Ragnar's mouth moved slowly, pressing each kiss firmer against the thin fabric over her breasts. Circe's breath hitched when his lips closed around one covered nipple, sucking gently through the sheer material. The wet heat of his mouth made the fabric cling even more transparently to her skin and she arched her back without meaning to, pushing herself closer to him.
His free hand slid up her side, fingers tracing the curve of her waist before cupping the other breast. He kneaded it softly, thumb brushing over the stiff peak in slow circles. The dual sensation—his mouth on one, his hand on the other—sent waves of sensation straight down between her legs. She could feel herself growing slick, the ache building with every touch.
"Ragnar…" she whispered, her voice already rougher than before.
