Free Web NovelChapter 190: Chapter 190
The carriage lurched once more as it hit another bump on the road, and Circe’s balance went with it.
One moment she sat primly at Ragnar’s side, trying to maintain her composure, and the next she tipped toward him in a slow, helpless glide. Her shoulder bumped his arm, her hip pressing firmly into his thigh. A soft, breathless sound escaped her, sounding like a startled gasp, as she caught herself against the solid wall of his chest.
His hand tightened around her, strong fingers closing around her upper arm to steady her. The familiar scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and something distinctly him—wrapped around her, clouding her senses until she couldn’t think straight.
For a suspended heartbeat, she didn’t move away.
"Careful," Ragnar murmured, his voice low and smooth, the single word brushing against her skin like velvet. "The road is quite uneven."
She nodded, momentarily unable to find her voice. Her mind was spinning in a warm, languid way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The wine had seeped through her system, loosening the tension in her limbs, softening the sharp edges of her thoughts, all her heaviest worries fading into distant, harmless shapes.
Circe swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She could hear the wild thundering of her heart, and she knew that he could hear it too.
The seconds stretched between them, filled with a silence neither of them seemed eager to break. The carriage rocked gently beneath them, each sway seemingly adding to the growing tension until it was ready to snap.
He was the first to shatter the stillness.
"The way you are staring..." he said easily, amusement threading through his voice. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
"Concerned, but only the tiniest bit. I wouldn’t want you to worry too much," she replied. The wine swirling through her blood lent her a type of boldness she had never known, washing away her usual inhibitions. Her tongue felt looser, her thoughts freer, and every word slipped out before she could recall it.
His brows lifted a fraction, the closest thing to outright surprise Ragnar had shown.
Her chest felt lighter than air, her words slippery, harder to catch and hold back. Something inside her pushed forward.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Circe lifted a hand. Her fingers hovered for a breath in the scant space between them, trembling slightly with the weight of the moment.
He didn’t speak. He simply watched her, curious about what she would do next.
Slowly, she let her fingertips brush his jaw, grazing the stubble there. The touch was feather-light at first, then firmer as she traced the line of his jaw, the angle just beneath his ear. She mapped the contours of his face as though trying to memorize every curve and dip of it, every place her hand had longed to touch.
Ragnar went perfectly still, the only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. His grip remained securely around her arm, anchoring her, while her free hand drifted across his face with soft, deliberate strokes.
When he didn’t stop her, her courage swelled. Her thumb skimmed over the corner of his mouth, lingering there.
He exhaled sharply, the warm rush of his breath ghosting across her already fevered skin. When she met his gaze, she found nothing hidden as his desire was reflected back at her, raw and unguarded, enough to steal what little breath she had left.
Having those piercing eyes locked onto her was something she doubted she would ever grow used to, how the intensity of it always set her alight, even now. Being the sole focus of his desire came with a heady rush, more intoxicating than the wine, more potent than the whiskey, so unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
She was close. So close that he only had to lean in the slightest bit to capture her lips.
"Circe." Her name escaped him like a plea, pulled from the deepest part of his chest.
She hummed softly, fascinated by the way his mouth shaped the syllables, by the gravelly yearning beneath them.
"You’ve been drinking," he reminded her quietly, though the warning seemed aimed more at himself than at her.
He often prided himself on how much self-control he possessed, but there was only so much temptation a person could take before they snapped. And Circe, sitting here flushed and breathless in her pastel pink and cream dress, looked achingly delectable. His free hand flexed at his side as he fought the urge to pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless, knowing it was a losing battle. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"Not that much," she muttered, her thumb brushing along his bottom lip again. She had always wanted to touch him like this, from the moment he undressed her in their chambers, from the moment she knew what it felt like to kiss him. Now, with just the two of them in the carriage and barely a whisper of space between them, she regretted ever asking him to stop.
The carriage rocked again, nudging their faces even closer.
"Are you going to move away?" he asked, the question slipping out in a whisper.
She held his gaze, unblinking. She could almost see the war he was fighting with himself, a battle between want and restraint.
Clarity sliced through her drunken haze in an instant. She took in their position with fresh awareness, and instead of recoiling, she found herself wanting, needing to stay exactly where she was.
"I’m trying to decide if I should," she admitted softly. "But I can’t think of a single reason why I should."
Those words were his undoing.
Ragnar closed the remaining breath of space between them and claimed her mouth with his. The kiss was fevered and consuming, an eruption of all the tension they’d been holding back for far too long.
She parted her lips for him instantly, offering herself without hesitation. He took the invitation with a low, hungry sound, deepening the kiss as his mouth moved against hers. He licked and nipped, savoring her, tasting the hint of wine still lingering on her tongue.
