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He nods, holding my gaze.
“Mä rakastan sua,” I say, my heart overflowing with love for this gentle man.
He cups my face, kissing me softly, his lips caressing mine. “I hate that you have these bad dreams,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “Would that I could crawl inside your mind and root them out. I feel helpless—”
“Kulta—”
“I do,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “You are my wife. I must fight your fears.”
“Ilmari,” I sigh, kissing his cheek. “I love you so much. In your arms, I’m not afraid.”
“Then never leave them,” he urges. “Stay with me, Rakas. Be mine always.”
“Always,” I reply, kissing him again.
We sink into each other, kissing slowly, our tongues teasing as our lips press softly. It’s a subtle dance. Nothing rushed. I drop my hands to my waist, unbuckling my seat belt so I can shift my hip to turn into him.
His hand smooths along my thigh, his thumb like iron as he follows the line of my muscle. “Let me help you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Help?” I echo, distracted as I tug his hood back, letting my fingers brush over the buzzed nape of his neck.
“You’re stressed,” he replies, kissing along my jaw. “Worried about things we cannot control,” he adds, teasing the lobe of my ear. “Unable to sleep when you’re tired. Unable to stop the torrent of your thoughts.”
I sigh into him, feeling the effect he has on my entire body. Warmth pools low in my stomach, spiraling out until I feel even the tips of my fingers buzzing. “Ilmari, please—”
My words end on a sharp intake of breath as he shifts his hand down to cup between my legs. Warmth radiates from my center.
“Please, my love. Let me ease you.”
He wants to do this here? Now?
I’ve thought of this scenario a thousand times before. Who doesn’t imagine joining the mile high club when you’re sitting next to a specimen as fine as my 6’5” tatted, bearded Viking of a husband?
But we’ve never tried anything. He’s too protective. The idea of one of his teammates seeing anything, hearing anything—it would probably make him go full King Kong and start tearing up the seats.
I look in his eyes. “Ilmari—”
He ducks between us, picking up the blanket that slipped off my lap while I slept. Draping it over me, he taps my right knee. “Lift this up.”
I instantly know what he has in mind. We can use my leg as a kind of tent. No one has to see a thing. With a smile, I shift my angle and prop up my foot on the seat, my knee pressing gently against the seat in front of me.
His right arm goes around my shoulders, pulling me to him, as his left slips under the blanket. He smooths his hand over my growing little bump. “My wife,” he growls possessively.
“Yours,” I say, breathless.
“You are a queen among men, Rakas,” he says, his voice softening as he dips his hand lower, his fingers smoothing over the top of my waistband. “A lioness. The steady rock on which our foundations are built. No more fear.” He kisses my lips, his hand slipping inside my leggings. “No worry.”
I already feel strung out, my pussy desperate for his touch. “No worry,” I echo.
His fingers seek, the first and third parting me open as the second slides over my clit. He bites back a groan, his face dropping to nuzzle my neck. “How I long to put you on my lap and have you ride my cock.”
“Yes,” I sigh, my left hand curling around to cup his neck as I lean into him, keeping my legs spread.
“I would bury myself in you, wife. No beginning. No end.”
“Please,” I gasp, my voice barely audible.
He works me slow, almost teasingly so, his finger sliding up and down from my clit to the entrance of my pussy. Just as he presses in with his finger, letting one knuckle dip inside, he pulls out, trailing up to circle my clit again. It’s torturous. And he’s not giving me anything like the pressure I crave.
