He was on top of her before she could finish the thought, crawling over her with predatory grace until she was trapped beneath him, laughing breathlessly as he nipped at her throat.
“Ye’re comparin’ me tae wall decoration now?” he growled against her skin.
“A veryfancytapestry,” she amended, gasping as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. “Expensive. Well-crafted. The kind ye’d hang in the Great Hall tae impress—Erik!”
He’d found the laces of her dress, loosening them with practiced efficiency. “Keep talkin’, little bird. I want tae hear more about how I compare tae household furnishin’s.”
She laughed again, the sound turning into something breathier as his mouth moved lower, trailing heat across her collarbone. Five months of marriage had taught her many things—how to run a Norse household, how to navigate the politics of being a Highland bride among Viking warriors, how to stand her ground when Erik got overprotective.
But mostly, it had taught her that: how to come alive under his hands, how to crave his touch like air, how to love so completely it sometimes terrified her with its intensity.
“I love ye,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out unbidden. “In case I havenae mentioned it today.”
Erik stilled, lifting his head to look at her. Something soft flickered through his expression—that vulnerability he only ever showed her, when the Wolf disappeared and left just the man beneath.
“Ye mentioned it this mornin’,” he said quietly. “And at lunch. And again when ye ‘just bumped intae me’ on the way tae the trainin’ yard.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “But I’ll never tire of hearin’ it.”
“Good.” She pulled him down fer a kiss that started gentle but quickly turned hungry. “Because I plan tae keep sayin’ it. Every day. Multiple times. Fer the rest of our lives.”
When they finally broke apart, Erik’s fingers found her stomach, spreading wide and warm against the fabric of her loosened dress. The touch was weighted with intention.
“There’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ tae ask ye,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.
Claricia’s heart kicked. She knew that tone—the one he used when vulnerability made him gruff. “Aye?”
“These past months…” He paused, searching for words. “Ye’ve turned cold stone intae a home. And now I find meself wantin’ more. Wantin’ tae see what we could build together. What we could create.”
Understanding crashed over her. Not just about children—about legacy, about weaving their lives together so completely that something new could grow from the joining.
“A bairn,” she whispered.
“Aye.” The word came out fierce. “I want tae watch yer belly swell with our child. Want tae feel it kick and ken that we made somethin’ good out of the madness the king forced upon us.” His hand pressed firmer. “But only if it’s what ye want too.”
“Erik.” She caught his face between her palms. “D’ye really think I’ve spent five months fallin’ more deeply in love with ye and havenae imagined wee ones with yer stubborn jaw and me temper runnin’ through these halls?”
His slow smile was devastating. “They’ll be absolute terrors.”
“Aye,” she agreed, grinning back. “And we’ll love them so fiercely it’ll make the gods themselves jealous.”
Something shifted in his expression—relief and desire and profound tenderness. “Then let’s make one, lass. Right now.”
When Erik undressed her this time, his hands trembled slightly—not with inexperience but with the weight of what they were choosing. Each garment removed felt like a ritual.
“I used tae think I was cursed,” he said suddenly, pausing at the final lace of her chemise. “That everyone I loved was destined taebe torn from me.” He swallowed hard. “And then ye came, all fire and fury, and somehow ye chose this. Chose me.”
“Erik—”
“Nay, let me finish.” He pulled the chemise over her head, baring her to the golden light, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. “Ye made me believe I could have this—a home, a family, a future that daesnae end in blood. So when I’m inside ye tonight…” His voice dropped to something raw. “I need ye tae ken it’s about choosin’ hope. Choosin’ life. Choosin’ ye, over and over again.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “How am I supposed tae be seductive when ye’re makin’ me cry?”
“I dinnae need seduction.” He kissed one tear from her cheek, then the other. “I just need ye. Exactly as ye are.”
She pulled him down, kissing him with everything she couldn’t put into words—gratitude and desire and bone-deep certainty that that man, that moment, was exactly where she was meant to be. He responded with matching intensity, his hands reverent as they rediscovered skin they’d mapped a hundred times before.
His touch carried new meaning as his palm skated down her side, across the flat plane of her stomach where life might soon take root. She shivered, arching into him as his mouth followed.
“Ye’re perfect,” he breathed against her skin, his lips brushing just below her navel. “And soon ye might grow round here. Might swell with our child.” He groaned. “The thought of it drives me mad with wantin’ ye.”
