Nine Hours

Chapter 19

If I thought my heart was pounding before, I was totally wrong. Because now, it is hammering hard enough to escape from my chest.

Lifting Cassie into my arms, I carry her down the short hallway, using my foot to bang open the door to the bedroom. A small lamp I'd left on offers a golden glow shedding a sparse amount of light that creates a den-like atmosphere. The leather and animal skins on the walls and bed add to the primal effect which, in turn, fuels my desperate need for this woman on every level, one in particular at this moment.

Before setting her on the skin covering the bed, I gaze into her eyes, unblinking, my jaw set. As much as I want to throw her down and bury my body in hers, there can be no doubts on her part. I couldn't live with myself afterward if tonight is the death knell of my—our—future.

"Be certain."

"I'm..." She swallows, as if afraid of her next words. In the end, her tone is bold and definitive. "I'm certain." Then she shivers, but not because she is cold.

With a sharp nod, I set her on the edge of the bed and reach behind me, yanking the gray T-shirt over my head.

"Oh, God." Cassie's wide eyes roam my bare torso. She lifts a hand, instinctively reaching for me, then stops. Her gaze shoots warily to mine, asking for permission she doesn't need. I shake my head, and grasp her hand, placing it in the center of my chest. Her next breaths are shallow and quick as she touches me for the first time, a single slow stroke down the center of my chest, then pulling away as if scorched. Her touch was like a whisper, barely there, filled with promise. While I want her hands to continue to explore my whole body, there is time for that later. All the time in the world, actually. For now, I need to see her. Touch her.

I unzip her sweatshirt, shoving the sleeves off her arms and throwing the garment across the room. Her nipples poke against the camisole like the tips of bullets. Pulling her to standing, my hands slide beneath the hem of her top, slowly inching it up as my palms come into contact with her skin along the way.

Gods, if this alone is erotic, what is the rest of this night going to be like?

Stopping just below the rise of her breasts, I pause and stare, waiting for her to end things before they got started. Nothing. She simply blinks, eyes dark and dilated. I inhale deeply and push the top over her arms and head and drop it to the floor, my hands resting on her pale, smooth shoulders.

I silently swear to every God I can think of in my native Norwegian. Cassie is beautiful. More than beautiful. Clearly, she works out—not an ounce of fat, but lean, toned muscles which are sexy as hell on a woman. I search her face, still expecting to find a change of heart there, a shred of doubt, but finding her own need building.

My fingertips come to life, raking over the swell of her breasts. Slipping further, my index fingers roll over her nipples, continuing past those sweet mounds, tracing a line across her tight abdomen, and stopping at the edge of the sweatpants, where I hook my fingers under the waistband. My cock has never throbbed so hard in all the times I've bedded a woman. Then again, I've never been with this woman. The woman.

Dropping to my knees, I grip her waist and let my tongue explore the pebbled tips, sweeping over them like a paintbrush. Up and down on one, then moving to the other. Cassie's hands weave into my hair, gripping the strands. I love the feeling.

"Oh. Gunnar." Her words are like fractured thoughts.

"Yes, dove. I will take care of you so well. So very well."

I slide the sweatpants down to her ankles and stand, easing her onto the bed and completely removing them. She lays there in only a pair of pink lace bikini panties, her dark eyes filled with desire and her hair billowing wildly against the fur skin. A stunning picture I will never, for the rest of my life, forget.