Page 113 of The Viking in the Vault
So I do.
Not loud, not yet, but open. I let out a soft cry as I start to ride him, pressing my body to his, the hair rising on the back of my neck and shooting down my spine like an electric current.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me gently, keeping me steady…safe. I thought it would be shameful, that I would never be able to forget about the people around us, but I’m entirely at ease as I ride his cock, right here in front of his crew.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I can’t believe how much I love it.
Every movement is slow, deep, reverent…the friction perfect, the stretch overwhelming. Ragnar is so big that it feels like I was made to take him—and maybe I was. Maybe that’s what this is.
Fated.Sacred. A mating claim drawn out under the soft glow of the fire and the pink dawn light filtering through the glacier above.
Ragnar leans in, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “You feel like home.”
My breath hitches and I press my forehead to his. “Youarehome.”
He groans again, his hips shifting up to meet mine with more force. The fur slips from my shoulder as I move faster, one hand tangled in his hair, the other braced against his chest. I feel wild, feral, a little drunk on the adrenaline of it all…of being watched and loved and ruined by him.
The pressure builds fast. Too fast.
“Oh…Ragnar…”
“Yes, mate,” he says. “Sing for me again.”
The cry rips from my throat before I can stop it, half moan, half sob, all of it his name. I fall apart in his arms, clenching around him, the aftershocks pulsing throw me like waves…and that’s all it takes for him to follow. He thrusts deep, spilling into me with a growl I feel in my ribs, in my chest, in every vertebrae.
We don’t move for a long time.
But eventually, Ragnar presses a kiss to my temple. “You are extraordinary,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about the sex.
He’s talking about us…about the way we came together—no pun intended. About being here across thousands of years, countless stars.
The two of us.
Together.
40
RAGNAR
The ice sings beneath our feet.
A song of home…of return, of life born anew. Not the home we left behind, but a new home.
Almost my entire crew, kept safe by the Stormcaller for thousands of years.
I glance over my shoulder as we move from the cavern and back into the frostglass tunnel, beneath M’mir’s arctic sea. The Skoll—about fifty of them—move behind me in loose formation, many blinking up at the leviathans swimming above us, mystified. Skarnhounds trot along with the group, Fenrik at the front with me and Elena.
All eyes are on me, waiting for instruction.
For some word as to what we’re meant to do next.
And for them? I don’t know. But for me…I know exactly where my future lies.
Elena reaches over to squeeze my hand, looking up at me. “You’re frowny,” she says. “You okay?”
I hum.
