Page 32 of The Gathering Storm

“I took a class on Vikings in college and, of course, we studied some of the eddas and sagas here at Tellowee.” His shoulders rolled under his crisply pressed, eggshell colored shirt. “Some of it stuck.”

But to remember such an obscure passage from the Ballad of Regin, and from an older translation at that, an outdated translation in which the scholarship had long since been corrected by other, more modern scholars. Sigrid struggled for a moment, torn between remarking on Will’s usage and being impressed by the depth of his knowledge.

Before she could decide either way, Will pushed back from the table and held out a hand to her. “Dance with me.”

She blinked up at him, caught unawares by the sudden subject change. “Dessert—”

“Later.”

The roughly spoken word slithered along her skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She placed her hand in his and rose, and went willingly into his arms. “I’ve never danced to Satie before.”

Will tucked her against his chest and brushed his cheek along hers, suffusing her in heat and the masculine tang of his cologne. “I like his gymnopédies. They’re soothing and sensual in a quiet, melancholy sort of way, like you.”

She laughed into his throat. “No one has ever accused me of being soothing before, or quiet.”

“On the battlefield, no. Probably not at work, either.” His shrug cushioned her face briefly between his shoulder and cheek. “But here, you’re feminine and beautiful and everything a man could want. I love your dress.”

She’d bought it for him. The words clung to her throat, refusing to escape.

“I waited as long as I could, I swear,” he said, then his mouth was on hers again and his hand slid up her back and tangled in her hair, and it fell down out of the careful coif she’d tucked it into, and she didn’t care, couldn’t think or breathe or feel anything beyond him and the heat he gave her.

He tore his mouth away from hers and trailed desperate kisses down her throat. One hand slid into the bodice of her dress and eased the fabric off her shoulder, and his mouth continued there in gentle nibbles and licks, burning her as surely as fire.

She clutched his head to her and trembled under his touch, biting her tongue to keep from begging, pleading, Sweet Mother, please let him never stop. His arms tightened around her waist, bending her back, and his fingers tugged her dress down, then her bra, baring her breast to his gaze. He murmured something low and guttural, and licked her nipple, once, twice, and she gasped his name into the air between them, punctuating the sonorous melody surrounding them.

His breath blew across her wet flesh, tightening her nipple under his attention, and the words slipped from her. “Please, Will.”

“Always,” he said, and the world tumbled ‘round as he slid an arm under her knees and lifted her high against his muscled chest. His long strides carried them into her bedroom, away from the music inciting their passion. He laid her gently on the bed, flicked the bedside lamp on, and covered her body with his, easing his way between her thighs.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen tonight.”

His words took a moment to penetrate the haze of desire ensnaring her in its grasp, and when they did, she froze. “You have no desire for me?”

He huffed out a laugh as his fingers smoothed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

She could, there in the juncture of her thighs, where his erection prodded her core through the layers of their clothing. “Yet you have no intention of easing your arousal.”

“Not tonight, no. Tonight was supposed to be about getting to know you, figuring out what you want from me and if I’m willing to give it.”

His words stung more deeply than they should have. “If you’re so unwilling, why are you here?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His sigh feathered over her skin, the tip of his nose touched hers. “We can dissect it another time, ok? Let me touch you for a while. Please, baby.”

His quiet plea, an echo of hers only moments before, melted the hurt, erasing it completely. “Yes, Will. Touch me.”

“I’m going to. Merciful Ki, you’re so beautiful.”

As was he. She opened her mouth to say so, and lost the words to his kiss. It was greedy and hot and rough, and she welcomed it, welcomed him and the desire he coaxed from her, and the heat, Sweet Goddess, the heat overwhelmed her. It rose within her, surrounded her, was her, and she marveled at what he’d given to her, and was giving to her still.

His hand slid under the skirt of her dress, paused at the top juncture of her silk stocking and the bare skin of her thigh above it, and his breath hitched audibly. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She laughed and urged his hand higher, laughed again when his next words were garbled against her skin. His fingers slid across her thigh and under the lace thong she’d worn just for him, and found her wet heat so easily, she would never have guessed it was their first time together.

Abruptly he backed off the bed and yanked at his tie, his gaze hot and dark and ferocious in his need. “I’m taking you just like that.”

Her hands fell to the bedspread and tightened on it. “Let me touch you. Let me undress you.”

He shook his head once. “You touch me and I’ll never last.”

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