Page 169 of Whisper of Nightmares

She claws at her skirts. There is too much fabric between them, too many layers separating skin from skin. She wants to feel him. Needs his flesh against hers.

And when she finally has the bulk of her skirts lifted away, everything about Dagfinn becomes measured. Slow.

He pauses for half a heartbeat, his gaze moving over her face as though he is committing it to memory.

There is something different in his expression now. The hunger is still there, but beneath it is something softer. Something almost disbelieving. As though he still cannot quite believe he has woken to find her here.

Here Euphemia is, ready to rush them into euphoria, and Dagfinn is savoring every moment. As if he has spent so long dreaming of this that he refuses to let it pass too quickly.

It is torture.

It is ecstasy.

It is a delicious kind of ruin.

Dagfinn leans back so that he can see her. Hunger fills his eyes at the sight of her bare legs, at the vulnerability of her body laid open to his gaze. For his pleasure. For hers.

With languid ease, he moves down between her legs, his face disappearing beyond the ruffles of her skirts.

For one long, painful moment, she cannot feel anything. Only pressure building inside her as she waits. The anticipation is almost unbearable.

Then he tugs her undergarment to one side. Cool air brushes her heated skin, and Euphemia shudders.

His warm breath follows.

It’s enough to make her thighs tremble. Her fingers curl into the bed already.

Then he presses something hot and wet onto the tender flesh between her legs.

Euphemia gasps, falling into the beginnings of a steadily rising pleasure. An unfurling of hunger she’s never known. But Dagfinn takes his time with her, every lapping of his tongue slow and deliberate.

And now Euphemia understands his slowness. The way he draws the pleasure out. This agonizingly slow building of pressure is all the sweeter as it rises. Carries her like a wave until she is crashing. Splintering. Imploding like a thousand bursts of stars.

Euphemia grips the back of his head as the pleasure crescendos, the white light fading to grey.

Dagfinn peeks up from his work.

A crooked smile quirks one side of his mouth as he beholds her bliss.

“I saw stars,” Euphemia says between ragged breaths. She stares up at the rafters, catching her breath, marveling at the pleasure she had not previously known. She wonders what other ecstasies they will uncover together. How many things they have yet to learn about each other. How many ways there are still for him to surprise her.

Euphemia pins him in a heavy-lidded gaze. “I want you to see them too.”

“The stars? I’m looking at one right now, True North.”

But Euphemia won’t take no for an answer. “Come here.”

True to his word, Dagfinn does as she commands, climbing atop her so that their bodies are resting like puzzle pieces. He’s careful not to put all his weight down on her. But she wants him to. Wants to feel every pressure he can give, including the pressure of what now lies between her legs.

“Are you certain?” he asks, nodding down at himself. “We can wait, if you want to.”

“Do you want to wait?”

The growl that escapes him is purely primal. “I would’ve had you the moment I woke up, and every moment since, if I’d had my way. But for you, if it was what you wanted⁠—”

“I have waited a lifetime to find you.” Euphemia tugs him forward, their lips meeting. “Show me the stars again, husband.”

Lust becomes molten in Dagfinn’s eyes.