Dream of Me/Believe in Me

casually before his gaze lit on a bowl on a nearby table. He picked it up, hefted it lightly, and tossed the contents right at her.
    Cymbra yelped, more in surprise than for any other reason, and tried to jump back, to no avail; she wassplattered with whey. The drippy, oozing stuff landed in her hair, on her cheeks, on the front of her cloak. She stared down at herself in disbelief.
“Why, you—”
    She picked up a honeycomb and threw it right at his face. It landed, stuck, and stayed there until he pulled it away.
    “If that's how you want it, my lady—” He strode toward her, honey dripping from his face, and before she could move, caught her around the waist. “Far be it from me to deny you.”
    The world turned upside down. Cymbra landed in a pile of flour sacks. Instantly she tried to get up, but her husband came down on top of her, holding her trapped. He caught her flailing arms and pinned them down. His teeth flashed whitely. “Not so bold now, wife?”
    She'd show him bold. She'd show him what a Saxon woman was made of. Frighten
her
, would he? Smear
her
with whey? She'd make him regret— Trying to gain leverage against him, Cymbra dug her heels into the sacks. Dug … and dug … and stopped digging abruptly as the fabric gave way and flour shot up, covering them both.
    As the powder settled around them, she looked up into her husband's face, streaked with honey and coated with flour, and laughed. She couldn't help it.
    He quirked an eyebrow. “This amuses you?”
    Her response wasn't smart but it was honest. She nodded.
    He held her eyes, smiling, looking oh so very beguiling as she remembered how worried she'd been for his safety and how truly glad she was, despite everything, that he was home. It was so silly of them to waste time like this. They had been apart for a week. They should be—
    “Oomph!”
    Milk poured over her, a sea of milk emptying from the bucket her insufferable husband had seized. She was soaked through, covered with whey, flour, and milk.
    She was at a loss how to respond until her eye fell on a basket of eggs lying nearby. With unholy glee, she yanked away from Wolf, who was nearly doubled over with laughter, seized the eggs, and pelted him with them. Yellow yolks and runny whites matted his hair, dripped off the end of his nose, and turned the flour all over his tunic to glue.
    She was on her feet, trying to scramble to the steps, when Wolf caught her by the skirt. She landed again in the torn sacks, briefly blinded by a new shower of flour. When her vision cleared, it was to see him over her, holding a handful of ripe berries descending right toward her—
    —mouth. “Open up,” Wolf growled. Dazed, heart pounding, she obeyed. He slipped one of the succulent fruits between her lips. Instinctively, she chewed and swallowed. He watched her intently.
    Slowly, deliberately, the Norse Wolf fed his disobedient wife berries as they lay amid the shambles of the kitchen, stained, sticky, and dripping.
    Until the berries were forgotten. Slowly, sweetly, their lips met. Cymbra moaned in relief, in need, in sheer pleasure. Wolf's beard rasped her delicate skin. His hands moved over her, possessive, urgent, yet controlled.
    “Missed you,” he murmured against her mouth. “So much.”
    “Mmm … the same …” She tugged at his tunic, shameless in her hunger for him. He pushed aside her cloak and raised her gown over her legs, bunching it at her waist.
    “Someday,” he muttered as he rose over her to undo the ties of his trousers, “I'm going to take my time with you.”
    “But not right now,” she said, demand and plea together. She clasped his upper arms, her fingers digging into the powerful muscles. A sob of pure desire brokefrom her as he spread her legs and moved to join their bodies.
    He was so big, filling her so completely, that for just a moment she felt too stretched, too invaded. But she adjusted quickly, her hot, silken sheath alternately tightening and relaxing around him. She was rewarded by his husky groan.
    Moving within her, he whispered of how she felt to him, how he wanted her to feel, how he had thought of her when they were apart, what she did to him. His bluntness shocked and excited her. She felt herself spiraling out of control and clung to him even more tightly.
    He raised her legs, clasping them around his hips, and drove even more deeply. She rose to meet him, her back arching, her head falling back to expose the vulnerable curve of her neck.