Free Web NovelChapter 192: Chapter 192
The carriage lurched over a dip in the road, pressing Circe more firmly into his lap, and the sudden friction tore a low, broken sound from Ragnar’s throat. His hips rolled upward once, his hard length unmistakable beneath the layers of silk and wool that still separated them.
Circe gasped at the contact, her thighs tightening around his, the heat pooling low and languid between her legs. She felt his length throb against her, thick and insistent, and the knowledge that he wanted her this fiercely sent a fresh rush of want and arousal through her entire body.
"Circe," he rasped, the single word ragged, sounding almost as desperate as he felt.
His hands dragged the delicate fabric of her skirts higher, inch by torturous inch, until cool air kissed the backs of her thighs and the lace edges of her stockings.
His palms followed, calloused and warm, tracing the soft skin above the garters with something close to worship.
She arched into the touch, her head falling back, exposing the long column of her throat to his mouth again. He took the invitation without hesitation, teeth grazing the tender spot just below her ear before he sucked hard enough to brand her.
A helpless moan slipped from her lips, muffled against his shoulder as she clutched him closer.
His wandering fingers found the ties at the back of her gown, small, maddening bows that had taunted as he watched her leave the manor to attend the garden party earlier that day.
He attacked it immediately. One tug, then another, and another until her bodice finally loosened, sagging forward until the swell of her breasts threatened to spill free of her corset and the low neckline of her shift.
Ragnar’s breath stuttered against her skin.
"Gods, look at you," he murmured, reverence and hunger evident in his voice. He brushed his knuckles over the upper curves left bare by the dipping neckline, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. When his thumb grazed a hardened nipple through thin linen, Circe jerked in his arms, a sharp cry catching in her throat.
The carriage swayed again, harder this time, and she rocked against him in the motion. They both groaned at the exquisite drag of fabric between them.
Ragnar’s restraint was a forgotten thing now. She could feel it in the tremor of his hands, the way his hips kept seeking hers with small, desperate thrusts.
He slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her bodice, pushing it down until one breast spilled into his waiting palm. The first brush of his bare hand against her sensitive skin made her whimper his name, every part of her utterly responsive to him and his touch. He cupped her gently, reverently, then circled the tight peak with his thumb until she writhed, chasing more.
"Please," she whispered, not even sure what she was begging for. More pressure, more heat, or more of him.
Ragnar’s answer was a low growl. His free hand slid beneath her gathered skirts, tracing the trembling line of her thigh until his fingertips brushed between her legs. Circe froze, breath hitching at the contact, every nerve ending set alight. freewёbnoνel.com
"Already so wet for me," he breathed against her neck, wonder and raw desire threading through his voice. He pressed one slow, deliberate stroke along her inner thigh, and her entire body shuddered. "Tell me you want this."
"Yes," she panted, nodding frantically, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Yes, Ragnar, please—"
The plea snapped the last of his control. The sharp rip barely registered before cool air and hot fingers met slick, swollen flesh. Circe moaned when he parted her, gliding through her wetness with careful attention, circling the small, aching bud at the apex until her thighs shook and her back bowed.
A thick finger slid into her slowly, stretching her open with exquisite care.
The intrusion felt uncomfortable at first, causing her to clench around him instantly, drawing a guttural curse from his lips.
He pumped it in once, twice, curling it just so, and sparks exploded behind her eyes.
His finger drove in deep, his thumb tormenting her clit, his mouth returning to hers to swallow every broken sound she made.
Her world narrowed to the slick slide of his finger inside her, the scrape of his stubble against her jaw, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against her hip with every roll of the wheels beneath them.
She was close, so close, heat coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, her breath coming in sharp, desperate pants against his lips.
"Ragnar," she whimpered, nails now digging into his nape. "I’m—"
"I know, Princess," he whispered hoarsely, increasing the pressure, the pace, until the coil snapped and pleasure crashed over her in blinding waves. She shattered in his hold, pulsing and clenching, her moans muffled against his mouth as he kissed her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she sagged, boneless, in his arms.
Ragnar held her close, his lips brushing her temple, her damp brow, the corner of her trembling mouth.
He was far from finished with her.
And from the way her hand was already sliding down his chest, seeking more of him, Circe felt exactly the same.
Circe’s fingers trembled slightly as they drifted even lower down his body. She was only able to graze the visible outline of his cock before Ragnar caught her wrist with a ragged laugh that vibrated through his chest into hers.
"Not yet, princess," he murmured, the words rough as gravel. "Let me look at you first. Let me have this."
He shifted her slightly, settling her more securely astride one powerful thigh, and drew the sagging bodice lower. The thin linen of her shift caught on the stiff peak of her other breast before giving way, baring her fully to his hungry gaze. Cool air tightened her nipples further and his eyes turned molten.
"Beautiful," he whispered in awe, taken by the sight of her looking so utterly undone. Both breasts were free now, and just like back in their chambers, she didn’t bother hiding herself from him.
He cupped them together, thumbs sweeping slow, lazy arcs beneath the sensitive undersides, watching in fascination as her back arched, offering more. When he brushed both nipples at once, lightly, teasingly, Circe dug her nails deeper into his skin, and would no doubt leave bruises afterwards. Bruises he intended to wear like a badge of honor.
"Ragnar—"
"Shh. I will take good care of you."
He bent to her, mouth closing over one of her breasts with deliberate tenderness, tongue swirling slow and wet around the peak until she moaned. His hand cradled the breast he had tasted, rolling the slick nipple gently between his finger and thumb, keeping the pleasure sharp and constant, while his other hand slipped back under her dress.
Every tug sent a bright wire of sensation straight to where his finger moved lazily between her thighs, gathering her wetness, spreading it in glistening circles over her swollen folds.
Her hips rocked of their own accord, chasing his touch. He let her, guiding the rhythm while he worshiped her breasts with mouth and hand, alternating until both peaks gleamed dark and she was trembling on the knife-edge again. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
"Again," he coaxed against her skin, voice raw. "Let me feel you come apart once more before we’re home."
He pressed a second finger alongside the one already buried deep, stretching her gently, carefully, curling them in a slow, devastating stroke that had her seeing stars. His thumb settled firmly over her clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.
The pleasure coiled viciously fast this time, fed by the wet heat of his mouth on her breast, the steady pump of his fingers, the roll of the carriage that rocked her down harder onto his hand.
She broke with a low, drawn out moan, thighs clamping around his wrist, inner muscles fluttering wildly around his fingers. He groaned against her skin, drawing the climax out as long as he could until she sagged, limp and spent.
The carriage slowed. Gravel crunched beneath the wheels as iron gates creaked somewhere ahead. Ragnar withdrew his fingers with exquisite care, bringing them to his mouth to taste her while she watched, dazed and flushed.
He tucked her breasts back into the crumpled shift, drew the bodice up, and began retying the tiny bows at her back with surprisingly steady hands.
A sharp rap sounded at the door.
"Your highness? We have arrived," the footman called, voice muffled through the lacquered wood.
Ragnar pressed a final kiss to the mark blooming beneath her ear. People only had to take one look at her and her flush cheeks and they would know what she and Ragnar had been up to. But Ragnar didn’t seem bothered by it at all.
"One moment," he answered, calm as ever, though his eyes promised chaos the instant they were alone again.
He smoothed her skirts down over shaking thighs, laced fingers with hers, and lifted her hand to his lips.
"Welcome home, wife."
