"Ours," corrects the man.
CHAPTER 40
More Please
* * *
Astrid Mathieson
I wake to cold air on my face and the press of warm fur at my back. For a split second, instinct kicks in—threat assessment, location check, weapon status—before memory floods back. The cabin. Fen. The mating bond. My new wolf.
The fire has died to barely glowing embers, leaving the cabin chilly and dim. Dawn light filters weakly through the single window, turning the rough wooden walls a soft gray. Fen's arm is heavy across my waist, his breathing deep and even against my shoulder.
The wolf inside me stretches lazily, satisfied in a way I've never experienced. Not anxious. Not restless. Just... content. It's weird as hell.
I shift slightly, testing the various aches in my muscles. Good aches. The kind that remind you you're alive after thinking you were dead. That's a new one for my collection of bodily sensations.
Death was strange… I remember being cold. An empty field. A woman with beautiful wings. And then I was waking up in that bedroom in Frigga’s palace.
I turn my head to study Fen's sleeping face. His features are relaxed, dark hair falling across his forehead, lips slightly parted.
I can sense his contentment even in sleep. A low-level hum of connection that seems to vibrate between us like a plucked string. It’s different than it was before. Before it was like a pull, a need. Now it’s like a tether.
The wolf gives a mental nudge. Mine.
Ours, I correct, and feel her smug agreement.
My gaze travels down Fen's body, mostly covered by furs but with one shoulder exposed. The silvery scar I left there gleams in the dim light. Mine. That mark means something. It means everything, according to what he told me before we passed out in a tangle of limbs.
My hand moves of its own accord, tracing the outline of the scar with my fingertip. A possessive thrill runs through me. I did that. I marked him. Fen doesn't stir, his breathing remaining deep and even. I press a little harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the connection between us pulses at the contact like a live wire.
Is this what people mean when they talk about love? This bone-deep certainty? This physical pull? I've never been in love. Never had time for it. Never prioritized it, never trusted it. But this feels... inevitable. Like gravity. Like something I couldn't fight even if I wanted to.
And I don't want to.
A mischievous impulse hits me. The wolf gives an approving growl in my mind.
With careful movements, I slide beneath the furs, trailing my fingers down his chest. His skin is hot beneath my touch, muscles twitching slightly as I trace the ridges of his abdomen. I follow the trail of dark hair that narrows below his navel, a surge of satisfaction running through me when I find him already hard.
I wrap my fingers around him, enjoying the contrast of velvet skin over steel. His breath hitches slightly, though his eyes remain closed. He’s not awake yet…
Slowly, I lower my head, replacing my hand with my mouth. The taste of him is salt and musk and I love it. I explore what makes his breathing hitch, what draws the first sleep-rough groan from his throat.
His hand moves to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands. I glance up to find golden eyes watching me, half-lidded with pleasure and remnants of sleep. A surge of satisfaction heats my blood.
"Astrid," he rasps, voice thick with desire. "What a way to wake."
I release him just long enough to offer a sharp grin. "Morning."
His head falls back against the furs, eyes closing briefly as I take him deeper. The bond between us amplifies everything. I can almost taste his pleasure on my tongue. It’s a hot, electric current that races through my veins and pools low in my belly.
Every groan vibrates through me. His heartbeat thunders in my ears alongside mine. His muscles tighten under my palm as tension coils tighter in his body. It's intoxicating, this feedback loop between us. My actions driving his pleasure. His pleasure fueling mine.
"If you continue that," he warns, fingers tightening in my hair, "I won't last."
Good. There's something deeply satisfying about reducing this powerful man to breathless moans and helpless movements. His hips rise slightly, careful not to push too much, still mindful even lost in sensation.
Part of me appreciates his control but another part of me wants to shatter that restraint completely. I want to drive him wild enough that he forgets to be gentle. I want to be the one thing he can't maintain discipline around.
