by Ruby Sirois
“Häxan min—” Ragnarr takes my mouth, and I match his desperate passion with everything I have.
His tongue reunites with mine, my breasts press against the hard planes of his broad chest. Every cell of my body proclaims it: he is my home. He is mine.
And I will not leave him, not ever again.
When he releases me, Ragnarr’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears.
I don’t realize I’m crying until he wipes my tears gently away with the pads of both thumbs.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
He’s trying to give me one last chance to back down. There is abject fear in his eyes, but still Ragnarr offers me my freedom. No monster would ever do such a thing.
I don’t want freedom. I deny him, deny his offer.
“I always am.” I set my chin, determined. “My sandwich, please. Don’t make me beg for it.”
A crooked smile. “But you’re so pretty when you beg.”
“Fine, then. Please, Ragnarr. Please.”
My meal appears on the kitchen table like a camera viewfinder coming into focus. Scrumptious, all of it, but I’m not in the mood to eat.
I look down at his disc hanging between my breasts. The last fingernail of silver dissolves into bright, shining gold.
The disc, his disc, now shines with the light of noonday sun.
The light of life. Of love.
“I believe I owe you one final payment,” I say.
I stand on my toes, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull him down for a kiss.
“Häxan,” he says, raining kisses down on my face, my neck. “Lilla häxan min. I thought I would never see you again. Never hold you again, never kiss you again.” My dragon’s voice cracks with emotion. “I almost died without you.”
“I’m here now, Ragnarr. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He picks me up with ease, carries me to the bedroom as if I am made of precious crystal.
“It’s about time you got here,” yowls Whimsy as he darts to the left, narrowly missing being trampled under large draconic feet. “She’s been wasting away without you, dragon.”
“Remind me to conjure him up an extra big fish,” Ragnarr whispers into the shell of my ear.
“I like tuna!” Whimsy calls after.
My bed sinks under our weight. My face is wet with tears, and I kiss him, again and again.
I cling to him, my embrace tight around him.
“Don’t ever leave me again, Ragnarr Thoringr.”
His gaunt cheeks are wet with my tears.
Ragnarr draws back, gazing deep into my eyes. His entire manner has changed, his perpetual irony stripped away until only the fiery essence of him remains.
“You’re a hearth fire in a sea of darkness dotted with fireflies, Emelie,” he says quietly. “Before I met you, I only ever saw the fireflies. And I thought I had to be content with them, and that I was justified in feeling that their light would never warm me. But only when you warm yourself by a live fire at last, the fire of home, do fireflies pale in comparison.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“You are my life, Emelie. You are my love, my mate. My hearth fire.”
29: Ragnarr
Emelie’s eyes are huge, sparkling with tears of love. I swim in them, lose myself in them, drown in them.
I melt, my insides turning to warm, sweet honey with the depth of my love for her. My sweet witch’s arms cling to my neck as if I’m the only thing in the world keeping her alive. Just as she is for me.
“I love you, Ragnarr,” she whispers in my ear. “I never want to be without you again. Make me yours. I want to be yours forever.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“You mean—”
“I want you to make me your hoard.” There is no doubt, no hesitation left in her. “I know what that means now. And I’m not afraid anymore.”
I take Emelie’s mouth, dip my tongue in and taste her. Honey, mint, a hint of cherries.
She tastes of love, of intensity, of passion. Of my sweet witch.
Her fingers twine in my hair, capturing me and holding me close.
Emelie meets my kisses with her own, her tongue dueling with mine. We are equally matched.
Her soft breasts press against my chest, her luscious thighs part, wrap around my waist. Her heels dig into the backs of my thighs, spurring me on.
“Claim me, Ragnarr,” Emelie says, her voice low and husky with need. “Knot me, hoard me. It’s what I want. I’m yours.”
“But what you said, back in the clearing—” I say, pulling back to look at her.
Despite it all, I am still haunted by doubt, scarred by it. It gnaws at me, chewing ragged holes that threaten to obliterate all I am.
“I didn’t mean it,” she says vehemently, giving me a little shake for emphasis. “Do you hear me? I almost died when I told you to go. And after you left, I almost died again.”
“I nearly died when you said it. That I’m a monster to you.” My voice is hollow.
Tears of empathy leak from her eyes, and her arms twine around me as if I’m the only thing keeping her head above water. I recognize it, because I cling to her now in the same way, with the same desperate intensity.
“I’m sorry, my love. It almost killed me,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, Ragnarr. I swear I didn’t mean it.” She kisses me passionately, stealing my breath away. “I was afraid. I was terrified you would kill us, kill my coven. I thought you were dangerous. That you wanted blood.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I know you’d never hurt me. I was never concerned about that. But my coven—” her voice breaks. “I thought you would kill them. I had to save them. You must understand that.”
I don’t need to tell her that I had wanted to kill them for taking her from me. That I would have. Emelie already knows, and it deeply shames me.
“I’m sorry, häxan.” A breath. “They antagonized me, tried to steal you from me. It drove my dragon mad. It drove me mad.”
Even the memory triggers a tingling at my shoulder blades, at my jawline, my fingertips.
Not now, I tell my dragon.
Mine, it growls back.
Her lips are trembling. My heart breaks.
“I know it’s not an excuse, häxan.”
I rain kisses on her arms, her throat, her lovely soft face.
“And I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my days atoning for what I’ve done. I’ll make reparations, set up charity funds, anything to earn your forgiveness. I’ll do anything you ask. Just let me make you mine, make you my hoard. Please. Don’t cry. I’m so sorry, lilla häxan.”
“I know,” she says, cheeks shining with tears. A hesitation. A determination. “Eiríkur told me everything.”
“What?” I pull back in surprise. Pull a face. “Eiríkur? That traitor.”
“If it weren’t for ‘that traitor’, I wouldn’t be here in your arms now.”
She gives me a look.
I grunt. “Well, for that I won’t kill him.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I sigh.
“I’m not actually going to kill him, häxan. He’s my brother.”
She lets out a breath. Relaxes.
“It’s really hard to tell with you, you know.”
Another thing I must apologize for, atone for. Yet I do not resent it, because for her, I would do anything—and be happy for it just to have her by my side. I plant small tender kisses down the column of her throat.
“Forgive me, häxan.”
I feel her smile into my hair as she returns my kisses there behind my ear.
“I already have.”
“For you, I’ll do better.”
“I know you will.”
A thought strikes me.
“But what about your coven? Surely they will never forgive me.”
She scowls. “This is my life, not theirs. They’ll just have to deal with it, or find another coven-mate. I’ll practice solit
ary if I need to. You’re the most important thing to me.”
“You’d do that for me?” I am genuinely surprised. “You’d abandon your own coven-mates?”
A moue of distaste.
“I prefer not to call it abandonment, but like I said: they can deal with it, or they can walk away.”
Her eyes fix on mine: steady, determined, stubborn.
“This is my life, my love, and no one else’s. I wanted to die without you, and I refuse to go back to that place. No one will ever steal me from you again, I promise you. Promise me.”
“I swear it, lilla häxan. You are mine, and no one will ever take you from me. Not now, not ever again.”
“Make it so, Ragnarr. Make me yours.”
30: Ragnarr
I pull her on top of me. Her dress floats around her thighs like a field of midsummer wildflowers.
“You’re incredibly beautiful, häxan,” I say, fingering the hem. “Didn’t I buy this for you that day?”
Emelie smiles.
“It was your favorite, besides the red dress. I thought—well, I thought it might help me. To call you.”
“You could wear anything, or nothing at all. You’ll always look incredible to me.”
My disc dangles between her breasts, catching the light.
“But I hope you’ll always wear my sigil, no matter what. That’s what’s most beautiful on you.”
She caresses it. “I’ve never taken it off, despite everything. A part of me always wanted to feel close to you, no matter what.”
I never thought I’d hear Emelie say anything of the sort—I’d had no idea. I swallow a lump of emotion in my throat.
“Kiss me, häxan.”
She plants her palms on the broad expanse of my chest, leans down. Her long red-gold locks pool on the pillow, surrounding my senses with the scent of her: wildflower honey, warm summer sun, wanton musk.
Emelie’s lips are warm and soft, and her tongue darts out to taste mine. I wrap my arms around her, pressing her body to mine.
But Emelie sits up, fiddling with the buttons of my shirt.
“Take this off—I need to feel your bare skin.”
I struggle with the buttons before giving up and pulling the whole thing over my head. My body looks smaller after my weeks of despair and neglect, but she doesn’t seem to notice or even care.
Her hands are all over me, tracing the lines of my pecs, the thick lats and biceps, running delicate fingertips through the expanse of pale golden hair on my chest.
Despite my burning need for her, I let her take her time, let her discover my body once more.
I want her to be totally comfortable with me before I hoard her.
Emelie tugs at my waistband.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” I say, “for me to be naked and you still in that dress.”
“Oh, you’ll get your chance,” she says with a naughty smile. “But you’re in my bed now. My bed, my rules. And I say that you should be naked first.”
I can’t help but grin up at her. I’ve never seen this side of her, this commanding, demanding side, and I’m enjoying it.
“Your wish is my command, lilla häxan.”
I gasp as the waistband slides over my cock, letting it escape its confines, hard and proud.
She pulls my trousers down my legs, off, throws them on the floor in a corner.
Her eyes drop to my cock, smiles, looks back up at me. I groan.
My sex goddess has already come up with the first way for me to atone for my sins, and I brace myself. I can tell it will be the sweetest of tortures.
“I want to explore you, taste you,” she says. “You don’t know how much I’ve thought about it since—since that first time. I’ve missed your taste, your scent.”
She spreads my thighs, planting herself between them for the best view.
“All you have to do is ask—actually, not even that.”
I inhale sharply as she trails soft fingers down along my shaft.
“I’m yours for the taking, häxan.”
My mating fist throbs, demanding, but I cannot let it expand yet—not until I’m deep inside her.
Soon, I tell it.
Her fingers wrap around me, caressing my foreskin, drawing it down, then giving my shaft a few experimental strokes before finding a smooth rhythm. Her other hand strokes my balls. They draw up under her touch, tight to the base of my shaft.
Every time her hand slides over my mating fist, I get wetter. Soon, clear droplets are flowing down my shaft, natural lubricant for every stroke of her hand.
My fingertips dig into the sheets as I pump my hips up into her fist. I can’t contain my reactions.
Her fingers are magical, finding exactly the right speed and strength to drive me wild.
But her goal is not to make me come. When I think I’m coming close, she slows, backs off—again and again.
It’s been so long, I don’t know how I can hold off—but somehow, I do.
Emelie’s eyes meet mine. She raises wet fingers to her lips, sucks each one clean, little pink tongue darting out to lap up every droplet before licking them directly from the source.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“You taste so sweet,” she says, voice husky. “I’ve missed tasting you.”
Before I can reply, she dips her head lower and does the same to my shaft. I make a strangled noise. My cock pulses under her ministrations. From root to crown, she swipes it with broad strokes of her tongue, paying special attention to the iron ring of my mating fist. It twitches with each stroke of her tongue, growing harder with every lick until I think I’ll die.
She smiles.
She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Fy fan, häxan,” I grind out.
I feel myself getting wetter for her, and she seeks out each drop eagerly.
“You’re torturing me.”
I gasp as Emelie takes the head of my cock between her lips, gentle pressure from her tongue slowly swirling around its sloping tip. Her soft hand joins her mouth, sliding over my shaft in a tempo designed to drive me insane.
She makes little keening noises of pleasure, and under her voluminous skirt is the movement of her hips—she’s enjoying herself as much as I am.
She is my wild, wanton sex goddess. And I’m entirely under her spell.
Emelie’s tongue finds the most sensitive part of my cock, right beneath the head, and I almost fall off the bed. I can’t take any more.
“That’s enough, häxan,” I say, sitting up, “if you don’t want me to flip you over and fuck you right now.”
I take her by the wrists and pull her on top of me, straddling me, for a deep kiss. She tastes of me, of sweet cinnamon and salt, and of her own wildflower flavor.
Emelie’s wide skirt is an impenetrable barrier between her body and my naked cock, and all of a sudden I’m out of patience with it. I’d shred it from her with my fangs if I were in dragon form, and not be sorry one bit.
My fingers find the zipper of her dress, tug it down. Emelie pulls back from the kiss, eyes wide and full of desire, cloud of red-gold hair prettily disheveled around her shoulders. She moves to pull the dress off, but I stop her.
“Let me,” I say.
I slide one strap, then the other, off her soft shoulders. Pulling the wide skirt up and over her head, it lifts like morning mist from the most beautiful view of my life.
I am deeply moved by the sight of her.
Emelie is completely bare—she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her dress. The sharp dip of her waist, the generous curves of her hips and thighs—I would drop to my knees and worship her like the goddess she is, every day, with everything I have, if only she would allow it.
Forgotten, the dress floats to the floor.
She pushes me up against the headboard, tucking a couple of pillows behind my back. Emelie straddles me once more, and now nothing stands between us. Her skin is hot satin, pressed against mine.
I comb my fingers through her glorious hair, watch it slide like liquid rose gold through my hands. She wraps her arms around my neck, soft breasts pressing against the hard planes of my chest. My hands skim her curves, tracing the hills and valleys of her. Every part of her is so soft, fills my hands so smoothly.
I can’t imagine a more perfect goddess, a more perfect mate. A more perfect hoard.
I take one coral nipple in my mouth, teasing it with my tongue until it’s tight and hard. Emelie’s hips move against me, urging me on with little gasps and cries of pleasure. When I sample the other, she cups the back of my head with her hands, brushing my hair from my face to give me better access.
Her scent intensifies, and my cock responds. I feel her nectar on my thighs. I dip my fingers down along her ass, following the crack of it all the way down to her wet cunt. I dip into it from behind, relishing how her honey coats my fingers. She cries out, angling her hips to give me better access.
I find her hard pearl, tracing little circles around it, drawing hearts around it.
“I want that to be my tongue,” I say, pulling my fingers back to suck them clean.
Emelie grabs my wrist, and looking into my eyes, licks her honey from my digits. I take her mouth, my tongue dipping deeply, sampling the flavors of her from her lips, from my fingers, back to her mouth.
Her skin is damp, feverish—she quivers against me as my kisses grow more demanding.
“I’ve missed your kisses. Missed your tongue on me,” she says. “I thought I’d never hold you again. I thought I would die without you.”
Her eyes are suddenly sparkling with tears, and I kiss them from her eyelashes.
“I’ll never fly away from you again,” I vow. “I was crumbling to dust without you, before you called me back to you.”
I take her beautiful face between my palms, look deeply into her eyes.
“You’re mine, all mine. You’ll never be lost to me again, häxan.”
“Promise me?”
I nod, my expression grave.
“I will love you until the moon dies. Until the sun turns to stone. Even then, and beyond, I will love you. You are my life, my heart, my blood—and soon you will be my hoard.”
