[m] water that i crave

Added. ;P So I'm going to say it's safe to assume that everything past this OOC note is mature and to read at your own discretion. :-)

Ragnar's eyes of Caribbean ice studied her, his Priestess with the longing that he had felt the first time he had laid eyes upon her in her home pack when he and his Berserkers had raided it. It was a look heavy leaden with curiosity, deviousness, and desire. As it had that fateful night his head canted to the side in a manner resembling Huginn and Munnin when they were observant, watching with a coy smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as his Priestess Wife's lips parted as if she intended to speak but the silence between them remained unbroken. A soft chuckle slipped from between Ragnar's lips when she inquired to him in Norse. Ég var að stríða, He crooned to her in a tone made softer so that it was hardly more than a husky whisper. Telling me you want me doesn't hurt, either. He spoke to her in English, despite that he knew that she did want him though. He understood she was inexperienced and that absolutely nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this, except for maybe her natural instincts. So, Ragnar drew in a conclusive breath. Do you want me, Priestess? The Viking teased her, using what had easily became his pet name for her. She had told him not to call her that and yet, Ragnar couldn't help himself. He did not use it in the same manner he had called her it in the beginning. It was turned into a word of affection rather than one of scorn as it had first been. Even then, it had only been spoken in the first months of her enslavement to him out of scorn because he had been slighted by her continued rejections towards him.

Her plea was nearly Ragnar's undoing, but as far as he was concerned he hadn't been given the adequate permission that he sought and so therefore he could do nothing further to alleviate the building tension between them. The fire pooling in his stomach, spreading with an aching slowness towards his loins did not hinder Ragnar's patience. He had enough experience with the fairer sex to know that waiting was well worth it, in the end. As he waited for her to move, he felt a slight shiver of the ocean breeze as it moved through his damp fur, a cool kiss against the heat of his skin beneath, having nearly forgotten everything else. In that moment nothing mattered but Nerian, not that they were both still damp from standing in the salt water, not that the night was cool. It was as if the world had melted away and all that remained was the two of them. Her tail moved for him and she back up so that her hips were nearly flush against his chest. Ragnar's black, leathery nostrils flared, drinking in her scent. Her body was pure from the scent of heat but it did not lessen the platinum and scarred Northerner's desire for her any. Nerian inclined her neck, the feel of her tongue sliding across his muzzle was momentarily distracting to the Jarl; for a stretch of moments Ragnar stood there, unmoving, relishing in the feel of her kisses. Unintentionally building the tension before he moved his head towards her spine, not in rejection of her ministrations but to rake his teeth through the coarse fur along the curve of her spine once in both a warning to alert her to what he was about to do, and as a small measure of preperation.

In a swift, singular movement the Jarl pushed himself onto his hind legs and drew his Priestess Wife nearer, forelegs hugging her abdomen gently but with enough pressure to keep him stable, as the curve of her spine moved against his underside. The majority of his weight shifted quickly to his hind legs, and for a moment he fought to find a comfortable balance against her body much smaller than his, hind paws burrowing into the sand beneath them. He let out a soft breath, fanning against the fur at the nape of her neck as his hips moved towards hers and their bodies joined.

TABLE CODE BY JOHN