ASTRID’S POV

The tension between us crackled like fire on dry wood. It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just desire. It was both, tangled into something sharp and irresistible. He stood across from me, eyes burning, his chest rising with shallow breaths. His tunic hung loose, his hands clenched at his sides like he was fighting not to reach for me.

“You infuriate me,” I said, breath shaking. “Every time you speak—”

“You stay,” he interrupted, stepping forward, voice rough. “You stay, and you look at me like you hate me… but your body never lies.”

I should’ve slapped him. I wanted to. But instead, I grabbed the collar of his tunic and dragged him down. Our mouths collided, all teeth and tongues and heat, a kiss that was far too intense to be called just that. He growled against my lips and backed me into the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip like he couldn’t get enough.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day long,” he said, voice low and strained. “I thought about these curves every damn night.”

He tugged my dress up roughly, his hands running over my thighs, my hips, my full stomach. Not hesitating. Not stopping.

“You’re soft,” he murmured, kissing my neck. “Gods, you’re so soft. You were made for this.”

His words made me ache. No one had touched me like this before. Like every inch of me was something to worship, not something to hide. His hands explored my body like it was a feast he’d been starving for.

I moaned as his palm cupped my breast through the fabric. “Off,” he said against my ear, tugging at the laces of my dress.

I helped him, desperate, tugging the sleeves off until it fell to the floor. I stood there, bare before him, my breath shaky, nerves threatening to choke me. But the way he looked at me…

He touched my stomach, my thighs, kissed my shoulder, then sank to his knees. “Look at you,” he said, pressing his mouth to my hip. “You’re perfect.”

He pulled my legs apart and leaned in. I gasped as his tongue found me, slow and deliberate. His grip tightened around my thighs, holding me still as he worked me open, teasing, tasting. He moaned into me like I was his first drink after days in the desert.

My hands flew to his hair. “Please—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He devoured me, lips and tongue moving with purpose, building the heat inside me until I was shaking, crying out, my back arching. I shattered against his mouth, my hands trembling in his hair.

When I caught my breath, he stood, kissed me again, and I could taste myself on his lips. He unlaced his trousers, letting them fall, and when he stepped out of them, I saw all of him—hard, thick, ready. My eyes widened.

“You want this?” he asked, voice tight, forehead pressed to mine.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want all of you.”

He lifted me, strong arms cradling my thighs as he carried me to the bed. My back hit the furs, and he came over me, the weight of his body grounding me, filling the spaces I hadn’t known were empty.

He entered me slow, his eyes locked on mine, watching every expression cross my face. The stretch burned, but it felt right—necessary. Like I was meant to take him.

“You feel incredible,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tight. Warm. So full.”

He moved slowly at first, kissing me deeply, his hands stroking every part of me like he was trying to remember it forever. I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper.

“Harder,” I begged. “Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t.

He drove into me with power and purpose, his body pinning me to the furs. Our breath tangled. My cries mixed with his groans. He kissed my neck, sucked the skin over my pulse, whispered things I couldn’t even process—things like “mine,” and “beautiful,” and “you ruin me.”

I came again, body clenching around him, legs tight around his hips. He followed with a broken moan, collapsing against me, his breath hot on my skin.

We lay tangled, our skin damp, the fire beside us burning low.