“Is this what you want from me?” he demanded. “To forget about Styr by using me?”
“No,” she breathed. But his actions were so unexpected, she couldn’t stop the thrill of desire that pushed through her. Needs pounded within her veins and she wanted him closer still, hoping he would slide inside.
Elena reveled in the turbulent desire that he’d kindled. It had been such a long time since she’d been with a man. And this forbidden lover brought out a side to her that she’d never known was there.
He was swollen and hard. A moment later, he lifted her to straddle him. His hands dug into the mattress, his eyes flaring. “I swear, I won’t touch you. If this is what you want from me, you’ll have to take it yourself.”
His fury held a violent edge that frightened her. He was trying to prove a point and though she ought to be ashamed, she’dnever imagined it would go this far. She sat upon his lap, her skirts tangled at her knees. Likely he expected her to balk and refuse him.
He would never expect her to take the offering.
Elena reached for his erection. He was large and firm, his skin like heated silk. The moment she took his shaft in one hand, he nearly sat up, giving a sharp intake of breath.
Without speaking, she held him, fisting his length while she adjusted her skirts. He was trying to intimidate her, and it had nearly worked...except that she’d never felt such arousal before.
She wanted him inside her, despite the cold rage. He would hate her for this and she didn’t care.
Gently, she pushed the rounded head of him into her moist entrance, a cry escaping her at the delicious friction. Ragnar sat up, his hands clenching her hips. There was a blend of lust and hatred in his eyes, as if he’d never expected her to obey him.
She began to move up and down against him and the act took on a more primal note. With both of them clothed, she could only lose herself in sensation, for she could not see his body entering hers. She could only feel.
It was like a steel dagger sheathed within her as she continued to move against him, thrusting gently.
“You didn’t think I would, did you?” she accused. She lifted his hands to the thin linen covering her breasts, needing his touch to push her harder.
But he let them fall back to his sides. “No. And I’ll not help you in this, either.”
His words struck her cold and she understood, then, that he truly believed this was about using him. Her conscience cried out at how wrong it was, while her body continued to squeeze him, thrusting and withdrawing.
There was perspiration on his brow and a tightness on his features. He was trying not to take pleasure and the more he fought her, the more she decided that she would enjoy this.
She unfastened the brooches that held her apron against her gown, then loosened the laces until her bodice fell lower. With her own hands, she reached for her breasts, letting him see them as she rode him at her own pace.
The sight of her bare flesh did evoke a reaction, for she sensed him pressing back. With her hands, she caressed her own nipples, letting him look his fill. No longer did she care that he wasn’t going to touch her. The heady sensation of being in command was something she’d never before experienced.
Always she had been beneath her husband, accepting him into her body. Never had she taken him. Her breathing went unsteady, and she bounced harder, pinching her own nipples as she rode him. Ragnar’s eyes were closed, his face taut as he struggled against her.
He was an iron shaft within her, so rigid—she had never felt so filled. She had done this to him. And by the gods, she would bring him to such a release, he would regret what he’d said to her.
With one hand on her breast, she moved the other down her body to the place where they were joined. Her finger and thumb surrounded him as she sank upon his erection.
More. She wanted him writhing beneath her, and she increased the pace. He closed his eyes, his face strained as she continued to thrust against him. The pressure against her sensitive nub was enough to make her come apart, shuddering as the pleasure crested within.
He was fighting to breathe and she squeezed him hard, demanding, “Did you feel the way you pleasured me, Ragnar?” She never ceased her motions, and she saw how close he was to the edge. “It felt so good.”
Her words were what changed him. His hands came against her hips, jacking against her with violent thrusts as he filled her. A groan tore from him as he emptied himself, taking the release he needed.
Elena lay atop him, her heart thundering inside. She rested her cheek against him, her body still filled with his heat. Her thighs were slick with his essence and it suddenly occurred to her that this joining might result in a child. She’d not considered it before, but what if it was Styr who could not sire children? What if Ragnar could give her the gift that she wanted most?
He didn’t embrace her or whisper words of love. Instead, he gently extricated himself from her body and adjusted his clothing, rising from the bed. Without a word, he left her there.
Leaving her to wonder what she’d just done.
Chapter Thirteen
Ragnar didn’t see her for a full day. He avoided Elena, furious with himself for what he’d allowed to happen.
Last night had been his mistake for thinking boldness would push her away. Never in his life had he imagined Elena would take him. The memory of her haunted him, of her pliant flesh and the way she’d taken her release from him.
