Free Web NovelChapter 227: Chapter 227
Circe’s fingers lingered there, a feather-light pressure that danced along the outline of his cock, tracing the shape through the fabric. It was just enough to fan the heat of his lust, to make his pulse thunder in his ears, but nowhere near the friction he craved and she knew exactly what she was doing.
Ragnar’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his eyes locked on hers in the dim moonlight that washed over the garden. He could feel the warmth of her palm seeping through the breeches.
Every teasing glide of her fingers sent a jolt through him, but it was fleeting, gone before it could build into anything satisfying. She was toying with him, drawing out his frustration like a cat with a cornered mouse, and the glint in her eyes told him she reveled in it.
From the other side of the hedge, the sounds grew bolder. The words from the other couple were too muffled to discern. Fabric rustled again, accompanied by the soft slap of skin and a moan that rose unbidden from Cecilia’s throat. It carried through the night air, louder now, as if the pair had forsaken caution entirely in their haste.
The sound seemed to ignite something in Circe.
Her mischief only, her lips curving into a sly smile as she held Ragnar’s gaze. Without a word, her hand slipped lower, fingers deftly working the fastenings of his breeches just enough to breach the barrier. She dipped her hand inside, her fingers grasping his warm, pulsing length.
Ragnar hissed out a breath, his body tensing as her fingers wrapped around him fully, skin on skin at last. The sensation was like a euphoric rush of need that made his hips twitch forward despite himself. She squeezed gently at first, almost experimentally, drawing a low rumble from deep in his chest that he barely swallowed back.
Then, with deliberate care, she stroked him once from base to tip, mimicking the very motion she had seen him using on himself that first time right before he entered her. The glide of her hand was perfect, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through him that bordered on agony.
But Ragnar was quicker this time. His hand shot down, fingers clamping around her wrist in a vise-like hold, halting her before she could repeat that same action. He stilled her hand, though he did not force it away entirely, not with the way his body screamed for more.
His eyes bored into hers, dark and heated, conveying the same chastising glare she had leveled on him earlier in the ballroom, when his lecherous gaze had tested her composure amongst the gathered crowd.
Behave, that look said.
Yet Circe did not even flinch under it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, staring up at him with wide, feigned innocence. Her eyes were bright and guileless, as if her fingers were not, at that very moment, wrapped snugly around his throbbing cock.
She was somehow the picture of purity, even as her thumb brushed idly over the sensitive head. Then, defiantly, she squeezed just a bit harder, before pulling it out of his breeches.
Ragnar felt it like a bolt straight to his core, all the blood in his body surging southward in a dizzying rush, leaving him lightheaded and straining against her grasp.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, his free hand fisting at his side as he fought the urge to thrust into her hand, to abandon all his previous reservations and claim what she so brazenly offered. freewebnøvel.com
The distant moans from Cecilia and Garrik swelled again, a symphony of reckless abandon that only heightened the torture, reminding him how perilously close they were to discovery.
His grip on her wrist tightened in warning.
Circe’s eyes gleamed with pure, unrepentant delight as she felt the iron grip of his fingers around her wrist, but it was still not tight enough to bruise. That restraint only fueled her. She knew the war raging inside him. The proud, disciplined man who could command armies was reduced to someone that was barely clinging on to control, by nothing more than her hand and the wicked tilt of her smile.
She flexed her fingers ever so slightly, the smallest shift of pressure along the warm, rigid length of him, and watched his throat work on a silent swallow. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple. He was beautiful like this—furious, and entirely at her mercy.
A soft, breathy moan floated over the hedge, Cecilia’s voice rising in a broken plea that would have scandalized the entire court had anyone else heard it. The sound curled through the warm night air. Garrik answered her with a low, filthy growl, their bodies meeting in hurried, desperate thrusts against the stone bench only a few paces away.
Circe’s lips parted on a silent laugh.
She ignored the warning in Ragnar’s eyes entirely. Instead, she let her thumb drift in a lazy circle over the slick bead of moisture at his tip, spreading it in a slow glide that made his hips jerk forward before he could stop himself.
His grip on her wrist tightened again, another futile attempt to still her, but she simply twisted her hand within the cage of his fingers, just enough to begin a torturously slow stroke upward, then down again, her palm gliding along velvet-hard flesh with the lightest pressure she could manage.
Each pass was just as maddening as the last in the way that it was never never quite enough to satisfy her, only enough to stoke the ache higher. She kept her rhythm languid, almost idle, as though she had all the time in the world and no care for the fact that anyone could easily stumble behind the hedge and find her with his cock in her hand.
Another moan from Cecilia drifted to them on the breeze, and it sounded like she was closer to her peak.
Circe’s smile sharpened. She matched her strokes to that distant cadence, letting every muffled gasp and grunt from the other couple dictate the pace of her torment.
Ragnar’s free hand braced against the hedge behind him, knuckles white, leaves rustling faintly under the strain. His eyes were fixed on hers, promising retribution in exquisite detail. But he could not speak, could not move, could not do anything but endure as she worked him with merciless patience.
She squeezed gently at the base, then drew her hand up again, twisting her wrist just slightly so her fingers skimmed the sensitive underside in a way that made his vision blur. His cock pulsed in her grip, already thick and heavy, aching for release.
Circe leaned in until her lips brushed his neck. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
"Please try to stay quiet, we wouldn’t want anyone to see us like this."
His answering exhale was quiet and shaky.
She rewarded the effort with another long stroke from root to tip, then she paused at the head to circle her thumb once, twice, spreading the slickness in teasing swirls.
From beyond the hedge came Cecilia’s broken cry, high and keening, as Garrik evidently found exactly the rhythm she needed. The sound seemed to vibrate through Ragnar’s body. His thighs tensed, his hips giving the tiniest involuntary roll into Circe’s hand.
She felt him swell impossibly harder against her palm, the warning pulse that told her he was teetering on the edge. A wicked thrill shot through her. She slowed even further, dragging her touch in the barest graze, denying him the friction he desperately craved.
His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, jaw clenched so tight she thought he might crack a tooth. When they opened again, the look he gave her was molten.
Circe’s heart raced with triumph. She held his gaze, unblinking, and gave him one final stroke, feeling his entire body grow taut before he jerked in her hand as he found his release, ropes of come shooting out of him until he was utterly spent. He bit his fist to muffle the sound of his grunt.
Ragnar’s chest heaved as he slowly came down from the high. A fine tremor ran through him, and she felt the helpless twitch of his cock against her now motionless fingers.
Only then did she ease her grip, letting her hand rest lightly around him.
The distant sounds from the other couple were building toward a crescendo, Cecilia’s voice fracturing on breathless sobs of pleasure.
But here, behind the hedge, Ragnar was silent save for the ragged edge of his breathing.
Circe rested her head against him and pressed her cheek against his chest. She let out a breathy laugh, unable to help it after the things that just happened. She momentarily forgot that they were supposed to be quiet, wincing slightly when her voice sounded louder that she thought it would. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
The sounds from the other couple ceased immediately.
"I think I heard someone," Cecilia muttered, a hint of trepidation in her voice now.
Fabric rustled as they hurried to right their clothing, scrambling to appear decent should anyone stumble upon them. Moments later, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoed through the garden, fading as quickly as they had come. Only then did Circe and Ragnar finally heave out a relieved breath.
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