A Nordic King(62)

“Because what?” he murmurs, and his hand goes to my neck, pushing my hair back over my shoulder, and every pulse and cell in my body freezes from shock.

I blink, absolutely terrified at the power his touch has over me. The fact that my knees want to give way until I’m a puddle on the floor.

All because his fingertips are trailing gently along my neck, up my hair and back.

“Because what?” he says again. “Look at me.”

I obey. I raise my eyes from his shirt to the deep hollow of his neck, to his Adam’s apple, to that sharp jawline, ever so tense. Then his eyes. His eyes are telling me everything I’ve always wanted to hear.

“You do make me happy,” he whispers, and my heart explodes. His voice is ragged, his fingers pressing into my neck just a little more, hot and burning like stars shooting down my spine. “How do I make you feel?”

I should tell him. If he’s firing me, then nothing binds me to him anymore. I can say what I want without consequences.

But love requires that bravery I still don’t have.

His fingers disappear into my hair, making my eyes close, my breath fall from my mouth.

He leans in close, so close, his chest against mine, his forehead rests against my forehead, tip of his nose against my nose. As intimate as lovers, as intimate as we’ve ever been.

“How do I make you feel?” he says again, breathy and slow, his words making me ache. “Show me.”

Everything I’ve ever wanted is within an inch of my lips. All that I’ve dreamed about, all that I’ve rallied against. One inch that would change my life forever.

That one inch between his mouth and mine might as well be a million miles long.

And I am far too afraid to take that step and cross it.

He has all the cards here, all the power.

I won’t do it.

I glance up at him through my lashes. “Make me show you,” I whisper, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him into me. His erection presses into my hip, making me clench with want and need because of how he wants and needs me.

“I can do that,” he says gruffly.

His other hand goes to my cheek, grabbing my face, hot, wide palm against my already feverish skin.

His lips close the gap, crashing into mine.

It takes a moment for it all to sink in.

I’ve never craved something so badly only to get it in the end.

I almost don’t know what to do with it.

But that disappears a second later.

I know exactly what to do.

His lips are warm and soft, his kiss is hard.

It’s driven by pure lust and need.

By months and months of wanting and never getting.

And now I’m giving.

I make fists into his jacket as my body gives way to his, my mouth surrendering to his, his tongue rolling against mine in a feverish, driving pace.

I groan into his mouth, the taste of brandy on his lips, heat crashing over me and shooting between my thighs. My fists tighten as his grip grows harder, holding me in place as his kiss demands more and more of me, and right here, in his office, I give him more and more.

We’re both done fighting it.

We’re both finally surrendering to each other.

He makes a light fist in my hair and gives my strands a tug, making me whimper. I can’t get him closer.

With lips locked and tongues tangled, we move backward across his office until my back crashes against the wall and he presses into me, his dick so hard that I’m practically squirming.

“Oh god,” I cry out hoarsely, my hand going to the back of his head, feeling his silken hair as his mouth goes to my neck, biting and licking and sucking until my eyes roll back.

Is this really happening?

Is this really him, the man of my heart, the man I’ve dreamed of day in and day out?

Is it really his head my palm is cradling, is it his snide mouth sucking my skin between his teeth, is it really his cock that radiates heat into my hip?

“So this is how you feel,” he murmurs into my neck, pulling away enough to meet my eyes, his hands smoothing the hair off my face. My hands trail down his back, relishing the hard planes of muscles as I stare into his eyes, glazed and raw and real. “Because this is how I feel.” He’s breathing hard and so am I, and I bet his heart is beating as loudly as mine is.

I try to form words but I can’t. I already feel bereft without his mouth on mine and my hands grip his suit jacket, tugging, wishing I could rip it off.

Rip everything off of him.

The look in his eyes changes to one of awe, and a hazy smile curves his lips. “Look at you,” he whispers harshly, gaze roaming all over my face from my eyes to my nose to my temples to my lips.

“Me?” I breathe.

He gives a faint shake of his head. “What a rare and beautiful thing you are.”

I’m dying inside. His words. The way he’s gazing at me, like he’s seen something no one else will ever believe.

I’m so fucking done for.

I open my mouth to talk but only a groan comes back as his mouth envelops mine again, searing, like he’s trying to brand me as his.

Then he pulls away and flips me around so I’m facing the wall, my forearms bracing me. His fingers curl around my blouse, ripping it backward as he brushes my hair away, rough enough to tear out a few strands. The pain is sharp and sweet and makes the ache inside me grow by leaps and bounds.