Varg loomed over me, his presence a tectonic force that threatened to crush the very air from my lungs. His breath, scorched with the scent of pine and predatory intent, burned against the sensitive curve of my neck. When his hands finally dove beneath the thin fabric, finding my breasts, it wasn't an act of tenderness. It was a declaration of territory.
It was the heavy, calloused hand of a king claiming a rebellious province.
I didn't shrink away. Instead, I hooked my fingers into the straps of my chemise and dragged them down, baring myself to the freezing Alberta air and the searing heat of his gaze. I pulled him closer, pressing my body against his with an animalistic urgency that matched his own.
