Free Web NovelChapter 222: Chapter 222
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In the time Ragnar had been in the room, he had scarcely done anything other than stare at his wife. Circe stood on the far side of the chamber, framed softly by the golden evening light spilling through the high windows, while Nieah worked patiently behind her. The two women faced the full-length mirror, Circe holding her breath as Nieah pulled the next set of laces on her corset tighter.
He really ought to get her a lady’s maid, or two. Ragnar had thought about this many times before. His stubborn wife remained reluctant to ask one of the maids for help, even if it meant struggling with her dresses and styling her hair.
Circe trusted Nieah, was fond of her even, and that was the only reason she had accepted her help now. But Nieah was Ragnar’s housekeeper, not a lady’s maid. Any time she spent helping Circe dress was time stolen from the long list of duties she oversaw daily.
"Can you give us a moment?" Ragnar said, stepping forward. Nieah paused, still gripping the laces of Circe’s corset as she looked up. "I wish to have a word with my wife in private."
Nieah inclined her head, and quietly excused herself. Moments later, the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room silent but for the faint crackle of the hearth.
Circe remained facing the mirror, watching his reflection as Ragnar reached the door and locked it. Her brow lifted faintly, a question forming in her eyes just as he crossed the room toward her.
A soft gasp escaped her when his rough fingertips grazed the back of her neck, trailing downward in a slow, reverent stroke that sent pleasant shivers darting down her spine.
"Let me help," he murmured, voice low and thick with intent.
He didn’t wait for her agreement. His hands rose to the half-fastened laces of her corset, only instead of securing them, he curled his fingers around the cords and used them to draw her backward, pulling her flush against him in one steady motion.
Ragnar had always had wandering hands when it came to her. He touched her whenever he could—on her waist as he passed behind her, at the small of her back when guiding her through a door, brushing hair behind her ear for no reason except that he wanted to.
But for the past week, he had reined that habit in, giving her space and gentleness while her body ached and cramped with her monthly bleeds. She had been grateful for the tenderness he showed her, for the careful way he held her, tended to her, and tried to ease her discomfort.
But now that the pain had passed, she missed his hands. Missed the way he touched her like he couldn’t help himself. Missed the way he undressed her, peeling off each piece of clothing after the other in that way of his that was meant to tease.
Pressed against him now, she felt everything. The solid breadth of his chest, his thighs and the unmistakable hard length straining against his breeches, pressed firmly to her lower back.
Her breath stuttered.
His hands slid down her hips before he turned her gently in his arms. He guided her backward until her calves brushed the bed, then he eased her down onto the mattress.
Circe’s back sank into the soft covers, her legs dangling over the edge as Ragnar stepped between her parted thighs.
He pushed the linen of her dress higher, exposing warm skin to the cool air of the room. Circe’s breath caught when he lowered himself, his broad shoulders settling between her legs as though he belonged nowhere else.
"Ragnar, we will be late," she said, realizing what he intended to do when his hands wrapped around her thighs.
"It’s a ball that will last long into the night," he said, voice rough with amusement. "It won’t hurt anyone if we arrive a bit late. Besides... we are not the hosts."
Before she could form another protest, his mouth was on her.
Ragnar’s tongue parted her folds in one slow lick that drew a startled moan from her lips. Heat pooled low in her belly as he hummed against her, the vibration sinking through her core. He did it again, slower this time, like he was savoring the taste of her. Then he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently.
Circe’s head fell back against the mattress, a broken sound escaping her.
"Ragnar—"
He didn’t answer, too preoccupied with pleasuring her with a single-minded focus that made it hard for him to do anything else.
Two thick fingers pressed inside her, filling her easily. He curled them just so, finding that spot that always made her whimper with need, causing her thighs to tremble. His movements were unhurried, coaxing more broken sounds from her with every slow thrust of his fingers.
Whenever she tried to catch her breath, he shifted his rhythm from soft, teasing licks to firmer pulls of his mouth, his tongue pressing down on her until her back arched off the bed.
Her hands slid into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. She didn’t know whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away. The sensations he was evoking inside her was already too much and yet nowhere near enough.
Her hips rolled helplessly against his mouth, her soft pants turning into quiet, pleading sounds.
When he added a third finger and twisted, dragging all three in a slow, devastating curl while his mouth closed around her clit and sucked hard, something inside her snapped cleanly.
Pleasure surged through her in one bright, overwhelming rush. She cried out sharply, her whole body tightening, trembling, fluttering around his fingers as his name spilled from her lips in broken gasps.
He didn’t stop. He kept licking her through it, drawing out each aftershock until her thighs trembled uncontrollably and she was left boneless, panting, sinking into the bed as she melted into a puddle.
Ragnar finally lifted his head.
Circe blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His mouth glistened with her release and he wiped it casually with the back of his hand, as if he didn’t cause her to shatter in a thousand pieces only seconds ago.
And the look he gave her, filled with hunger, and intent, made her realize he was far from finished.
His hands went to the waistband of his breeches and with one quick motion, he pulled out his thick cock and gave one slow stroke from root to tip, eyes locked on hers the whole time.
He stepped between her thighs again, nudged them wider, and lined himself up. A heartbeat passed and he drove into her in a single, claiming thrust.
Circe let out a choked gasp, back bowing as he filled her completely. For a moment he stayed buried to the hilt, letting her feel every inch of him as he adjusted their bodies into a more comfortable position.
Then he started to move, dragging out almost to the tip before slamming back in. Each thrust pushed the air from her lungs, jostling her entire body every time he moved. He leaned over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down to hook beneath her knee.
He lifted her leg, draping it over his shoulder without breaking the rhythm of his thrusts, opening her wider, changing the angle until he was hitting even deeper.
Circe’s hands scrabbled at the sheets, at his arms, anywhere she could reach. The new position let him grind against that spot inside her with every stroke, his movements relentless, and just so perfect as she climbed steadily to her peak. Pleasure coiled hot and tight low in her belly again, faster this time, the sensations even sharper.
"Ragnar, please—"
He growled something in a language she didn’t understand, the sound raw and filthy, hips snapping harder. The bed creaked beneath them, headboard tapping the wall in time with his thrusts. His free hand slid between their bodies, thumb finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched his pace.
Circe shattered a second time with a wail, clenching down around him so hard his rhythm faltered for the first time. Ragnar followed her over moments later, burying himself deeper and spilling inside her with a guttural groan, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
For a long moment the only sound was their harsh breathing.
Eventually he let her leg slide down from his shoulder, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to the inside of her knee before easing out of her.
Circe could only lay there, trying her best to catch her breath while she stared up at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of him trickle down her thighs.
She placed her hand over her chest, feeling the frantic beating of her heart as she watched Ragnar tuck his cock back into his breeches before leaning down and brushing a kiss across her damp forehead. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
"We’re definitely going to be late," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction.
