The fire in the hearth had burned low, doing its best to chase away the chill that lingered in the study. Ragnar's mouth was on hers again, slower this time, kissing her deeper. It was a type of kiss that felt reverent, as though he were committing the shape of her lips to memory with every careful sweep of his tongue.
Circe melted further against his chest, her fingers curling into the rough linen of his shirt.
His beard scraped deliciously against her chin, her cheeks, the sensitive skin beneath her jaw when he tilted her head back to kiss her harder, each shift stealing another breath from her lungs.
Each time he drew back just a little, she chased his mouth without thinking, a quiet, desperate sound catching in her throat.
