Page 77 of Viking

I drag my hand down her body, desperate to memorize every inch. To feel something other than grief. Other than loss. I curse the sling, the stitches, the pain that dulls everything except this, except her.

Right now, she’s the only thing keeping me from slipping off the edge.

She tilts her head back, lips swollen and parted, eyes locked on mine.

“Logan,” she whispers, voice shaking. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Her words break me.

My forehead falls against hers as I pull her closer. “I don’t deserve you,” I rasp.

She cups the back of my neck, her thumb stroking my skin. “Just let me be here for you. Please.”

Her lips find mine again, slower this time. Softer. She takes and gives all at once, and I let her. I let her tether me back to this moment, piece by piece.

I hook my arm beneath her thighs and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, her fingers dragging at the buttons of my jacket, then my shirt. Her hands glide over my chest, across the tight muscles of my stomach, and I lower her back to the floor, just long enough to brush my lips along the shell of her ear.

“Your arm,” she breathes, her fingers brushing the sling.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. But I don’t care. I unclasp the strap with my teeth gritted, hissing as I ease my arm free and let the sling drop to the hardwood. The pain is sharp, blinding for a second. I attempt to shrug out of my jacket, but the shirt is tighter, rigid against the dressing.

“Will you help me?” I ask, voice low.

She nods without hesitation. “Of course.”

She moves behind me, sliding the jacket down carefully, then works the shirt loose, pausing when I wince. “Sorry,” she whispers, guilt laced in her voice.

“Don’t be,” I grunt, breathing through it.

She drapes both over the couch, and when I turn back, she gives me a small, quiet smile before pivoting, her back to me. “Will you unzip me, please?”

I lean in, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, lingering there before dragging the zipper down the curve of her spine. Her skin is warm, silky beneath my mouth, and I take my time on every inch I uncover.

She turns, dress slipping off her shoulders, down her arms, pooling at her feet. Delicate black lace clings to her curves. She watches me, then slowly pulls the pins from her hair, letting it tumble around her face and down her toned back.

Then she spins, slowly, deliberately, the edge of her smirk challenging me.

I’m undone.

She kneels, her hands going to my belt, my zipper. Her touch is featherlight but scorching. I breathe her name like a prayer, like a warning.

And then she reaches for me.

I stop her.

“No.” My voice is hoarse, nearly shaking. I haul her to her feet, my hand curling around her hip.

She studies me, searching. Then she nods, saying nothing, just taking my hand and guiding me down the hall.

I follow without hesitation.

She walks ahead, and every sway of her hips is a slow kind of torture. My heart’s hammering, every breath ragged. “You’re absolutely incredible,” I say, before I can stop myself.

She spins, grabbing my face and kissing me like she needs me to feel it. I don’t even register falling onto the bed until she’s climbing over me, straddling me, her body warm and demanding against mine.

My hand finds her back, roaming, memorizing. I reach for the clasp of her bra, fumbling with one hand, my jaw tight with frustration.

She notices. Of course she does.