Her hesitation cut worse than a knife.
But when she spoke, her answer was worth a thousand cuts. “Then I’d be yours forever.”
6
Britt caught her bottom lip between her teeth as Bjorn paced closer. His large, capable hand covered himself in a crude but effective gesture.
Show me, she wanted to pant, but as with their kiss, she really thought it better if she didn’t say anything. No breathing, no pleading, nothing to disrupt her mercurial monk from this tenuous path he’d set himself on.
“Forever is a long time,” he rasped.
She knew it. At the risk of being a buzzkill, he deserved to know how un-lightly she made that promise. “I know exactly how long forever is, and what kind of damage that promise can inflict if tossed around without intent.”
“Who hurt you?” His voice rubbed against her skin, demanding entrance to her soul. It was his to take.
“Who hasn’t?” She reached out her hand, wanting to tug him down to the blanket with her, but then she had a better idea. She dropped her hand, echoing his own touch as she cupped her aching sex through her trousers. “Let’s not worry about that right now.”
“Touch yourself, min kæreste.” He loosened his belt, dropping it to the ground.
Heat flooded every cell in her body as she lay back and wiggled out of her pants. His breath was already ragged and although his hand didn’t move, she could see in the shadows beneath his shirt that he had himself in a firm, rough hold.
Slowly, wantonly, she opened her legs for him. Could he see how wet she was? How much she wanted his fingers to be spreading that slick moisture around her folds and up to her clit?
“You’re beautiful.” He groaned as he dropped to his knees beside her. “I can’t just watch.”
They couldn’t couple. As much as she wanted him to fuck her senseless and claim her in every possible way, that step needed to wait until he was free from his vow of chastity.
“Lie with me like this,” she whispered, tugging him down. It might be an artificial distinction, but they’d already kissed. They could do that again, and touch themselves, and it would have to be enough.
It took some jockeying of arms and bodies and mouths, but soon they were lying face to face. Bjorn shook as he kissed her face, raining butterfly kisses on her eyelids, cheeks, lips, and even the tip of her nose. Each brush of his mouth against her skin wound her tighter and made her rock her hips faster against her hand. The bump of her wrist against his—and the proximity to his erection that the touch promised—sent her fever spiralling out of control as well.
She was lost in a pre-orgasmic haze, her senses both clouded and heightened at the same time.
Storm? What storm? All she could hear raging around them were their private, filthy needs. All she could smell was the heady, musky scent of her monk. Her ears only heard the grunts and groans as he fisted his cock. And when she opened her mouth, hungry for another taste of his lips, he gave her enough of a taste to last a lifetime.
He swallowed her first orgasm, then whispered for her to give him another. The command alone achieved just that. When her legs were still twitching and her brain blanked from the back-to-back climaxes, he rolled her onto her back and kissed his way down her body.
Ignoring her pitifully weak protests, he kissed her swollen sex, licking her from her clit to her pulsing opening and back again.
“Come for me again. I want to taste you. Come on my tongue,” he growled, and she was lost all over again.
He stroked her hips and thighs, leisurely taking his time to move back up her body.
“Your turn,” she whispered. He stiffened as she touched his chest, and she pressed closer. “However you want.”
“Just like this,” he said quietly, his lips rubbing against hers. “Between us.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he jerked himself slowly against her belly. Each rub of the tip of his erection was stickier than the previous touch, and despite three climaxes of her own, she found herself growing wet yet again.
His seed was on her skin.
He was going to spill his release all over her.
She held him tighter still. She never wanted to let him go.
Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyelids. It might not be up to her. He’d said forever. She’d said forever.
She needed to trust him. Trust their connection.
With a rumbling growl, he stiffened in her arms. Hot splashes of come marked her skin, then his mouth descended on hers, marking her heart just as clearly.
Mine.
They cleaned each other with a corner of the blanket, then he helped her slide back into her pants without getting up.
As she drifted to sleep in his arms, his lips rubbing against her temple as he quietly whispered his thanks and words of affection, over and over again, she let herself forget about the inevitable conflict that lay at the base of the mountain.