Page 99 of Edge of the Wild

He pulled back just a fraction, close enough still that they were breathing into one another’s mouths; the wet sound of their lips parting left her gasping.

His thumb swept over her cheek. “You are so, so beautiful,” he said, voice small,awed.

“So are you,” she whispered, and pressed back in.

She wanted to touch him. Rested her hands, lightly, flinching backward after, over his collarbones – and Rune leaned into her touch, humming a sound against her lips that could only be encouraging. She let her hands settled more fully. Felt, beneath the thin linen of his shirt, the sharp shape of those bones she’d admired so much, the heat of skin seeping through the fabric, and into her palms.

He hummed again, and, exhaling shakily into the kiss, she slipped her thumbs inside the gaped-open collar of his shirt to touch skin.

It was so much warmer, without a barrier; its texture so much softer and smoother than anticipated – save for the rough crinkle of chest hair, dark and course. Beneath the harsh lines of his collarbones, she found muscle, strong and convex, so much firmer than her own soft chest, somasculine.

He broke the kiss again, and she chased after it, until he said, “Tessa.”

Then she blinked her eyes open and marveled at her own boldness.

She’d slipped the whole of both hands inside his shirt, had pulled and stretched until it had come completely unlaced, and gaped open, now, halfway down to his stomach. Her hands boldly cupped his chest; she felt the hard, pebbled points of his nipples against her palms. Stared, pulse thumping hard, at the sharp contrast between her small, pale hands and his crisp, curling chest hair.

“Oh,” she murmured, shocked.

But she couldn’t seem to peel her hands away from him.

He chuckled, and she dragged her gaze up to his face, to his sparkling eyes, his absolutelywickedsmirk. It was nothing like the kinds of similar looks she’d gotten back home – Rune’s expression was bright, was mischievous, was not at all threatening, only gorgeous. He arched a single brow, the way his mother and uncle did.

He asked, “Like what you see?” He chuckled again. “Or, should I say,feel?”

It wasn’t possible for her to blush any harder, she knew, but she didn’t look away and she didn’t let go. Didn’t hold back when she said, simply, “Yes.” Because that was the truth, and this moment was all about honesty, wasn’t it?

Startlement smoothed Rune’s smirk away. He hadn’t expected her to be so bold. He wet already-shiny lips and huffed a small, disbelieving laugh. “You’re – um – you’re very…”

“Reckless?” That’s what she felt, and it feltgood.

“I was going to say wonderful,” he said, and then gripped her waist with both hands, and hauled her easily up into his lap.

Well, notthateasily. She saw him wince, and tried to pull back.

“No, no, it’s all right,” he said, though the smile he offered was pained. “I don’t want to worry about that right now.”

Butshewas worried. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You aren’t. You can’t.” With her perched above him now, he tilted his head back to look up at her. Put his hand at her nape and speared his long fingers through the hair there, cradling the back of her skull. His gaze turned imploring. “Please. Don’t stop touching me.” And he urged her down into another kiss, this one slower – but deeper, and bolder, and much, much more thorough.

Tessa had the fleeting thought that there must be many ways to kiss, and she wanted to learn each one of them. Her worry ebbed, and her hands wandered.

Out to his strong shoulders, partway down his back, over the wings of his shoulder blades, and the satiny, hairless skin there. She traced the knobs at the top of his spine with her fingertips, and then skated around both sides of his throat and down to his chest again. She loved the texture of the hair; was fascinated by his small, dark nipples, the way they drew up tight beneath her fingers the same way hers did in the cold.

And all the while he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her face, and her waist. And Tessa was drowning, drowning, and didn’t want it to end.

That was, of course, when the door opened.

~*~

Revna despised gossip – but there was something almost alarmingly amusing about hearing it come out of Bjorn’s mouth.

“I’m sorry.” They strode side-by-side down the gallery; he’d fallen into step beside her at the top of the grand staircase, as ever surprisingly soft-footed for a man so large. “It sounded like you said that ‘the young ladies have been murmuring.’” A stolen glance proved that his face was screwed up with disgust; he hated saying this, and she had to stifle a laugh.

“Well,” he sounded terribly defensive, “they have been.”

“Been having a tea party, have you?”

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