His kiss started slow, exploring, and Rachel melted from every pull of his lips and stroke of his tongue. She ran her hands up and down Kolbjorn’s chest and stomach, savoring the hardness of his muscle under his tunic.

He was kindling the fire in her, somewhere deep, making pleasure run through her like quicksilver.

Kolbjorn took control of the kiss, tilting her head back and gaining full access to her mouth. He tasted of wine and of him, and it was driving her wild.

She wanted more of him—ah hell, she wanted everything. How could she like him this much after having spent just a few hours with him?

The truth was, she was falling for the gorgeous Viking.

She’d been dreaming about him every night, imagining this moment since the first time she saw him. She’d been disappointed by his absence the other times she’d returned to the village, and she’d been so excited to see him again.

His smooth tongue teasing her, his teeth biting her lips playfully, his hands traveled under her cloak and brushed her back up and down, making her already-soft muscles even more pliable.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Without removing her cloak, Kolbjorn undid the brooches that held the broad straps of her apron dress, and they fell heavily behind her back. He pulled the dress down to her stomach, leaving her in just a linen shift. He massaged her breasts through the fabric, and she moaned her approval into his mouth, the deepest muscles inside of her clenching.

Rachel undid the belt that held his tunic together, and let it fall lose. The leather purse thumped slightly as it fell to the floor, and Rachel registered distantly that this was where the necklace was.

But she was way too hot and way too far gone to care. She needed his big hands on her body; she needed them right on her skin. Rachel couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so strong, so sexy.

She sucked gently on his tongue, and he growled and rolled her hair on his fist—a gesture so primal it made Rachel arch her back and press herself into the hand that cupped her breast. He teased her nipple, making her rub her thighs together.

“You feel so good, Rachel,” he murmured when he released her mouth to lave his tongue against her neck.

He let go of her to lift her up, apron dress hanging, and carry her to the sleeping bench, which was covered with soft furs. He undid her cloak and let it slide down her shoulders, then pulled her shift up. Fresh air, still a little chilly, bit her bare skin, and she shivered.

“I’ll make you warm enough, don’t you worry,” he growled, undoing his own coat hastily. Then off went his linen tunic. Rachel’s breath caught at the mighty sight of him.

Kolbjorn’s body was all muscle. Soft curls of dark-brown hair covered his chest, and a trail of smaller curls led beneath his waistband. Everything she had imagined in her hottest dreams come true—and then some. Silver battle scars ran across his left shoulder and his chest. Rachel’s heart squeezed imagining him fighting for his father, who would never appreciate his commitment—just like her own.

She planted soft kisses on the scars, and felt him trembling under her lips.

Kolbjorn put his fur cloak around them, and the wild scent of animal mingled with leather and his own earthy essence engulfed her. He cupped her naked breasts, stroking them with the rough pads of his fingers. Then his mouth was on them, his tongue flicking her nipples, his lips torturing her skin in the sweetest way.

Rachel shook from pleasure, and she wanted to pleasure him, too. Her fingers found his rock-solid stomach and traced the soft line of curls towards the rim of his pants. She undid the rope that served as a belt and slid his trousers down his strong thighs. His erection sprang into her hand, and she bit her lip at the firm feel of it.

Kolbjorn sucked in a breath, and, encouraged, Rachel stroked his length, his skin soft and velvety under her fingertips.

But he did not let her continue. He pushed her gently so that she lay on her back, his fur cloak covering them like the wall of a cave, his mountain of a body hovering over her. Rachel wrapped her arms around his body, needing more, and he kissed her, hungrily, deeply, his tongue dipping into her mouth and dancing with hers. His lips tickled, taunted, teased her neck, the skin of her chest, then her fevered stomach, only to stoke the wildfire inside her as he continued even further down.

No one had ever done this. No one.

Not that she had much experience.

His fingers brushed her inner thighs, the rough skin at their tips making all kinds of pleasure whirl in her. Embarrassment tinged her cheeks, and she felt heat roaring within her.

For god’s sake, you are not a virgin. What is wrong with you?

But she might as well have been—no one had ever kissed her there. And she was glad that Kolbjorn was the man she would have this first experience with.

His fingers gently dipped into the hot, damp depth of her, circling the soft, wet tissue that throbbed for attention, spurring waves of urgent pleasure, quick and fierce. But when she felt his mouth on her, fluttering against her, his soft beard intensifying every sensation, her cheeks began to burn in earnest—hell, her whole body did.

Violent pleasure was born where his tongue lashed her, and Rachel felt so wanton, so bad, and so present, her body free. As if she’d finally woken up to a world of color after years of gray.

And she did not want to go back.

Ever.

Her body was ready, her nerves saturated, sodden with pleasure.

“Kolbjorn, I’m going to come,” she whimpered.

“Good,” he mumbled against her.

“No,” she tugged on his shoulders, so huge that her palms could only cover the tips of them. “I want you, please. I want you inside.”

His head rose from between her thighs, a hungry smirk on his lips.

“As you wish.”

He came up to her mouth, brushing his skin against hers, the soft hairs on his chest tickling her skin, making her burn with liquid fire.

But she wanted even more firsts tonight. She pushed him to the side slightly, and with one swift movement, turned him and was on top of him. Kolbjorn moaned in delighted surprise. His fingers came back to her sex and teased her there, then he slid one inside of her and circled, sweet pressure building up in her deep muscles.

He withdrew his fingers. “You are so wet,” he whispered. “You are ready for me.”

“Oh yes.” A moan escaped her. “Yes.”

She wriggled on top of him, burning for him and yet wanting this moment to last an eternity—the moment just before she would become his and he would become hers.

As he placed his rock-hard erection right at her entrance, their eyes locked, just like when they first saw each other in the village, and time froze, eternity connecting them. And as his hot hardness entered her, it stretched her, sending the most extreme pleasure she had ever had in her life through her muscles. Their hearts beat together, and as he began pounding into her, their movements became one.

Rachel’s muscles were already clenched with pleasure, the connection between them consuming her.

Like a wave of a distant storm, her orgasm was born small and grew with each of Kolbjorn’s thrusts. When he got close as well, starting to pant and then growl with every movement, the wave took her whole and broke her against the shore in a world-shattering pleasure the likes of which she had never felt. As if amplified by Kolbjorn’s own release, it sent her trembling and her body moving together with his.

And as their combined breaths became one song, she thought that she had never felt so complete.