The farther back I lean, the deeper the angle. It feels as if he’s splitting me into two. Craning my neck, I watch the way he enters and withdraws, the sight only making me grow wetter. His cock is thick and hard and feels incredible.
I bounce back on each thrust and clench around him.
A string of Norse spills from his sinful lips as he throws his head back, gripping me tightly. His strokes are punishing.
Under the full moon, I feel like a water nymph because this moment is pure magic.
Ulf places his arm along the length of my spine and grasps the back of my neck to support me as I arch my back, bouncing on his cock.
“You slay me, ástin mín.” He blows out a breath. “No matter what happens, you have my heart. eternally.”
Rare moments like these only cement my feelings for him. He doesn’t love easily, but when he does, he loves with his entire heart.
He is loyal.
He is protective.
And he will always be mine.
And I will always be his.
“I love you.” My confession carries on the still night sky.
“Ég elska þig.”
Hearing him return the sentiment in Norse has me closing my eyes and chasing my climax. I explode around his cock, and he follows suit moments later.
He scoops me in his arms, our hearts pounding frantically against each other. I nestle into him, feeling at peace, my body lax. But when I feel Ulf tense up, I pull away and peer into his eyes.
I see regret.
“He saw,” he says, not needing to explain who “he” is. “I did not know until we were done. I swear it.”
And I believe him.
With a sigh, I regretfully let Ulf go and walk out of the water.
Quickly dressing as best I can in my ruined gown, I frantically search for Skarth. I do not regret what Ulf and I did. But I do regret hurting Skarth, as I know what it feels like to watch the person you love be with someone other than you. However, with Skarth, I imagine his pain is worse because my actions were voluntary.
I reach our lodgings and see Skarth sitting by the fire, his back turned to me. I don’t make my arrival a secret.
But he still doesn’t turn.
“I will not insult you and make excuses for what you saw. Or tell you that I did not want it. Because I did.”
This is probably the end of it all, but at least I’m honest.
“Thank you for your honesty,” he finally says. “But that does not lessen the need to rip Ulf’s head from his shoulders and torture him until death seems a small mercy.”
“I know.” I stand where I am and don’t attempt to console Skarth. I don’t want to patronize him.
“I accept that you love him too, but damn this all, Emeline, this fucking kills me inside!” He tosses his mug into the fire, and the alcohol ignites a large ember.
He stands, turning angrily, and if looks could kill, I would be dead where I stand. He is wrestling with what to do. His love for me demands that he accept my decision because this is what I want. But the alpha Viking in him is demanding retribution for another man touching what is his.
With fists bunched by his side and the veins in his taut forearms popping, it’s safe to assume the latter is winning. His broad chest rises and falls with quick succession. His nostrils are flared, and his eyes are a pure black.
His rigid stance screams fury, and the sight scares and excites me all in the same breath. He is desperately trying to control himself, but I can see he is quickly losing the fight.
