fighting for control. "So good. So fuckin’ good."

I hum around him, the vibration making him curse.

His fingers tighten in my hair, not forcing but guiding me, and I take him deeper still.

The sounds he makes urge me on.

"Gonna come," he warns, but I don't pull away.

I want all of him, want to taste his surrender.

When he does, with my name on his lips, I swallow everything, gentling him through the aftershocks.

He hauls me up, kissing me deep, tasting himself on my tongue. "My turn," he growls, walking me backward to the bed. "Gonna make you scream."

"People will hear?—"

"Don't care." He pushes me back, spreading my thighs. "Let them know who you belong to."

I don’t know what it is, but what he just said drives me wild.

His mouth finds me wet and ready, and I bite my lip to keep quiet.

He's relentless, tongue and fingers working together until I'm writhing beneath him.

When he adds a second finger, curling just right, I have to grab a pillow to muffle my cries.

"That's it," he encourages between licks. "Let go for me. Want to feel you come apart."

I do, shuddering and shaking as waves crash over me.

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