Page 25 of Odin

And his cock was...well, fucking massive, that was for sure. Almost bigger than she remembered, which made no sense, because it had fitted fine inside her before. Very fine, in fact.

He pulled her up, so she straddled his lap, his cock rubbing her folds, yet still not inside her.

"Please, Olaf. Please," she begged, grinding herself against him. Another orgasm shouldn't even be possible, and yet she could feel the pleasure building.

From that glint in his eye, she knew he felt it, too. He fasted his hands around her hips, pressing her down harder, still not entering her. "Come for me, Freyja," he ordered.

Suddenly she felt like she'd drunk the whole bottle of champagne anyway, pleasure bubbling up inside her until she couldn't help but scream.

And Olaf rewarded her, giving her every inch of his considerable cock until he was buried in her to the hilt, stretching her to her very limits. Or maybe even past them, she wasn't sure.

"Fuck. Fuck," she moaned, trying to adjust to his girth while still holding on to the last wisps of euphoria from that last orgasm.

Then he began to move inside her, glacial thrust after glacial thrust, though his touch was anything but icy. Setting her on fire from the inside out, with one hand burning against her hip, and the other branding her arse.

And his mouth was everywhere...her throat, her breasts, her lips, before he took one of her nipples in his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make her yelp, before sucking hard to soothe the sting.

And his cock? Fuck, she'd thought earlier that she'd like to ride his face...now, she wanted to sit in his lap forever. Impaling herself on him over and over until the impossible happened – another orgasm, building bigger than anything she'd ever known before, tonight or otherwise, threatening to carry her away, to bury her entirely, and she didn't care what it did, as long as Olaf didn't stop moving his massive cock and...

Oh FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKINGFUCK...

Before words left her altogether.

THIRTY

Sometime after midnight, Odin knew they should stop. Freyja was exhausted, so drunk on pleasure she could not sit upright in his lap any more if he did not support her, so he laid her down on the pillows, trying to memorise the sight of her blissful face so that he would never forget this night.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop," she begged.

He leaned forward to kiss her. "I'd happily make love to you forever, and never stop, but you need sleep."

She grabbed his arse, squeezing the cheeks with surprising strength. "I can sleep when tonight's over. Right now, all I need is you."

Odin wanted to tell her she deserved so much more. A man who could protect her, who would put her needs before his own selfish ones, who had not almost cost her her livelihood...but buried in her wet heat, as he was right now, he could not resist her.

So he made love to her languidly, as though they had all the time in the world, while dawn crept irrevocably closer.

One final orgasm shuddered through her body, as her eyelids drooped. "I love you," she mumbled, as her eyes slid shut.

Odin's heart shattered within his chest, stone shards piercing his insides. "Not as much as I love you," he whispered, gently disengaging from her irresistible depths. He dropped one final kiss on her slightly parted lips, before gathering his things and heading to his own resting place.

He left the strange garment with Olaf's name on it, neatly folded on the same metal table where he'd found it. He'd already tipped the water out of the long tray that now only held his spear, but now he paused by the sink so that he might wash one more time, as was proper.

When he was clean, he opened the door of the cold storage room, barely feeling the chill as the air clouded around him. The tray on the wheeled table was cool against his skin, and long enough for him to stretch out to his full length, though his toes grazed the edge.

This was what Freyja needed, he told himself. A thousand year old Viking body in her cool room, not in her bed. For all that Odin wished it could be otherwise, he knew it could not. He could not.

Instead, he recalled her words, her last order to him: "Put the body back in the fridge. No one will ever know."

This was her command. As surely as her cry for help had awoken him, her voice was the lullaby that would send him back into slumber.

Perhaps for another thousand years, and when he woke, no one would remember her name, or his, like the history books of this time that did not mention himself, or Erik, or any of his men.

But he would remember, and the memory would be his alone.

Smiling, Odin drifted into oblivion.

THIRTY-ONE

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