Page 170 of Whisper of Nightmares

He starts rocking his hips, the velvety hardness of him stroking her in that same place his tongue had just been. Only this is more delicious. More forbidden. More intense. As if her body is already eager to plunge into oblivion again.

Euphemia arches into him and feels the head of his heat slip into her entrance. She stretches around him, breathing into the subtle burn, praying to be consumed by his flames.

Before she can take the entirety of him, Dagfinn pauses.

He meets her eyes, a question behind his own. Asking if this is okay.

If she tells him to stop, he will. Even when they are both trembling with want. He wants her to know it is not too late to turn back.

But Euphemia has never been more certain of anything in her life.

Desire fogs her mind, and though Euphemia cannot muster the words to tell him it’s alright, she uses her body to communicate her message instead. She wants this. Needs this. Euphemia sways her hips up and down, coaxing Dagfinn to do the same.

He’s hesitant at first, as if he’s worried he might break her.

All it takes is a few rocking motions to alleviate him of those doubts.

Then he’s matching her tempo, their bodies creating an orchestra of pain and pleasure played only for their ears.

A fire builds between them. Burning. Engulfing her once more until she is bursting. An inferno of heat blazing over every inch of her skin.

She clings to him as the pleasure crests, hearing his breath break against her ear, feeling the tremor that runs through him as he follows her over the edge.

For one suspended moment, there is nothing but heat and breath and the two of them tangled together.

Dagfinn collapses against her, the two of them heaving. Resting.

As clarity begins to return, Euphemia realizes that she has never felt closer to anyone else, and she can’t help but wonder if this is a small part of magic in the world. The way two bodies come together, becoming one for that fleeting moment.

Eventually, Dagfinn pulls himself out of her. He uses his discarded trousers to clean her up before retrieving blankets from the armoire and laying them on the bed.

For a moment, she worries he’ll leave now. It’s not uncommon for a Lord and Lady to sleep in separate chambers, but after everything it took to get him home, the thought of spending her first night with him only to wake alone makes something inside her ache.

Dagfinn climbs into bed beside her, alleviating those fears.

He plants a kiss atop her head. “Dream well, wife of mine.”

Euphemia’s stomach dips and she nestles closer. “You as well, husband.”

It’s quiet for a long time. So long that Euphemia almost wonders if he’s fallen asleep. Under any other circumstances, she would let him rest. But the thought that strikes her is too curious to keep contained.

“Dagfinn?”

Drowsiness is already claiming him when he responds, “Hmm?”

“Do you think we’ll dream of that place tonight?”

A shudder runs through him, too pronounced for Euphemia not to notice.

Of course, the idea would sound revolting to him. He’d just spent untold days trapped there, nearly losing himself.

Euphemia winces at her own stupidity. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

That jolts him a bit. Dagfinn wraps his arm around her shoulder, folding her into the crook of his arm. “Nonsense. You should bring everything up to me. If we do return there again, can you promise me something?”

Euphemia looks at him. “Anything.”

The smile that creeps into his expression chases away all the shadows. “Will you find me so we can do what we just did there as well?”