Page 67 of Heart of the Wolf
There was pressure, so much pressure. It was unfamiliar. The climbing heat. The tautness in her belly. The desperate way her body wanted to fall apart.
“Úlfr. Leif, I can’t. Something is different. I… I…,” she panted, dragging her nails down his arms, making blood prick at the surface.
“Steady, hjartað mitt. Trust me and chase the feeling like a firebird. Let go and burn with it.”
She held onto him, anchoring herself. It built and built until everything detonated within her like an exploding star. Black specks flickered in her vision, blurring the silver-haired man nestled between her legs. Her entire body shook, heat radiating from her fingers and toes as a gush of liquid rushed out, soaking Leif.
Wet noises sounded from between her legs. Leif’s fingers squelched with each slow pump, dragging out the pleasure from her spent form. Her heart rattled painfully in her chest, each breath hoarse and needy. The word stophovered on the tip of her tongue, her limbs heavy and immobile. She couldn’t take much more, but it burned in the most blissful way possible.
She imagined it was like being reincarnated.
When her muscles stopped twitching and her thighs stopped trembling, Leif slipped his fingers from her core, evidence of her release trickling out of her. Not looking away, he closed his lips around his fingers, sucking them clean and smirking before removing them with a pop.
“Sweet like honeyed fruit. One more. One more on my cock,” he said, stealing a bruising kiss that tasted of her.
“I can’t,” she sobbed, the lust-gone look in her eyes giving her away.
Her body reacted of its own accord.
She wanted it, she wanted him.
Brielle tugged on his braid, a heel digging into his leg, urging him forward.
“Oh, but you can,” he said in a low breath, collaring her nape with his massive hand. “Strong, kona. Destined for pleasure.”
He ran a hand over his face, giving his cock two languid tugs before notching it at her entrance, settling between her legs. A thin sheen of her release shone on his face, glistening in his beard as he stared down at her.
A Konungr.
Odin’s chosen.
A wolf.
Leif may have been all those things, but with how he looked: with her release on his face, his cock resting on her cunt, his baby in her belly, he washers. He ruled over clans, waged wars, and shed blood for peace.
But he washerwolf,herhusband,herKonungr.
The Gods may have chosen him, but he chose her.
And she chose him.
Brielle wiggled her hips, sliding lower into the furs and onto his length, slipping the tip just inside her.
“Eager,” he groaned, positioning her legs around his waist.
“Yes,” she laughed in a broken breath.
If only to leave her panting, Leif rocked his hips into her slowly, content to take his time. Her tongue pressed into her teeth, running her fingers along the scars on his chest, silently pleading with him.
With a final snap of his hips, he filled her, and Brielle moaned at the divine stretch splitting her in half.
It was perfection every time.
The only thing better than the snug fit of his cock filling her was the pure look of fire and adoration in his gaze. No one else got to see him like that, on the cusp of damnation.
And it was Brielle who made him look like that, feel like that.
Leif ran his fingers over her ribs, the skin prickling in his wake. One hand clutched her hip, the other closing gently around her throat, his thumb nudging her chin.
