His hands, impossibly warm against my skin, travel up my sides as his mouth returns to mine. The counter is cold even through my pants, a sharp contrast to the fire burning between us. When his fingers trace the edge of my sports bra, a question in the touch, I make an impatient sound against his lips.
"Yes," I breathe, moving back just enough to meet his gaze. "Touch me."
Something wild flashes in his golden eyes, predatory and possessive. In one smooth movement, he slides the sports bra up and over my head, leaving me exposed from the waist up. His gaze immediately fixes on a point just below my collarbone, a strange expression crossing his face as he reaches out, fingers hovering momentarily before touching my skin with such tenderness it makes my heart stutter.
"What is it?" I whisper, confused by his sudden reverence.
He doesn't answer, just traces an invisible pattern beneath my collarbone, his touch sending waves of warmth radiating through my chest, different from the electric current between us—deeper, more intimate.
"So beautiful," he whispers. "Perfect."
I should feel vulnerable, exposed. Instead, I feel powerful. Desired. His gaze travels over me like a physical caress, making my skin tingle and flush. I lean back slightly on the counter, a deliberate invitation.
"You've imagined this," I say, watching his reaction. It's not a question.
"Every night since I found you." The raw honesty in his voice sends another jolt of electricity through me. "But reality is far better than imagination."
His hand cups my breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until I gasp. Then his mouth replaces his hand, hot and demanding, drawing a moan from deep in my throat. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him closer as my back arches into the contact.
"Fen," I gasp, the sound half-plea, half-demand.
He lifts his head, eyes nearly black with desire, only a thin ring of gold remaining. "Tell me what you want, Astrid."
"More," I manage. "Everything."
His mouth captures mine again, hungrier now, as his hands continue their exploration of my body. One large palm slides around to the small of my back, yanking me closer to the edge of the counter, until I'm pressed fully against him, feeling exactly how much he wants this—wants me.
The evidence of his desire makes me bold. I rock against him deliberately, swallowing his groan as the friction sends sparks of pleasure through both of us. My hands drop to his belt buckle, fumbling in my eagerness.
"Wait," he says, catching my wrists gently. When I make a sound of protest, he presses his forehead to mine. "Not like this. Not on your kitchen counter when you're still angry with me."
"I am angry," I confirm, nipping at his lower lip. "But I also want you. The two aren't mutually exclusive."
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. "I've noticed." His expression turns serious. "But I want to do this right."
"Right?" I repeat, arching an eyebrow. "Is there a Viking seduction protocol I'm unaware of?"
That draws a genuine laugh from him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nothing so formal. But..." He traces a finger along my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. "I've waited centuries for you. I can wait a little longer for... everything."
Centuries? How old is this guy? Before I can ask, he scoops me up, as if I weigh nothing at all. My legs wrap around his waist automatically, arms looping around his neck.
"What are you doing?" I ask, though I'm not complaining about the display of strength or the way his hands support my thighs.
"Compromise," he murmurs, walking us through my apartment with unerring accuracy, despite having only been here once before. "I'm not stopping. Just relocating."
He pushes open the bathroom door with his shoulder, setting me on my feet inside. I glance at the mirror and I'm suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look—half-naked, hair a tangled mess from his hands, lips swollen from his kisses.
"Shower," he says, his eyes never leaving mine as he reaches behind me to turn on the water. "It’s been a long day. You're exhausted. And..." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. "I want to take care of you."
The words should trigger every defensive instinct I possess. I don't need taking care of. I don't need anyone. But the way he says it… not as if I'm incapable, but as if I'm precious. It disarms me completely.
Steam begins to fill the small bathroom as the water heats. Fen kneels before me, and I blink in surprise. For a heartbeat, I don't understand what he's doing. In my experience, men don't exactly rush to perform acts of service. But then his hands go to my boots, unlacing them with careful precision, removing them and the thick socks one by one. The tenderness of the gesture catches me off-guard, sending an unexpected ache through my chest that has nothing to do with desire.
His hands move to my tactical pants next, undoing the button and zipper with deliberate slowness, giving me every opportunity to stop him. I don't. Instead, I help, shimmying out of them and my underwear until I'm standing completely naked before him. This vulnerability should terrify me. I've spent years building walls, but somehow, with him, it feels like strength.
His breath catches audibly. "Exquisite."
I should feel self-conscious. I don't. The way he looks at me makes me feel like a goddess myself, powerful and desired. I step closer, my hands returning to his belt.
