Page 26 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
I enclosed him with my hand, squeezing, moving his skin back and forth, teasing the bulging helmet of his erection, sucking at the tender spot beneath its head.
“You’ll protect me, always; love me, always?”
“Aye, I will.”
I opened my mouth wide, taking Eirik deep, past my teeth, to the back of my jaw, humming against his growing hardness then drawing back, letting my tongue work the length of him.
“Odin’s Valhalla!” Eirik gasped, opening his legs and grasping my hair. “Don’t stop!”
I sucked upon him again, drawing forth his brine. He was watching my mouth moving on him, my tongue licking at the fluid that trickled from his tip, my hand cupping beneath.
“I want the taste of you, Eirik.”
He groaned as I took his balls into my mouth, humming again so that he’d feel the vibration, letting him know how delicious he was.
At full arousal, it was more difficult to take him wholly in my mouth, but I returned to suck his length until I felt his tremor begin to rise. Swiftly, I diverted him into the warmth of my cunt; only just in time, for he cried out and pulsed inside me.
When I blew out the lamp, I lay my head upon his chest. “You love me, Eirik?” I ran my fingertips over the raised scar down his side, a wound from long ago.
“Aye, I love thee.”
He wrapped his arm about my shoulders and I felt safe. He was mine and I was his.
“Forever?” I whispered.
In answer, there was only the soft, regular breathing of a man who had succumbed to sleep.
* * *
An old dream returned. I was alone with a wolf who’d long ago prowled my sleep. Circled by the beast, I didn’t scream or run, but lay down and offered my neck. I bared my breast to its claws, watching as they peeled back the skin to reveal my beating heart. It lowered its shaggy head, licking the pulsing blood from my body.
It was still dark when I woke. I trembled—but not only from fear.
7
Late next morning, Lady Asta gave me my leave and I walked down to visit Astrid. I half-expected Bodil to be waiting, to block my path and lay vengeful hands upon me, so far had my imagination built upon my previous meeting with her. Though I passed several of my new kinsmen, I was relieved to see that she was not among them.
In truth, Svolvaen seemed extraordinarily quiet. The weather was turning cooler, the sky overcast, but fine enough yet to work outside and make the most of the good daylight. However, the street lacked its usual bustle.
Eirik had been pleased to close the doors on the barn, knowing the winter fodder was safely stored. He’d gone out with the fishermen soon after dawn, eager for the smell of the sea. The fields had claimed too much of his time.
The stacking of the hay had brought the harvest to its close and some of the older men sat in leisure, taking a pipe and a horn of ale. They paused in their conversation as I passed, nodding their recognition, which I returned in kind.
It was a simple gesture but it warmed me, and I was emboldened to address a woman seated nearby. She’d been following my progress down the hill, I was certain, but glanced away as I approached, to the embroidery in her lap.
“Good morrow.” I wracked my memory for the right words with which to praise her needlework. Her fingers were nimble with the thread: a vivid red against white cloth.
“It’s very fine,” I settled upon, at last. “Your hands are clever.”
She raised her head at that and thanked me.
“You’ve come to see Astrid?” she asked. “I saw her looking from her door, watching for you, perhaps.”
Her face was kindly, but I only nodded. It wasn’t for me to reveal why Astrid might be expecting me. I’d keep her confidences.
“You’re a good girl.” The woman turned back to her work. “Pay no heed to anyone who says differently; they’re only wishing they were in your place.”
I thought, wryly, that none really knew what it was like to be ‘in my place’ but her kind words touched me, since I’d had few enough from the women of Svolvaen.
