Ragnar at by and large ignored Thistle’s glare and quiet command as if, humorously enough, she actually expected him to listen. By the laws of marriage she was his equal, and in all ways he generally saw her as such, but he was still her husband and a man besides and there would always be a small part of him that wanted her to cease her with demands (he only seemed to mind them when he was ill or injured really). He wasn’t going to be chided by her as if she were his mother (thankfully she wasn’t). “I do not need it,” He told her simply, dismissively, a challenging, coy little smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as he silent invited her to make him eat those foul plants. He had not forgotten their bitter taste from the last time she had convinced him to consume them. It tasted worse that decaying meat - which was pretty damn foul to begin with. “My love…” He called to her in a condescending tone was teasing, enjoying her silly little commands that he had no intention of submitting to.
The abruptness with which she turned her body away from him, twisting it just out of his reach caused the Viking to stumble slightly, having pressed his chest to her backside for slightly assistance in balance. Ears slicked back to his skull when she growled at his advances. Blatantly, the Viking ignored it and ghosted forward again, wanting his wife that was his right as her husband. “Thistle,” Ragnar purled at her sauntering towards her as stealthily as he could, a small whine of desire slipping from betwixt his lips. “I want your body,” The Viking spoke the obvious in his heavy, accented voice. “Let me worship you.” He purred in a voice that almost border-lined a plea, but he saw her chase as a game. He wasn’t the kind of man that gave up easily, as she full well knew. “Every inch of your gorgeous body,” The fact of it was he wanted to kiss her everywhere, (literally everywhere) and ravish her. So lost was Ragnar in that moment, in his fever, and in his carnal desire for Thistle that the children in her womb had nearly been forgotten about. “I would not hurt them, or you. There would be only rapture, gaman,” He promised coyly, as he slyly slid back around to her back side for a second attempt, this time placing sultry kissed along the curve of her spine, down towards her tailbone within his limited reach, attempting to win her over as he slowly began to work his way to her most intimate region with his kisses (providing she did not move again) where the hormones that was along with his delirium fueling the fire in his loins was secreting from.
