Free Web NovelChapter 206: Chapter 206
The sharp, gleaming tip of a sword was pointed straight at his face when he finally managed to pry his eyes open. Circe loomed over him where he lay sprawled across the bed, and even with his eyelids still heavy with sleep, he recognized the weapon instantly.
It was his sword.
Now he watched his wife gripping the hilt with the very same fingers that had clutched at his shoulders hours ago while he feasted on the tender, sensitive flesh between her thighs. She wielded the blade with an effortless, and frightening grace, like the weapon had been forged for her hand alone.
It wasn’t the sword he used on a regular basis. This one was long and straight, the steel etched with delicate motifs that caught the morning light. It lacked the sturdiness of the blades he usually carried into battle. The hilt gleamed with elegant gold filigree, a sword suited more for ceremonial purposes.
A weapon like that would be out of place on a battlefield.
Yet even a ceremonial blade could spill blood in the wrong hands.
And Circe’s hands, for all their softness, were precisely the wrong ones. His stubborn wife had a talent—no, a curse—for turning anything she touched into a weapon.
She must have discovered the exact spot where he hid the sword. She spent more time in this room than he did, and with her boundless curiosity, he doubted very much that any drawer, chest, or cleverly concealed nook had escaped her thorough inspection. It was likely how she had stumbled upon the weapon she now pointed at him with such unwavering confidence.
Ragnar should have realized something was amiss the moment he felt her side of the bed cold and empty.
He was a light sleeper, always had been, and he usually woke before she did. But last night her perfect cunt had nearly sucked the soul out of his body.
He had traced invisible lines over her soft skin after he was done wiping her down, lazy patterns that made her squirm, and before he could think better of it, he had found himself between her thighs again, sliding into her tight heat with a groan.
Her soft, breathy whimpers had pulled him deeper, made him needier, until he spilled inside her.
By the third round, he had felt utterly spent, his body going limp and boneless, his thoughts wiped completely clean. Fatigue had consumed him, collapsing into blissful deep sleep for the first time in years.
Now she moved, bringing the tip of the sword even closer to his face. The gesture might have been threatening if not for the sly little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, the one she clearly tried, and failed, to hide.
Ragnar’s groggy mind struggled to determine whether he should be concerned that his wife was brandishing a sword over him. Surely being aroused by this sight was not the appropriate response. Yet there he was, naked beneath the covers, half-hard already, painfully aware of the seductive danger she embodied.
She had slipped back into the flimsy nightgown he had peeled off her last night, the thin fabric concealing most of the marks he had left on her except for the cluster along her neck—those he had placed there and now gaze at with pride.
Her long brown hair was loose and ruffled, tumbling in disarray down her back and shoulders. She looked every inch the woman who had been thoroughly debauched, worshipped, and ravished by him, and the sight pleased him beyond measure.
A slow, lazy smile curved his lips as he took in her menacing stance while amusement shimmered unmistakably in his eyes.
"I must not have done a good enough job last night if you are awake this early and already causing mischief," he drawled, his voice thick with teasing amusement despite the steel hovering dangerously close to his eye. If she moved even a fraction closer, she risked poking the damn thing out.
But Ragnar did not look worried. He wasn’t even pretending to be. It was a case of misplaced priorities as he was far more concerned with the urge to pull the nightgown off her head again, drag her back beneath him, and lick between her thighs until her voice broke on his name.
He liked the sounds she made. Loved them, in fact. And knowing how responsive she was to his touch, he doubted it would take long before she was trembling and moaning all over again.
A cold draft slipped through the room, the chill of late autumn creeping in as winter drew nearer. The air bit at exposed skin, and her nipples hardened beneath the thin cloth, pressing against the fabric in a way that made his cock twitch under the covers.
She gave an incredulous scoff and the sound only made his cock hardened further. Her stubborn nature and ferocity had been what first sparked his affection for her, long before he had been well and truly gone for her. Those fiery traits translated perfectly to the bedroom, as evidenced by the fading crescent-shaped indents marring his shoulders and back.
"Mischief?" she snorted. "You call this mischief? I’m holding a sword, Ragnar. You should be scared of what I plan to do with it."
She wiggled the blade threateningly as though to prove her point, but the lack of heat in her voice only made the scene more absurd and more arousing.
"Ah, yes. I’m terrified," he said dryly, his gaze raking down her body with slow, molten hunger. He devoured her with his eyes, every inch of her.
He shifted, pushing himself upright against the headboard. The movement made the covers fall and slide down, exposing his bare torso to the cool air and to her gaze. Long stretches of skin, sculpted muscle, and fading scratches revealed themselves, all for her eyes alone.
And the moment her gaze dipped, lingering for a second too long, he knew exactly where this morning was headed.
Circe was too smart to fall for the trap immediately, so Ragnar waited patiently until her attention slipped the tiniest bit. Quick as a whip, he knocked the sword cleanly from her hand. Her lips parted in shock, but before she could recover, he hooked an arm around her waist, dragged her down onto the bed with him, and rolled, pinning her beneath his weight.
The covers had slipped off completely, leaving him gloriously, and shamelessly naked above her.
She squawked in outrage, only for the sound to dissolve the moment he kissed her. He knew she hadn’t truly meant to harm him. If Circe wanted to draw blood, she was fully capable of it.
He deepened the kiss, and she melted for him, responding with a hunger that matched his own.
When she finally pulled back for air, her gaze drifted to the sword lying discarded on the floor.
"It’s a beautiful sword," she murmured, almost wistfully.
Ragnar pressed a slow kiss to her jaw. "Do you want one like it?"
He really shouldn’t have asked. After what she had just done, the reasonable thing would be to ban her from touching anything sharper than a spoon. But one look at the sparkle in her eyes and his resolve crumbled. He knew he would commission a hundred swords for her if it kept that light in her face, swords she would probably use to threaten him with in the future.
He was already mentally sorting through a list of the most skilled blacksmiths in Amris.
"Would you give me one if I said I wanted it?" she asked, her voice softening with a touch of uncertainty.
"I gave you access to my armory," he replied. "One sword is nothing in comparison."
He had to remind himself that this woman was the same one who murdered Harkon in combat and fought off an assassin sent to kill her. Circe was dangerous, capable, deadly when she wished to be. If she truly wanted to harm him, she would have tried long before now.
She pressed her forehead to his, smiling in that rare, tender way that was his undoing. "Would you let me choose the one I want?"
It wasn’t the words, it was the way they dripped from her lips, warm and sultry, that made his cock throb painfully in response.
"Only if you promise not to threaten me with it," he managed, aiming to sound stern but it was nearly impossible when he was almost mad with lust. Then he remembered the way his body had reacted when she’d pointed the blade at his face, and the pressure that had begun building at the base of his spine. "I could let you threaten me from time to time," he said, like it was a game and he was negotiating with her. "But I get to hold you down, and bury my cock inside you afterwards."
Her breath caught. It was rare for him to render Circe speechless.
"Those..." She swallowed, tried again. "Those are quite the terms you’re proposing."
His eyes roamed her face, then dropped lower and lingered just a second too long. "Careful, princess. Keep taunting me like that and I’ll start thinking you like our nightly sparring."
"And if I did?" Her voice was soft now. Almost playful. "Would you stop pretending that you don’t like it when I challenge you?"
"Tell me something, Circe."
She tilted her chin up. "What?"
"If I kissed you right now... Would you slap me, stab me, or kiss me back?"
Her breath hitched. "That depends."
"On?"
"How good the kiss is."
A pause. Something hummed between them, something neither of them dared name. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
Ragnar’s gaze dropped to her mouth. "Do you want me to find out?"
She smiled, slow and wicked. "Make it worth the risk."
And from her tone, she wasn’t opposed to it at all. If she had been, he would already know. She hardly hid her displeasure from him and after a second, he could just make out the spark of interest in her eyes.
