Circe stirred slowly from sleep, the first pale hints of morning light filtering through the heavy curtains of their chamber. The world felt distant and muted, as though she were floating in a dream-like state, hovering just over wakefulness. Her body was warm and heavy, pleasantly languid, the exhaustion that crashed over her after the excitement wore off still clinging to her muscles like a second skin.
Yet something tugged at her awareness, coaxing her gently toward wakefulness.
A warm, insistent pressure moved unhurriedly along her skin.
Her lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes only a fraction, keeping them narrowed to slits, not quite ready to fully emerge from the haze. Ragnar was there, his broad form hovering over her, dark and solid against the dim glow of dawn. His breath brushed hot against her abdomen, each exhale raising goosebumps along her skin.
