Page 53 of The Viking in the Vault
I watch the way her lips part slightly, how her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, how her gaze flickers down to my mouth before snapping back up.
She doesn’t pull away.
I step closer, slow enough to give her time to stop me. She doesn’t.
I lift my free hand and brush my knuckles over her cheek, just barely touching her. She’s warm, softer than anything I’ve ever felt. I want to do more than this. I want to trace every line of her, learn her through touch alone.
She shivers, but she doesn’t move away.
“Fenvarra,” I whisper. “Tell me what you like…tell me how you want to be touched.”
“I…” she trails off, and it strikes me as somewhat funny that we both seem lost for words now that we can understand one another. I pull her closer, her coat obnoxiously thick between us. “I want…”
Her expression clears.
“I want you to tell me what that means.”
“What?”
“Fenvarra,” she says. “It’s um…Ves tried to explain but I want to hear it in your words.”
“It means fated mate,” I rumble, brushing my fingers down the curve of her jaw. She leans into my touch, eyelashes fluttering. “Two souls made by Yrsa herself, destined to find each other across time and space.”
“And what does that mean for us?”
My other hand slides down her back to the curve of her hip, and I take the risk of gripping her backside beneath her coat. She arches toward me, lips parting. “First, it means I wish to claim you,” I murmur. “But only after you tell me what you like. Then…then I will take you to bed and give you all you ask for.”
Elena makes a small, helpless sound in the back of her throat—half shock, half something utterly delicious. Her fingers curl into the front of my tunic, tightening as she exhales a shuddering breath.
I want to hear more of that sound.
Want to hear it while she’s naked and riding my cock, full breasts in my hands.
Her brown eyes flicker between mine, dark with something uncertain. Not fear—never fear—but hesitation. Caution. She’s overwhelmed. I can feel the tension in her, the battle between the heat in her body and the logic in her brilliant mind.
“You—you don’t waste time, do you?” she finally manages, her voice breathless.
I smile, running my thumb in slow, teasing circles against her hip. “I have wasted four thousand years. I have no intention of wasting another moment.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and I watch, fascinated, as a shiver ripples through her body.
She’s feeling this just as much as I am.
“Elena,” I murmur, prepared to beg if I must. “Tell me what you like.”
Her fingers twitch against my chest, her pulse hammering beneath my touch. She wets her lips again—Yrsa help me, I want to taste her—and I can see the moment her resolve nearly breaks.
Then—
Fenrik whines, padding over to the door and sniffing at it. He wags his tail once, then lets out a bark of warning.
We aren’t alone.
I groan as the door creaks open, and Elena jumps back like she’s been caught in the middle of a crime. Ves is standing in the doorway, glaring at me.
“We heard they got a translator working?” Ves asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “I can now speak with anyone on M’mir.”
