“Njáll. Enough of this. Get up.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, and it stirred something behind her sternum. The mirth in his eyes shifted, darkening until only desire remained.
Slowly, he rose, tracing his callused hands along the dips and curves of her body. The low growl in his timbre echoed in the hushed wind, rippling over the cliff.
“If you deny me your name,” he stepped closer, his hot breath misting the air between them, “then allow me the pleasure of tasting the tart wine from your berry-stained lips.”
Energy seared through her limbs, his patient stare sparkling as the last threads of her restraint uncoiled. Dark braids framed his sharp jaw. Piece by piece, the last of her defenses shattered, and she dragged her fingertips through his beard.
“Do jarls usually beg?” she asked, her confidence fleeting as the panting whisper left her.
Njáll flashed her a brilliant, unguarded smile, taking her hand in his and bringing her palm to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss into her palm, making a whimper catch on her next breath.
“Only for you, little flame.” His teeth grazed over the thin skin he had caressed, and her knees buckled. “I’d kneel at your altar and worship you however you demanded. Your name, your touch, your quiet presence in my furs. I would take all your sins as my own. I would become your demon, if that’s what you require.”
The surrender in his tone made her chest tighten. She didn’t understand what she had done to earn such devotion from him. It hit with all the force of a summer storm. Words failed her as she opened her mouth, only for nothing to come out.
This wasn’t the arrogant, commanding Jarl who had led her through the woods on a rope leash.
No, this was a warrior offering his soul to his queen. Her tongue licked her chapped lips, sounds finally falling from her.
“You’re a sinful demon,” she breathed, her body trembling.
Except it wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t anger.
It was something else entirely.
Something she’d never recover from.
Callused fingers ghosted along her face and she almost fell to her knees, willing to submit to her demon.
“I take pride in knowing I’m your favorite sin,” he murmured, coiling a crimson curl around his finger. “Will you allow it? Will you allow me a taste of you?”
The air crackled between them with the spark of their mounting desire reaching a breaking point. She teetered on a precipice, one she wanted to spread her arms wide and fall into.
“Please,” she whined, the high-pitched sound unfamiliar.
“Oh, little flame,” he purred, running his thumb across the swell of her lip. “You never have to beg me.”
Unspoken desire made her thighs slick as the inevitable happened. The explosive force of it mimicked a mountain breaking apart. Njáll palmed her nape, dragging her into the solid expanse of his taut form.
Her nipples tightened, sensitive as they brushed against the rigid muscles. She moaned, the soft sound muffled when his lips found hers. Fingers tangled in the curls at the base of her skull, urging her closer until their bodies were fused.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was demanding, coaxing, and everything she expected of the warrior claiming her.
Dewy evening air hit her nose first, followed by the crisp woodsy scent of Njáll. He tasted of honey and berries as his tongue swept a tantalizing trail between the seam of her lips.
With the hand not buried in her hair, he grasped her waist, holding her still. It was not some sweet thing, the touch demanding and consuming. Her body went lax in his hold, a hazy cloud settling the constant whirr of her mind.
Nails dug into the chiseled planes of his sculpted shoulders, scrambling for purchase as he devoured her. Her mouth parted on its own, allowing his tongue to brush against hers.
Each press of his lips stole more of her breath until she was left gasping and needy for more.
It stirred a primal feeling that left her wet and whimpering.
