Page 43 of The Viking in the Vault (Galactic Librarians #2)

ELENA

I ’ve never felt more naked in my life—and not just because I’m standing here in nothing but ceremonial jewelry and a scrap of silk between my thighs.

It’s the way Ragnar is looking at me .

Like…like I’m holy. Like I’m the answer to a prayer he forgot he made. His pupils are dilated, lips parted, hands reverent as they skim the curve of my waist, the little rolls of fat that always embarrassed me with boys.

It’s not lust in his gaze. It’s awe. It’s devotion.

It’s that unshakable certainty that this, right here, right now, is fated.

I feel it too.

My heart is racing, skin flushed. Maybe I’m a little nervous, or maybe just excited. It’s hard to tell right now, when everything I do with this man feels like a promise.

His hands are on my thighs now, fingers splayed wide, pressing divots into my flesh. Every curve, every freckle, every breath I take…he looks at me like it’s all worth noticing. Like I’m worth noticing, when I may have felt plain in the past.

“My fenvarra,” he murmurs. “You are so beautiful I forget to breathe.”

He pulls me in by my hips, hands sliding to my lower back as he presses a kiss to each breast. I shiver, clutching him closer.

“I don’t um…” I pause, stumbling over my words. “I’m not as good at talking as you are.”

He lifts his head. “That is not true,” he says. “You talk with your heart. I hear you.”

I swallow hard, throat tight. His thumbs stroke the base of my spine, then he lowers his mouth again, kissing the curve of my belly, then lower still. The silk brushes it aside, and I gasp when he lifts it to drape over his antlers, his breath ghosting over me.

“Ragnar—”

“Yes?” he murmurs, tongue flicking out against my inner thigh.

“I just…I don’t feel like I can give you enough back.”

He pulls me closer, still underneath the silk. “You are enough, Elena. More than enough. All I have ever desired.”

My breath hitches just as his broad, muscular tongue finds my clit, licking a long line along my slit.

I grasp his horns, trying to stay standing as he hitches one leg over his shoulder, trying to stifle a cry.

I don’t want anyone outside to hear me, the walls are just fabric and fur, it’s embarrassing?—

“Sing for me, mate,” Ragnar rumbles. “Let them know whose name is on your tongue.”

I let myself groan loudly as he sucks at my clit, then flattens his tongue again, licking me with a steady rhythm.

His hands grip the backs of my thighs, anchoring me in place even as my knees start to tremble.

The silk draped over his antlers shifts with each movement, a phantom caress against my thighs and hips.

“Ragnar!”

He growls, pleased, and I feel it vibrate right through me. I’m panting now, barely holding on, the pleasure building in tight, dizzying waves. His mouth doesn’t let up—licking, circling, sucking—and when I come, I do exactly what he asked.

I sing.

My cry is muffled by the walls of the tent, but I’m sure the whole crew hears it…and he lets out a satisfied chuckle. This…this is what he wants. He’s wanted to claim me like this since the moment he met me.

He holds me steady, mouth working me through every spasm until my legs give out and I’m half-collapsed, hanging onto his antlers for dear life. Ragnar pulls away to emerge from the silk, taking me in his arms, and when he kisses me, I taste myself on his lips.

“You are mine, Elena,” he growls. “Now…do you want my cock?”

I’m stifled, once again, by my lack of ability to talk good—I mean, well. I’m shaking as he lowers me to the furs beneath us, moving the silk aside, looking at me like I’m a feast.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

He smiles, face flushed. “ Good .”

He braces his hands on either side of my shoulders, kissing me hard...and I feel his cock between my thighs, big and thick and heavy. I don’t even know when he took his pants off; this feels like a bit of a fever dream.

“You’re naked,” I stammer.

“As I must be to fuck you, mate,” he chuckles, smiling against my lips. His cock slides through my arousal and I arch, sighing. “I can feel how much you long for this.”

I nod, barely able to breathe. My legs fall open as he shifts between them, raising one massive hand up to stroke my thigh, then hook it once again over his shoulder. I’m not normally that flexible, but this man has a tendency to bend me like a pretzel.

“Are you ready, Elena?” he asks.

“Very much yes,” I reply.

And he slides inside.

The stretch, the heat, the delicious pressure —it steals the breath from my lungs. “Ragnar!” I gasp, hands flying to his back, nails digging in as he pushes deeper.

He groans low in his chest. “You take me so well, fenvarra…so tight around me. So perfect.”

He doesn’t rush; he rocks into me slowly, savoring each inch like it’s the first time he’s ever known true pleasure. And maybe it is…because it’s not just sex. It’s everything he’s survived, back with his clan, now with his mate…

Ragnar is bringing me into his world.

It means more than I can articulate—obviously.

“The way you hold me,” he groans as he fucks his length into me, lets me clench around him. “I never want to let go.”

“Then don’t,” I breathe, nails skating up his spine. “Don’t ever let me go.”

He somehow thrusts deeper.

And it sounds stupid even in my head, but it’s like he’s not just inside my body…

he’s in my soul, my heart, my head. One hand is on my thigh, the other in my hair, and he’s seeing each part of me I thought was imperfect and calling it beautiful.

My hair that was always too curly and frizzy—my thighs that were too thick.

To him, every piece of me is perfect.

He tells me as much—not with words, but with every careful thrust, every moan, every reverent sweep of his palms across my skin.

He cups the back of my head, cradling it as he presses his forehead to mine. His breath is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

“I am trying to go slow,” he groans, voice strained. “But you feel…so…good…”

I let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Then don’t go slow. Just don’t stop.”

Ragnar growls low in his throat, the sound primal—then he suddenly pulls out of me. I cry out in protest at the emptiness, but he’s pulling me up to a seat, turning me over to all-fours.

Oh.

Oh …that’s what’s happening now.

Ragnar curves his body over mine, kissing a line down my spine, lining himself up with me, moving the silk aside.

And he’s inside me again.

Deeper than ever.

So, so good.

I curl my fingers in the furs as he drives into me, his rhythm steady but powerful—hips rolling against mine like he’s trying to carve his name into my body from the inside. My arms buckle and I brace myself on my elbows, screaming into the furs in pleasure.

I can’t see his face, those blue eyes, that long dark hair…but I feel him. Every agonizing inch.

“I love you like this,” he pants. “Bedecked in my finery…open for me. Letting me in .”

I’m not paying attention to how loud I am anymore; whatever sound is coming out of me, it’s raw, open, unguarded. Ragnar’s hands slide beneath me to cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his forefinger and thumbs.

“I will make you come again,” he promises. “And again…and again. I want them all to hear. I want them to know you are mine .”

I choke on a gasp, my whole body erupting in tremors. There’s nothing else in this moment. No ice, no stars, no past lives or future fears. Just Ragnar and me, the pounding of his cock inside me and the ancient rhythm of our bodies speaking a language older than either of us have ever spoken.

My body is no longer just mine, and his isn’t his. No…together, we’re an altar, a home. This is the place we’ll return to when the rest of the world doesn’t make sense, because he is the first thing that ever has.

I feel it in every thrust.

Slow and deep.

…faster now.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp, the words catching on a sob of pleasure. “Please, Ragnar, please?—”

“I won’t,” he groans. “Not until I’ve wrung every cry from your throat, beautiful mate.”

And he does .

My body clenches around him with every sharp plunge, every grind of his hips against my ass. His fingers press into my sides as I come again…and again. I don’t know how long it lasts.

But he doesn’t stop.

Not until he finally growls my name against my shoulder, his whole body shuddering above mine, and I know he’s giving me everything.

His past. His future. His soul.