Their lips t again, and the world seed to tilt. The kiss stretched on, unhurried yet consuming, a slow unraveling of restraint neither could hold onto any longer.
He nipped at her bottom lip before quickly soothing the sting.
Their mouths lingered, lips still brushing, breaths mingling in the charged space between them.
When they finally parted, the silence that followed was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing.
Circe’s chest rose and fell in tandem with his. Her lips were swollen, flushed from the intensity of his kiss, and a faint tremor lingered in her hands where they rested on his shoulders.
Her hair had co completely undone, tumbling down her back like a dark waterfall, its silken strands catching the candlelight.
A few loose wisps had fallen over her face. Ragnar reached up, his touch feather-light, and tucked a strand behind her ear.
His fingers brushed her skin, a simple touch that sohow carried more heat than any kiss.
He should have stopped there. He knew he should have. But reason seed a distant thing now, drowned beneath the rhythm of her breathing and the sound of his own racing heart.
Without thinking, Ragnar leaned in again and captured her lips once more.
This ti, the kiss was hungry, less tentative and careful. More consuming.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, anchoring her to him as if he feared she might vanish if he let go, like she were sothing fragile and precious all at once.
Circe lted into him, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt, seeking more of the warmth that poured from him.
Her lips parted willingly, answering him with a fervor that startled even her. There was no hesitation in her actions now, only need, and the thrill of finally giving in to this.
The world fell away, leaving only the intoxicating way his mouth moved over hers, the scent of him, and the dizzying rush that ca from being wanted this much.
When they broke apart again, Ragnar leaned his forehead against hers, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.
Her lips were now slightly bruised from his ministrations, and her cheeks had a visible rosy flush. Her eyes were dazed and unfocused.
She looked undone, like a woman caught between passion and disbelief, every inch of her radiating quiet temptation.
To Ragnar, she looked nothing short of divine. Her hair frad her face in wild, silken disarray, and her eyes held a dazed sort of wonder. She looked like the embodint of desire itself, a goddess of temptation seated in his lap, co to lure him into sin and canal pleasure.
He kissed the bridge of her nose, his eyes closing montarily as he drew in another steadying breath.
He didn’t speak at first; he only breathed her in, the faint trace of candle smoke on her skin, the scent that was uniquely hers.
He hadn’t felt this way in years, and for a while, he thought he never would again.
There was a type of peace he felt while holding her, a rightness that coiled around him even as his pulse roared.
He loved this. Gods, he loved being near her.
But the greedy part of him whispered for more, to keep her close, to taste her again, to lose himself completely in her. He swallowed the thought, forcing his lungs to draw air that didn’t burn.
She wasn’t ready. And he would never take what she wasn’t willing to give.
Still, his blood ran hot, the ache in his chest both tender and unbearable. He knew if he stayed here much longer, with her looking at him like that, he might forget his restraint entirely.
Ragnar exhaled a shaky breath, brushing his thumb once more against her cheek before whispering against her lips, "I need to step outside for a while."
Circe’s brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t protest. She understood. Of course she did. He had always been able to read her and now, she could feel the sa unspoken awareness in him.
She was grateful for it, for his patience, for knowing when to stay and when to step away.
She might have been happy to lose herself in this mont with him, but a quiet part of her hesitated, unsure if she was ready for what ca next.
As she shifted off his lap, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. It was soft, almost chaste, a quiet promise wrapped in tenderness, nothing like the consuming heat they’d shared just monts ago.
Ragnar stood, forcing himself to leave her alluring presence.
Each step away from her felt heavier than it should have.
He lingered at the doorway for a heartbeat longer, before stepping out into the corridor. The air felt cooler here, though it did little to soothe the fever beneath his skin.
The corridor outside was silent and empty, save for the guards stationed at their posts. Ragnar ran a hand over his face, exhaling a low, shaky sigh.
His pulse still hadn’t settled; his hands still tingled from the feel of her.
The echo of her voice, the way her body was pressed against his just seconds ago, the taste of her lips— they haunted him with each step he took away from her.
He had kissed her, truly kissed her, and every part of him ached with the mory. He had never felt so unmoored, so utterly undone by soone’s nearness.
For a fleeting mont, he thought back to all the tis he’d told himself that she was nothing more than leverage, a pawn in his plans for Westeria.
A ans to an end, and that he would no longer have any need to keep her around after he accomplished his goals.
But that illusion had long since shattered.
He almost laughed at the thought now.
Because sowhere along the way, without realizing it, she had beco the very thing that steadied him.
He couldn’t bring himself to see her as anything but what she had beco to him, the one person he could no longer imagine giving up.
And after tonight, he knew one thing for certain: whatever this was between them, it had already gone far beyond what he ever intended.
She was his now, whether she realized it or not.
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