Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 199: Chapter 199

The tension coiled tight in her belly, a sweet, agonizing pressure that built with every flick of his tongue, every suction of his lips. It wound tighter and tighter until she was sobbing his name, her hips bucking off the mattress in a desperate rhythm.

When it finally snapped, the world fractured into brilliant white shards. Circe cried out, a gasping sound that was swallowed by the heavy velvet curtains of the room. The pleasure was like a physical blow, radiating outward from where he devoured her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air, her fingers clutching his hair so tightly she feared she might hurt him.

Ragnar didn’t stop, not immediately. He stayed with her through the aftershocks, soothing the sensitive flesh with broad, flat licks until her whimpers turned into ragged, shallow breaths.

Only then did he pull back. He pressed a lingering, proprietary kiss to the inside of her thigh before moving up her body. He settled beside her, gathering her limp form into his arms. Circe buried her face in the crook of his neck, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She felt completely boneless, stripped raw and left drifting in the hazy aftermath of the storm he had conjured.

"Circe," he murmured her name softly, his hand resuming that hypnotic stroking down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how long they lay there, tangled in the sheets and the scent of their intimacy. It might have been minutes or even hours. A heavy chill hung in the air that morning.

Eventually, the damp coolness of the morning air began to prickle at her skin, reminding her that she was naked under her thin shift and covered in a sheen of sweat.

Ragnar seemed to sense her shift in temperature before she did. He pulled away slightly, his dark eyes scanning her flushed face and disheveled hair with a look of profound satisfaction.

"You’re trembling," he noted, his voice a low rumble.

"I’m fine," she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper. "Just... cold."

That was why she hated the colder months. She always felt the chill in the air far too keenly.

"We can’t have that."

He sat up, the movement effortless, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Circe watched him, her gaze tracing the broad expanse of his back, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin as he walked out of the room, returning moments later with four maids following behind him, holding buckets of warm water.

The maids hurried to the bathing chamber, filling up the tub as fast as they could and left as quickly as they came.

Before Circe could reach for the sheet to cover herself, he was there, scooping her up into his arms as easily as if she were made of feathers.

"Ragnar, I can walk," she protested stubbornly, though she instinctively looped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I know you can," he said simply. "But I prefer to carry you."

He carried her into the bathing chamber, placed her down next to the tub and tugged her shift over her head, leaving her completely bare. He tested the water with a hand, nodded to himself, and turned back to her and took her hand as he helped her into it slowly.

The water was perfect, hot enough to be relaxing but not enough to burn. Circe sighed as the warmth enveloped her, the water rising to her chest, covering all the marks he left on her skin from his passionate exploration.

Ragnar didn’t leave. Instead, he grabbed a small stool and sat beside the tub. He picked up the soft wash cloth.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching him lather the cloth. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"Taking care of you," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

He reached out, taking her arm and running the warm, soapy cloth gently down the length of it. His touch was different now, gone was the demanding, ravenous lover. In his place was a man of infinite patience. He washed her arm, his thumb rubbing circles into her wrist, before moving to her shoulder and neck. freewebnσvel.cѳm

The juxtaposition made her throat dry. It was one thing to be ravaged by him and it was another entirely to sit naked in the morning light while he tended to her with such domestic gentleness. It felt more intimate, somehow. More dangerous to the walls she tried to keep around her heart.

"You are staring," he murmured, dipping the cloth back into the water and squeezing it out over her chest, the warm rivulets chasing away the last of the chill.

"I’m trying to figure you out," Circe admitted softly. She didn’t pull away as he began to wash her breasts, his movements clinical yet reverent, lingering on each one longer than he should.

Ragnar smirked, though his eyes remained focused on his task. "What is there to figure out, Princess? I am a simple man. I see what I want, and I cherish it."

"You are anything but simple," she countered. "And you switch so easily. From that," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the bed, "to this."

He paused, his hand resting over her heart. He looked up, meeting her gaze. The playfulness faded from his expression, replaced by an intensity that pinned her in place.

He moved the cloth to her back, leaning forward to reach behind her. Circe closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, the friction of the cloth against her skin grounding her.

"Turn around," he instructed softly.

She obeyed, shifting in the water so her back was to him. He washed her spine, his knuckles grazing her skin, working out the tension in her shoulders. The silence that fell between them wasn’t heavy, it was comfortable, filled only by the sound of water splashing and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"Ragnar?"

"Hmm?"

" I much prefer this side of you."

He pressed a kiss to the wet skin of her shoulder, his lips hot against the cooling water droplets.