“Och… och…och, Erik!”The orgasm hit her like lightning strike—blocking everything out except the feel of Erik holding her through it, his mouth swallowing her cries as she shook and gasped against him.
When she came back to herself, he was watching her with such raw want it stole her breath all over again. She pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him with renewed urgency. Her hand drifted lower, wrapping around the hard length of him beneath the water, and the sound he made was somewhere between agony and bliss.
“Claricia—” His hand caught her wrist, gently stopping her. “If ye keep that up, I’ll spend before we even start.”
“Then dinnae wait.” She nipped at his bottom lip, emboldened by the hunger in his eyes.
He lifted her again, positioning her carefully. The blunt head of his arousal pressed against her entrance, and she tensed involuntarily.
“Easy.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth––soft, soothing touches even as every line of his body screamed with restraint. “We’ll go slow.”
“I’m nae made of s?—”
The words cut off in a sharp gasp as he pushed forward, just the tip of him breaching her. The stretch burned, uncomfortable and strange. “Breathe, lass.” His voice was strained. “’Tis alright.”
She forced air into her lungs, tried to relax muscles that wanted to clench tight. Erik held still, letting her adjust, pressing kisses to her temple as he murmured things in a language she didn’t understand—Old Norse, maybe, prayers or curses or both.
He pushed deeper, slowly and carefully, watching her face for any sign of pain. There was discomfort, yes—a burning fullness that made her catch her breath—but underneath it, was the promise of something else entirely.
“Gods, Claricia…” Erik breathed when he was fully seated inside her. “Ye feel… like ye were made… just fer me.”
He gave her time to adjust, peppering her face with kisses until the initial sting faded into something warmer. Then he started to move—slow, shallow thrusts that dragged against something inside her that coiled tighter and tighter with each move he made.
“Erik… I… och!”
His movements grew bolder. She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, and they both groaned at thesensation. The water lapped around them, steam rising in ghostly tendrils into the cold night air.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough as stone. “I want tae look intae yer eyes when ye come fer me pleasurin’ of ye, wife.”
She forced her eyes open, met that storm-gray gaze, and what she saw there nearly undid her. Raw hunger, yes, but also something else. Something tender and fierce and terrifying in its intensity.
He loves me.And Saints help me, I might love him too.
The realization hit her at the same moment another orgasm crested.
“Erik!” His name was a cry and a prayer as she shattered around him.
He followed her over with a hoarse shout, his whole body going rigid as he poured himself into her. Then they were both gasping, holding each other like drowning people clutching wreckage, as reality slowly seeped back in.
“That was...” Claricia couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Aye.” Erik pressed his forehead to hers, still breathing hard.
They stayed like that for long moments, tangled together in the warm water, neither willing to break the spell. Finally, Erik pulled back just enough to look at her.
“Nay regrets?”
“Nay regrets,” she confirmed, then added with a small smile, “Though I may never look at yer ‘puddle’ the same way again.”
He laughed then, a real laugh, the sound rich and warm. “Good. Means ye’ll come back here with me.”
“Presumptuous.”
“Optimistic.” He kissed her softly, tenderly. “There’s a difference.”
When they finally emerged from the water, Erik wrapped her in her cloak and pulled her close, both of them dripping and breathless and utterly content. The night air bit at their skin, but neither seemed to notice.
Claricia rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “Erik?”
