Page 109 of The Viking in the Vault
Deeper than ever.
So,sogood.
I curl my fingers in the furs as he drives into me, his rhythm steady but powerful—hips rolling against mine like he’s trying to carve his name into my body from the inside. My arms buckle and I brace myself on my elbows, screaming into the furs in pleasure.
I can’t see his face, those blue eyes, that long dark hair…but I feel him. Every agonizing inch.
“I love you like this,” he pants. “Bedecked in my finery…open for me.Letting me in.”
I’m not paying attention to how loud I am anymore; whatever sound is coming out of me, it’s raw, open, unguarded. Ragnar’s hands slide beneath me to cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his forefinger and thumbs.
“I will make you come again,” he promises. “And again…and again. I want them all to hear. I want them to know you aremine.”
I choke on a gasp, my whole body erupting in tremors. There’s nothing else in this moment. No ice, no stars, no past lives or future fears. Just Ragnar and me, the pounding of his cock inside me and the ancient rhythm of our bodies speaking a language older than either of us have ever spoken.
My body is no longer just mine, and his isn’t his. No…together, we’re an altar, a home. This is the place we’ll return to when the rest of the world doesn’t make sense, because he is the first thing that ever has.
I feel it in every thrust.
Slow and deep.
…faster now.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp, the words catching on a sob of pleasure. “Please, Ragnar, please?—”
“I won’t,” he groans. “Not until I’ve wrung every cry from your throat, beautiful mate.”
And hedoes.
My body clenches around him with every sharp plunge, every grind of his hips against my ass. His fingers press into my sides as I come again…and again. I don’t know how long it lasts.
But he doesn’t stop.
Not until he finally growls my name against my shoulder, his whole body shuddering above mine, and I know he’s giving me everything.
His past. His future. His soul.
39
ELENA
Iwake with no idea what time it is.
The tent is still dark, lit only by the low pulse of the lantern tucked into the far corner. The air is warm beneath the furs, but cold brushes my nose and cheeks where I’m exposed. I burrow deeper, finding a hot, muscular chest pressed against me.
Ragnar is awake…watching me.
I look up at him, his antlers casting a crisscross shadow across my face. One hand props up his head, the other resting in the dip of my waist, which is conspicuously missing the chain and silk—though I’ve still got the stacks of bracelets and torque on.
I’ve never really been one for jewelry…but I don’t think I ever want to take them off.
“Hi,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep.
His smile is slow, indulgent. “Hi.”
I stretch out under the furs, muscles sore in the best way, and tuck my face closer into his chest. “Have you been awake long?”
“A little while,” he says. “You talk in your sleep.”
