Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 140: Chapter 140

That night, Circe lay awake in bed, waiting for sleep to claim her but even after hours of staring at the ceiling, rest never came. Her mind refused to quiet. Again and again, it replayed the day’s events, dissecting every word, every glance, every moment.

But each time her thoughts reached their almost-kiss, her heart would lurch, and her pulse would thump wildly.

What would have happened if the messenger hadn’t interrupted them?

It was a question that refused to leave her alone. The thought had rooted itself in her mind and refused to loosen its hold.

How would it feel to kiss her husband?

Before today, the idea had never even crossed her mind. But now it was all she could think about. The way he had looked at her as he leaned in, his breath fanning against her lips, his surety in the moment, like he had been waiting for it far longer than she realized.

He obviously cared about her. She had known that for some time without him ever needing to say it. His actions spoke for him in ways words never could.

But back then, it hadn’t mattered to her whether his affection was romantic or merely platonic.

Now... now the room felt too big without him in it.

She still hadn’t gotten past the fact that she had almost kissed him.

Then came the faint sound of a doorknob turning.

Her breath caught.

And as though she had summoned him by sheer will alone, Ragnar stepped inside. The door closed softly behind him.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering candles that painted his features in muted gold, and though she couldn’t see his expression clearly, she felt his presence fill the space between them.

But even in the dimly lit room, there was no way he could possibly miss the sight of her lying on the bed.

She couldn’t find it in her tonight to make him chase her around the manor. So here she was in his room, in his bed because she wanted him to find her.

Her breaths stuttered in her chest as the sound of his footsteps grew near. She remained completely still even though what she wanted to do was sit up and meet him halfway.

Without a word, Ragnar sat down at the edge of the bed, just beyond her direct line of sight.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as though his eyes were mapping out every curve, every inch of her.

"You’re still awake," he said after a moment, his voice low and rough, the sound vibrating through her entire body.

Circe swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She managed a soft hum before shifting, propping herself up against the headboard.

"I couldn’t fall asleep," she admitted honestly because somehow lying to him now felt impossible.

Ragnar said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her all the same. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

She tried to look away but failed. "You shouldn’t be here," she murmured, though the words came out half-hearted.

He never stayed on the bed with her, always choosing to keep a safe distance by sleeping on the armchair. But tonight, the boundaries between them felt looser somehow.

"Shouldn’t I?" His tone was calm, but beneath it was something else, a question edged with want.

Her chest tightened.

"Yes," she said, though even to her own ears, the excuse sounded fragile.

He tilted his head slightly, and the faintest hint of a smile curved his lips. "You’re the one in my bed, Circe."

That made her blink. Those words alone made heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

"You can’t really complain when you keep bringing me back here each night."

His expression darkened slightly, his gaze sharpening. "I would never complain about having you in my bed, wife."

Her stomach fluttered. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

The silence that followed was thick, and charged. The air between them felt alive, humming with something dangerously close to breaking free.

She should have turned away, should have said something to defuse the tension, but instead, she found herself inching closer, just a little at first. Then again.

Each small shift felt like a step toward something inevitable. Each time she moved, she questioned her sanity, but never enough to stop.

It was as if something had taken over her body, guiding her toward him and she didn’t want to fight it.

The recklessness from earlier still persisted, urging her forward. Perhaps tomorrow she would be able to examine her actions with far more clarity, but right then, with just the two of them there, she couldn’t even bring herself to care.

Ragnar didn’t move. He only watched her. He watched like a man starved, obsessively tracking her movement with his gaze.

No one had ever looked at her that way before, with that kind of quiet reverence and longing. It sent a shiver coursing down her spine.

Still, he waited. And it thrilled him, knowing she wanted this just as much as he did.

Even with the desire written plainly across his face, he stayed exactly where he was, giving her all the control in this situation, letting her come to him at her own pace.

He was close now, close enough that she could see the tiny black spot just below his scar.

Her breath hitched.

"I want to kiss you," he said when she had gotten near enough.

Not knowing what to say, Circe just nodded. She wanted him to do it, more than she was willing to admit. She wanted to kiss him too.

Instead of leaning in, Ragnar took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Still holding her gaze, he pressed a feather-light kiss on her knuckles.

Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm in her chest. It was loud enough that she was certain he could hear each individual heartbeat.

Dropping her hand, he hoisted her up and onto his lap, like she weighed nothing.

She let out a quiet gasp at the sudden action. It was like he had been waiting patiently for her to get close enough to snatch her away, the perfect trap.

Circe didn’t mind either way.

He traced the lines of her face with his thumb, slow, intimate caresses that she found she enjoyed.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, once, twice.

When his lips finally met hers, her breath froze in her lungs.

At first, it was barely a touch, his lips brushing against hers like the softest whisper, as though either of them could still step away from this.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to still.

His hand once again found the curve of her jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of her cheek. The kiss deepened, slowly at first, then with a growing hunger neither had planned for.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, drawing him in as his lips pressed harder, more demanding now, tasting, claiming.

The world around them blurred, lost to the rhythm of their breaths and the heat that coiled between them, gentleness giving way to something raw, unguarded, and all-consuming.