Damian's hands slide over her back, combing for a moment through her hair before gripping at her again. He can't hold back any more and moans, his head falling back as he is bombarded with the sensation of her hands and lips.

He curses in Old Norse, and though the words aren't recognisable, they can easily be identified. His hips rise to meet her hands, and the heat in him grows exponentially.

It is only when he reaches the very edge that he truly realises that she means what she has said and doesn't intend to stop him and make him beg for it. That thought along with the unceasing pleasure pushes him over the edge with a low, sustained moan, his body twitching as he spills over her hand.