Using the thigh already resting over his hip, Bryn shifted their bodies and rolled Sigurd beneath her. He didn’t fight her, didn’t resist. Instead, he only grinned up at her when she straddled him and propped her weight against both palms resting on his chest. The arousal beneath her body twitched. Her breath came faster, prompting her to grind against him in need.
As he leaned up to kiss her again, she wrapped her fingers around his length and marveled, not for the first time, at how perfect he was. The occasional glimpse over the past year had not been enough to slake her thirst, leaving her curious and hungry for more than a passing look.
Eager to touch and explore, she released his erection and ran her palms over his body, feeling every muscular curve, chiseled dip, and masculine angle.
Exploring every inch of the glorious, compassionate man who now belonged to her.
Sometimes, when Sigurd gazed at his warrior queen, he couldn’t believe she had chosen him, couldn’t believe he had been found worthy to battle alongside her.
Time after time, his thoughts had gone back to their singular shared moment in the watchtower when, by all rights, he should have made love to her beneath the setting sun.
In one thrust, he could be inside her.
With just one raise of his hips and a shift of his cock, they could both be well on their way to bliss.
But too long had passed in fantasies for Sigurd to be satisfied with something so simple. He wanted to touch and taste and lavish her body with affection from head to toe. He wanted to watch her shudder in orgasm and hear her cry his name without the haze of climax dampening his senses.
“There is something I’ve wanted to tell you,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Yes?”
“Ever since my naming day on the hill, I’ve been ruined for any other woman, Brynhildr.” He took her chin in his hand, directing her gaze to his. “And I hated myself for wanting you. Then weeks ago, believing I had lost you, I hated myself even more for wasting the opportunity to tell you how I felt.”
“It wouldn’t have been safe, for either of us.”
“It’s safe now,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to waste any more time.”
Before a reply could leave her lips, Sigurd reversed their positions and planted Bryn beneath him. She squealed in surprise, even giving him a husky laugh that tightened his loins.
“I knew you would want to be on top,” she started as he began kissing his way down her body, lingering at her throat before he reached her breasts. His thumbs barely skimmed each sensitive tip, a touch and a tease. “I knew you—”
“Shush, woman.”
“Sigurd?” Her voice turned uncertain, a questioning tone when his mouth reached her navel. There was a scar beneath it. One long horizontal scar from hip to hip. “What are you—?”
He put his mouth on her, and she exhaled a startled, “Oh!”
Her hips bucked. Automatically, her legs parted for him and one foot pressed against the blanket beneath them. He propped her other heel over his shoulder, and then fluttered his tongue against the sweetness of her core, each time earning a sigh or moan of pleasure. Those noises drove him and fueled his lust as unfulfilled need tightened his groin.
He liked the tug of her fingernails in his hair, the way she arched and moaned his name each time his tongue flicked against her tender button. And when he trapped that pearl between his lips, she shuddered in euphoric bliss that sent a lance of pleasure jolting right to his cock.
She was everything.
Holding Bryn at his mercy was a reward worth facing war. He’d gladly fight a hundred men just to hear her gasp like that first time once more. Listening to his queen as she approached the brink of orgasm was the best thing in the world.
Hungrily, he devoured her, alternating between tonguing her and gliding his lips against her skin. Bryn made another obscene noise, and his true name fell from her lips like a gift from the heavens. Craving the sound again, he traced lines against her dewy skin until she shuddered and her thigh muscles bunched tight. Her body drew taut as she gripped one handful of the bedroll blankets beneath her. The other hand remained tangled in his hair, yanking sharply on his scalp as she bucked and rode his face.
“Camden!”
He didn’t stop until it was over, her body limp on the bed.
“Gods,” she breathed to the ceiling some time later, laughter in her voice. “I didn’t know…”
“Know what?” He kissed her inner thigh then peered up at her from her stomach.
“Ever realize it could be that way.”
He knew what she meant, somehow, and suddenly, he wanted all the more to show her a good time—no, a beautiful time, the way two souls should be, united in bliss and affection.
They must have lain beside each other for close to half an hour, touching and kissing, drowsily exploring with their fingers. Bryn had lost track of time, drifting in and out of sleep twice, or maybe even more than that. All that mattered was each time she reached consciousness, Sigurd’s arms were around her. Finally, she stirred awake and remained that way, finding her bedside empty and lover returning to bed with his flask in hand.
For the moment, she pretended to be asleep, letting him nestle her against him again, his strong arm around her shoulders, easing her so tenderly into place that, had she not already been awake, she would have easily slept through the maneuver.
Through her lashes, she watched him roll off the lid and take a long drink. Then he sighed and leaned his head back against the pillow.
Finally, she raised her head. “How rude of you not to share.”
His blue gaze slanted toward her and he laughed. “I thought you were still sleeping.”
“Why did you let me sleep?”
“You needed it,” Sigurd replied, still laughing.
“What I need is more than your tongue.” She trailed a finger down his chest, delighted when his stiffening erection tented the sheet. Rolling atop him, she straddled his legs and smiled, admiring the view.
“Whatever you want is yours for the taking.”
“Yes, it is.”
Leaning down, Bryn placed her lips on him to return the favor. Immediately, he sucked in air and murmured a low utterance of gratitude, words spilling from him in appreciative Eislandic. Bryn missed a little but grasped the gist of it—she was fluent enough for conversation, but his husky groans and quickening breath distorted the message.
What praise she did pick up made her glow with pleasure.
His goddess?
His treasure?
And so many more things spilled from his mouth, each of them in lyrical Eislandic. She hadn’t realized until then how beautiful the language sounded to her ears.
His chest heaved. Finally, in her tongue he said, “I need…I need to be inside you, Bryn.”
She let him slide from between her lips. “You were.”
“Not your mouth, woman. I want the rest of you.”
Chuckling, she crawled forward to straddle his hips. “Maybe I will reward you for your patience.”
“Please do.” He leaned up on an elbow and kissed her breast, tonguing the nipple afterward until it beaded tight. His mouth went to work on her again while his neglected erection throbbed between them. Bryn dropped her hand to his shaft and squeezed on a long stroke. Temptation left her torn between teasing her lover more or finally having what she wanted from him.