Page 88 of The Viking in the Vault
“You do not understand…”Lick. “...what you do to me. The thought of your cunt clenching around me…”
His tongue presses inside me easily, and I arch at the overstimulation—but there’s no escape with my knees hooked over his antlers, his hands holding my hips like a chalice. I rock against him, gasping.
“Sweet gods,” he rumbles. “You taste like you were made for me.”
I sob his name again. “Ragnar,fenvarra…”
He hums, pleased. “Yes, Elena. Hold onto me. Let me make me feel exactly how I see you—my goddess of pleasure, of lust, of desire,yes…”
I come.
It happens before I even realize it, pleasure soaring through me, racing up my spine and to every extremity. I cry out, not caring who hears us, and Ragnar groans against me, enhancing the pleasure because Ifeel that groanall through my body.
He pulls back to look at me, his fingers replacing his tongue—thumb on my clit, one finger pressing inside while I’m still clenching. It feels so good I almost come again right away, looking up at him as he smiles.
“See how well you take me,” he chuckles with deep, masculine satisfaction. He raises his antlers a little, lifting me from the bed, and I can see one thick digit thrusting in and out, and it feels so good I can hardly breathe. “You are perfect, Elena.”
I let out a desperate, breathless moan, my fingers scrambling for purchase in the silken strands of his hair, on the curve of his antlers, on the firm muscle of his shoulders. My body is liquid heat, pliant, allhis, and he’s still touching me, still stroking me,still pulling more from me, coaxing pleasure out of me like he was born to do it.
His fingers pump slow, deep, deliberate, stretching me, working me open. His thumb circles my clit, steady but tantalizingly light, teasing, taunting, keeping me just at the edge of another peak but not letting me fall.
I sob his name again, my thighs trembling where they’re still draped over his antlers.
"Ragnar—please, please?—"
His grin is all dark promise, all wicked delight.
"Please what, fenvarra?" His fingers slow their thrusts, barely moving inside me, his thumb lifting away completely.
I almost scream in frustration.
He tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering something, his gaze burning through me, devouring me.
"I told you I would take my time with you," he murmurs. "That I would make you come and come and come until you could take me without an ounce of hesitation, without a single moment of doubt."
"Ragnar, I?—"
He lowers his mouth to me again, dragging his tongue through my slick folds, making me jolt hard against his hold. My breath catches, and that sinful, slow smile curves his lips.
"You’re still so tight, my love," he hums, pressing a third finger inside me, stretching me wider, making me gasp. "But I will make you ready for me."
He crooks his fingers just right, pressing into that sensitive, devastating spot inside me, and my entire body locks up with pleasure.
"Oh—Ragnar?—"
"Yes,again, fenvarra," he commands. "Come for me again."
And I do.
My vision blurs, my back arches, my fingers tighten in his hair as I come apart around him, gasping, shuddering, drowning in pleasure. Ragnar growls with satisfaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my thighs as he works me through it, drawing out every last wave, every last tremor.
He pulls back just enough to watch me tremble, his hands still gripping my hips as if he’s afraid I might slip away from him. I’m spent, shattered, boneless, my body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my entire life.
And Ragnar…so help me, he looks feral.
His lips are wet from me, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, those piercing eyes locked onto me like a predator who’s just feasted—but isn’t remotely satisfied yet.
I swallow, trying to regain some kind of composure, some kind of control over my own body, but I already know it’s useless. I’m his. I’ve always been his.
