Their lips met again, and the world seemed to tilt. The kiss stretched on, unhurried yet consuming, a slow unraveling of restraint neither could hold onto any longer.
He nipped at her bottom lip before quickly soothing the sting.
Their mouths lingered, lips still brushing, breaths mingling in the charged space between them.
When they finally parted, the silence that followed was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing.
Circe's chest rose and fell in tandem with his. Her lips were swollen, flushed from the intensity of his kiss, and a faint tremor lingered in her hands where they rested on his shoulders.
Her hair had come completely undone, tumbling down her back like a dark waterfall, its silken strands catching the candlelight.
A few loose wisps had fallen over her face. Ragnar reached up, his touch feather-light, and tucked a strand behind her ear.
His fingers brushed her skin, a simple touch that somehow carried more heat than any kiss.
