"What can I say, baby? Something about watching you get all prim and proper after I've had you screaming my name with your dress around your waist." His fingers trace the neckline of my dress, just barely skimming the swell of my breast. "Besides, Angel, you're the one who started this little game. Don't act like you don't get off on the possibility of getting caught."
"Fine, you caught me," I purr, batting my eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. "I have a thing for my man getting all territorial in public. I mean, who wouldn't get hot and bothered watching you go all alpha hole?" I trail a finger down his chest, my smile turning devilish. "Besides, what's the point of having a centuries-old sex god for a mate if I can't make other women cry with envy? Consider it my contribution to public entertainment—spreading sexual frustration one bathroom quickie at a time."
Rhyland's laugh rumbles deep in his chest, a sound that's equal parts amusement and dark promise. His eyes darken to that dangerous midnight blue as he presses me harder against the counter, the marble edge digging into my back. "You're one kinky little minx, you know that?" His hand slides possessively up my thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Just when I think I've got you figured out, you pull something like this." His fingers dig into my flesh with delicious pressure. "Making me want to do very,verybad things to you."
I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "What can I say? A girl's got to keep her thousand-year-old Viking on his toes." I lean in close, letting my breath ghost over his ear as I whisper, "Besides, your 'bad things' are myfavoritethings. So really, we both win."
"Fuck, Angel," he groans, his eyes dancing with wicked amusement. "A millennium on this earth, and you're still the only one who can make me lose my damn mind." His thumb traces my bottom lip, his gaze following the movement. "And enjoy every second of it."
I smile, hooking my fingers through his belt loops. "Well, let's put that millennium of experience to good use." I tug him toward the door with a deliberate sway of my hips. "Because this dance floor isn't going to set itself on fire, and I've got plans for you that don't involve hiding in bathrooms all night." I throw him a saucy wink over my shoulder. "Though I thoroughly enjoyed our little... intermission."
Warmth surrounds me as consciousness returns. Rhyland's muscled arm drapes heavily across my waist, his breath steady against my neck. The goosedown blanket whispers with each slight movement, a cocoon of softness around our tangled limbs. His morning wood presses insistently against the curve of my ass, a reminder that some parts of him never truly rest.
Embers pop and hiss in the stone fireplace, casting amber shadows across the room. Beyond the frost-etched windows, snow falls in thick, silent curtains, transforming the world into a pristine white canvas. A Christmas card scene come to life.
I smile, remembering last night—Rhyland's hands possessively gripping my hips on the dance floor, his body moving perfectly with mine. His eyes darken—watching me, that predatory intensity making my skin tingle. For a man who claimed to hate dancing, the way he'd rolled his hips against mine told a different story. The memory alone sends heat pooling low in my belly.
After our bathroom encounter, I'd practically had to bite my tongue to keep from dragging him back for round two. My body still bears the evidence of our passion—delicious soreness between my thighs, faint bruises blooming where his fingers had gripped too hard.
I arch my back slightly, pressing against his hardness, feeling him stir in response.
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer against the hard planes of his chest. Lips brush the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, sending shivers cascading down my spine.
"Mmm," I murmur, nuzzling closer.
Rhyland's kisses grow more deliberate, trailing up my neck to the sensitive spot behind my ear. His beard scrapes deliciously against my skin, the slight sting only heightening the sensation. His hand slides up from my waist, palm warm as it cups my breast, thumb circling lazily over my nipple until it pebbles beneath his touch.
"Merry Christmas, Angel," he rumbles, voice still rough with sleep. His morning voice—that deep, gravelly sound—never fails to make my stomach flutter. His cock presses more insistently against me as he rocks his hips forward.
His other hand sweeps my hair aside, exposing more of my neck to his attention. "Best Christmas morning I've had in centuries," he murmurs against my skin between kisses. "Waking up with you in my arms... nothing compares."
I turn in his embrace, needing to see his face. Morning sunlight filtering through the snow-frosted windows catches in his ocean-blue eyes, making them glow like sapphires. His black hair stands in adorable sleep-mussed spikes, and the sight of him—powerful, ancient warrior with bed head—makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
"Merry Christmas," I whisper back, reaching up to trace the bearded line of his jaw.
His eyes darken at my touch, pupils dilating. Without warning, he rolls me onto my back, his powerful body caging mine against the mattress. The blanket slides away, cool air kissing my skin for just a moment before Rhyland's heat envelops me again.
"I have a present for you," he murmurs, lips hovering above mine.
"I can feel that," I tease, shifting my hips against his obvious arousal.
A wicked smile curves his mouth. "Not that. Though that's yours whenever you want it." He reaches over to the nightstand, muscles flexing beneath his tattooed skin.
His jaw is set with purpose when he turns back, but his eyes betray everything.
"I've walked this earth for over a thousand years," he states, voice deep and unwavering. "I've conquered enemies, ruled territories, and amassed more wealth than most kingdoms. I thought I had everything I could possibly need."
His hand emerges with a small midnight-blue velvet box, fingers curling possessively around it.
"Then you crashed into my existence and proved me wrong."
My breath catches, a lump forming in my throat as he continues.
"Before you, I was just... surviving. Moving through time without purpose, without true connection." His voice breaks slightly. "You didn't just walk into that club that night, Dani. You walked into my soul and lit up every dark corner I'd forgotten existed."
He opens the box with trembling fingers. Inside nestles a ring that steals my breath—a brilliant oval diamond surrounded by sapphires that match his eyes perfectly, set in intricate white gold that resembles ancient Norse knotwork.
"Our souls are already bound in ways no human ceremony could match," he says, voice dropping. "But you deserve everything, Angel. And I intend to give it to you."
