Page 20 of Wild Return
“I’ve missed this, cupcake,” Viking confesses. “Missed you so damn much.”
His hand slides between my legs, and I moan as he cups my heat.
“I missed this,” he says again. “I missed all of you. I’m so sorry, Sydney.”
I tug his T-shirt over his head, and in the dim light I drink in his muscles. My hands roam over his biceps and chest, making my fingertips tingle.
“I was mad at you, Viking. So fucking mad.”
“I’m sorry.”
I channel that anger, yanking open his jeans and shoving his boxers down. His dick springs free.
“I threw your dried daisies into the compost,” I confess as I grip his length in my palms.
Viking groans, and his eyes flutter shut. I watch him battle for control as I hold him in my hand. His eyelids spring open, and his look is pure hunger.
He grips my stockings and rips them away with a hard yank.
“I still have the panties I ripped off you the last time we made love,” he murmurs against my ear.
With another tug, my panties tear away in his hands.
I’m left in my knee-high boots and a bunched-up skirt, exposed and aching.
Heat floods me, and I cry out as his fingertips trail my most sensitive places.
“I never stopped loving you, Sydney.”
He knocks my hand away and grips his length and slides it along my slickness.
“We were supposed to do that trip together,” he groans. “But you took off before I had a chance to speak to you.”
His tip nudges inside me, and my body quivers with anticipation.
“I know. I’m not sorry—” The rest of my sentence dissolves into a moan as he thrusts inside me.
My thighs widen to take him fully and I arch my back, leaning my elbows on the back of the barrel. It rocks backwards, and Viking grabs my hips to steady us.
“I found a hair tie of yours when I was deployed,” he pants. “And wore it around my wrist the whole time I was in Afghanistan.”
He lifts me, seating me on the barrel and driving deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist, the leather of my boots pressing into him.
He nuzzles into my neck, and his teeth graze my skin.
“I can’t smell this scent without thinking of you,” he breathes.
Words fail me as he moves, his hands cupping my ass. Memories crash over me—every time he made me feel beautiful, calling my too-soft backside his pair of cupcakes.
Viking thrusts deeper, and his movements become more frantic. My hips thrust to meet his, and my fingers dig into his shoulders. I let the sensation wash over me and surrender to him, truly surrender.
Years of hurt slip away as I remember how good we fit together, how much I loved him, how much I still do.
“I kept all your letters,” I gasp.
Viking stills for a beat, and he leans back to look at me.
“You read my letters?” he rasps out.
