Page 171 of Whisper of Nightmares

“Beast!” she squeals, elbowing him in his side. She keeps it to herself that she would very much like to do the same.

And this time when Euphemia dreams, there are no flaming horses.

No mystical landscapes.

This time, slumber comes to her like a peaceful darkness that feels like coming home.

Chapter 34

Assembly

When Euphemia opens her eyes again, it is to the early morning sunlight spilling through the windows, catching on the tufts of dust drifting through the stale air.

The weight of Dagfinn’s arm is draped over her side.

His hand cups her exposed thigh.

His breaths warm the back of her neck.

Heat pools in her core again.

For one blissful moment, there is no assembly waiting for them. No Percival. No deed. No threat to the manor or the people who call it home.

Euphemia never wants to leave this bed.

As if Dagfinn can sense her waking—or perhaps scent her growing arousal like a hound on the hunt—he gives her a firm tug, tucking her tighter against the curve of his body.

“I could get used to this,” he whispers against her ear.

“Used to what?” she asks, blushing because she already knows his answer. She can feel it in the way the warm length of him is already extending against her rear. Reaching for that sensitive spot between her legs.

She arches into him, desperate for his velvety touch.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, making her ache.

Dagfinn licks the curve of Euphemia’s ear. “Used to waking up next to such a delicious temptress.”

Dagfinn’s hand slides up and around her thigh, finding the wetness already seeping between her thighs. His strokes are languid and Euphemia slowly melts into the pillowy softness of the mattress.

“Gods,” he mutters, fingers circling the tender apex. The leisurely motions become more ravenous with each rotation. More primal. More demanding. “Tell me what you need.”

He is already giving it to her though

This pressure.

This closeness.

His touch.

Bliss crests over her like a wave, steadily rising. She opens her legs to make room for the increasingly frenzied but expert strokes. Pleasure floods her senses. Euphemia leans her head back and Dagfinn peppers her neck with kisses, grinding his hips behind her in delicious, slow pumps that she wishes were inside of her. She wants to feel the girth of him filling her, reaching the deep center of her core that will leave her unraveled. That’s what she needs—more of him. For their bodies to be one, riding the wave together.

Euphemia’s hips arch backward, temporarily relieving Dagfinn’s hand from its work.

She reaches down, finding him with her hand.

The moment she grasps him, a shudder courses through his body. And then she’s guiding him inside her, whimpering at the pure pleasure of simply feeling the heat of him as he makes his entrance.

Euphemia reaches for the back of his neck. She holds him close. Their hips moving, dancing to a rhythm only they can create.