***
Triumph tasted sweet, and Henrik even better.
Gods, he was something. So hard-bodied. So strong. The sweep of his hands over her bare back so gentle it took her breath away. Now all she wanted was more. More of his taste. More of his heat. More of his skin against hers. A startling thought. She’d never imagined thinking it, never mind having the opportunity to explore the tight tug of arousal. But the slow burn of desire—’twas incredible, alluring, seductive . . .
So damned good, she yearned to settle in, stay a while, and prolong the pleasure.
Another odd thought. One that wrestled with the first. Aye, she wanted to linger, relish each touch, every tantalizing sound he made and yet, impatience shoved at her too, urging her to rush headlong into bliss and experience all the pleasure Henrik promised. Polar opposites. Two conflicting approaches. Both of equal merit. Pile on her inexperience and—aye, the entire affair held the possibility to send her tumbling into dangerous territory.
A place labeled true, unadulterated love.
The realization should’ve set Cosmina back a step. Or at least caused her to pause, take stock, mayhap even revise her game plan. A good girl, after all, didn’t beg a man to make love to her. Or plop herself in his lap, bury her hands in his hair, and press her advantage. A respectable woman demurred, waited, expected a ceremony and commitment before giving herself to a man. She huffed. Commitment. ’Twas a lovely concept. An interesting convention and . . .
One best left out of the equation.
Building a fantasy life around Henrik wouldn’t end well. He didn’t want anything permanent or long-term. And honestly, she wasn’t sure she did either. Men were fickle creatures, ones who enjoyed variety and adventure. She’d learned that truth the hard way, five years ago when she’d become entangled with the blacksmith’s son. Love did strange things to people—made women stupid, circumstances turn, and heartbreak inevitable. Something about Henrik urged her to risk it. Brave all, tuck in, pull him close, and keep him for as long as fate allowed.
Such a bad idea.
No way should she be dreaming of a future with him. She should be planning the best way to let him go after the loving. Before meeting him, she never would’ve believed herself capable of loving and then leaving a man. Or rather, allowing him to leave in the aftermath of physical conquest. With Henrik, though, clarity crystallized, dragging awareness to the surface. She couldn’t push him away. Or guard her heart. The strong pull of premonition refused to let her. Denying her gift wouldn’t work. Here, now, this moment was about listening—for opening her Seer’s eye and allowing intuition to flow. Which meant . . . no walking away.
Regardless of the fated heartbreak and upheaval in the aftermath, she intended to take everything he gave her. Give as much as she could in return as well. Burn herself into his brain so he never, ever, forgot her. Days, weeks . . . years. Time wouldn’t touch what they shared here. No matter the distance, it would endure, rest safe in his heart, mind, and soul in the same way it would hers. Even after Henrik left her and never looked back.
Henrik deepened the kiss, taking charge of her. She let him, loving his taste, reveling in his touch as his warm hands ghosted up her spine. He groaned against her mouth. Bliss swirled in a heated curl. Satisfaction roared in its wake. He wanted her—badly. She could feel it in his touch, in the urgent flex and shift of his body against hers, in the tangle of their tongues, in his need for more. More. Oh gods, she loved that word. Couldn’t get enough of Henrik’s more. Wanted to give him all and offered it as he deepened the kiss, making her moan. He growled in return, gripping her hips, teaching her rhythm as she moved in his lap. Denying her nothing, he provided what she wanted, then offered her more. Cosmina took it all. Every soft caress. Each heated stroke, passion urging her to follow his lead. She undulated against him, rolling her hips, riding the hard length pressed between her thighs.
Henrik’s breath hitched. “Christ, Cosmina, aye . . . just like that. Take control. Find your rhythm and ride. Ride me, iubita.”
Sensation spiraled deep. Pleasure broke through, cresting through her on a wave of ecstasy. She gasped his name. Nipping the underside of her chin, he cupped her bottom with one hand, then sent the other exploring. He fisted the back of her shirt. With a slow draw, he raised the linen and tugged it over her head. Cool air washed over her skin. Awareness bloomed and Cosmina hesitated, feeling exposed, surprised when shyness rose and uncertainty threatened. The urge to cross her arms and cover her breasts nudged her.
Such a silly reaction. Particularly since she desired him. Wanted to be unclothed and skin to skin with him, which, aye, necessitated him stripping her bare, but—blast and damn. ’Twas difficult not to flinch. Harder still to quash her shimmer of anxiety. Nervous tension lashed her, stilling her in his lap. Breathing hard, her chest rose and fell, accentuating the fact she was naked from the waist up. Gaze fixed to his face, she waited for his reaction, for a flicker of disappointment, for him to push her away. Cosmina bit down on her bottom lip. Oh please, don’t let that happen. She wanted him so much and needed him to want her with the same intensity, but . . .
The inevitable questions circled, destroying her confidence.
Did he find her beautiful? Was her lack of a busty bosom unpleasing? A worry based in complete witlessness. She couldn’t, after all, change the way she was made. Strong and slight. She’d always been that way. Henrik would either find her beautiful . . . or not. But even as she settled into the reality, her heart throbbed and uncertainty rose. She longed for his praise. For admiration to ignite in his eyes. For him to look at her with heat and awe and . . . aye, mayhap with awe and the merest hint of love.
A lump formed in her throat. She squirmed in his lap, loving the feel of his hands on her, even as she dreaded his reaction. Goddess strike her dead and be done with it. She’d fallen straight into ridiculousness. It shouldn’t matter whether he liked the look of her. Having him in her arms ought to be enough. And yet, it wasn’t. She wanted more. So instead of covering up, she held the line and leveled her chin.
Big hands slid from her waist up her sides. As her breath hitched, Henrik held her gaze. Grip firm yet gentle, he cupped her rib cage, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. His fingers flexed. Her breath caught as he broke eye contact. His gaze traveled over her throat, across her collarbone, down . . .
Down.
Down until . . .
She shivered as he skimmed over her breasts.
“Sweet love,” he said, tone low, the look in his eyes so hot her nipples reacted, furling tight. He groaned and, breathing hard, dragged his gaze up to meet hers once more. “God, Cosmina. You’re beautiful. So goddamn perfect. I knew you would be. I imagined you like this so many times, but—Christ. Nothing compares to the reality.”
The praise sank deep, infecting her heart, heating her soul, making relief rise. “Thank you. I was worried you would . . .”
As she trailed off, he raised a brow. “What? Find you lacking?”
She nodded, acknowledging the insecurity. “Most men like women with more up top.”
“What idiot told you that?”
Gripping the edge of his leather tunic, Cosmina shrugged.
“Don’t believe a word of it,” he said. “You’re incredible. So pretty and . . .”
With a slow shift, he switched focus. His hands left her rib cage. Heat engulfed her as he cupped her in both palms. Calloused fingertips rasped over her nipples. “Pink—Jesus, high, tight, pretty pink nipples.”