Page 108 of The Viking in the Vault
“You are mine, Elena,” he growls. “Now…do you want my cock?”
I’m stifled, once again, by my lack of ability to talk good—I mean, well. I’m shaking as he lowers me to the furs beneath us, moving the silk aside, looking at me like I’m a feast.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
He smiles, face flushed. “Good.”
He braces his hands on either side of my shoulders, kissing me hard...and I feel his cock between my thighs, big and thick and heavy. I don’t even know when he took his pants off; this feels like a bit of a fever dream.
“You’re naked,” I stammer.
“As I must be to fuck you, mate,” he chuckles, smiling against my lips. His cock slides through my arousal and I arch, sighing. “I can feel how much you long for this.”
I nod, barely able to breathe. My legs fall open as he shifts between them, raising one massive hand up to stroke my thigh, then hook it once again over his shoulder. I’m not normally that flexible, but this man has a tendency to bend me like a pretzel.
“Are you ready, Elena?” he asks.
“Very much yes,” I reply.
And he slides inside.
The stretch, the heat, thedelicious pressure—it steals the breath from my lungs. “Ragnar!” I gasp, hands flying to his back, nails digging in as he pushes deeper.
He groans low in his chest. “You take me so well, fenvarra…so tight around me. So perfect.”
He doesn’t rush; he rocks into me slowly, savoring each inch like it’s the first time he’s ever known true pleasure. And maybe it is…because it’s not just sex. It’s everything he’s survived, back with his clan, now with his mate…
Ragnar is bringing me into his world.
It means more than I can articulate—obviously.
“The way you hold me,” he groans as he fucks his length into me, lets me clench around him. “I never want to let go.”
“Then don’t,” I breathe, nails skating up his spine. “Don’t ever let me go.”
He somehow thrusts deeper.
And it sounds stupid even in my head, but it’s like he’s not just inside my body…he’s in my soul, my heart, my head. One hand is on my thigh, the other in my hair, and he’s seeing each part of me I thought was imperfect and calling it beautiful. My hair that was always too curly and frizzy—my thighs that were too thick.
To him,every piece of meis perfect.
He tells me as much—not with words, but with every careful thrust, every moan, every reverent sweep of his palms across my skin.
He cups the back of my head, cradling it as he presses his forehead to mine. His breath is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“I am trying to go slow,” he groans, voice strained. “But you feel…so…good…”
I let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Then don’t go slow. Just don’t stop.”
Ragnar growls low in his throat, the sound primal—then he suddenly pulls out of me. I cry out in protest at the emptiness, but he’s pulling me up to a seat, turning me over to all-fours.
Oh.
Oh…that’s what’s happening now.
Ragnar curves his body over mine, kissing a line down my spine, lining himself up with me, moving the silk aside.
And he’s inside me again.
