Page 93 of Storm of Fury
“Did you think you were in control?” he growled, rubbing the mark he’d made.
“I think I could break you,” she whispered.
Tormund thrust hard, the slap of his flesh meeting hers loud in the dark room. He lost himself to the feel of her, of hair in his fingers, and the tight squeeze as she tried to drive him to climax.
The soft rasp of her breath sounded loudly in the room, but he wanted more than a gasp, more than an inhale. He wanted to tear a scream from her lips, to break through that cold, hard shield she wore around her heart and leave her wrecked and vulnerable.
The thick shaft of his cock drove inside her, and she cried out as he filled every inch of her.
Gods. It was bliss.
Tormund threw his head back, biting his lower lip as he paused, hovering in the moment.
“Don’t stop,” she cried, her fingers curling into little claws in the pillow. “Oh, gods. Don’t stop!”
“I don’t intend to.”
He drove himself into her hard, again and again, gritting his teeth as she begged and gasped. His fingers found her, wet and slick, and he pushed her toward that edge, desperate to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her. Every inch of her tightened, until his hips were barely flexing. He wanted more, wanted to last, wanted—
He came with a hard grunt, his seed spilling inside her as Bryn squeezed so hard he swore he saw stars. Tormund growled out an explosive breath, driving into her with slow, shuddering thrusts until there was nothing more left in him.
And then they were collapsing on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, breathing hard, her soft skin brushing against him and his semihard cock still inside her.
Bryn shook in his arms, sweat slick on her skin. Tormund curled his arms around her, burying his face in the back of her neck. His chest heaved, and he didn’t want to let go of her.
A rough laugh echoed through her throat, as she reached behind her and rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t feel like punishment, Tormund.”
He bit at her fingers. “It was never meant to be punishment.”
“No?” Those lightning-kissed eyes met his as she half-turned in his arms. “Then what was it meant to be?”
He suckled the tips of her fingers into his mouth, tasting her musk on her skin. Their eyes met. “Just the start, sweetheart.” The start of forever, if he could convince her to let him in. “By the time morning arrives, you’ll be wondering why you ever resisted.”
Bryn stroked the softness of his lower lip. “I’m already wondering, big man.”
And then she turned in his arms, her mouth meeting his in a desperate kiss.
Somehow he found himself flat on his back, her thigh sliding over his hips.
Bryn gave him a wicked look as she leaned down and kissed his chest. “Let me beg for forgiveness again then. Since I know how much you like having me beg.”
He swallowed as she kissed her way lower.
She might be intending to beg, but somehow, it felt like he was the one on his knees.
* * *
Bryn lay awakefor long hours, trying to convince herself to leave. She’d promised him one night. And she’d delivered.
And now it was time to slip from the warmth of the bed, leave the safe cocoon of his arms, and vanish into the early morning mist.
Just one more minute….
She closed her eyes. If she forgot everything—the past, her betrayal, her lies—then she could almost imagine this could be forever. She had everything she’d ever wanted. Solveig owed her a confession and with it, she could clear her name and return to the gilded halls of her sisters.
But for the first time, she couldn’t force that image into her mind. She could barely even remember what the Halls of Valhalla looked like. It had been so long. And her sisters’ faces were skewed by time, leaving them mere foggy images.
Images that evaporated as the soft rasp of Tormund’s breath drew her back into the present and the embrace of the man who had shattered her over and over and over. Pleasure left her wrecked and broken, but it was the possessive nature of his embrace that threatened to do the most damage.
