Page 80 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Touching my hip, he rolled me to my front. My cheeks were still tender from the three strikes visited upon me.
He knelt to retrieve his leather belt, and I froze in horror. Was this what it meant—to be owned by the Beast? He meant to flog me with the thick leather which carried his weapons?
Perhaps he heard my gasp, for he looked up.
Holding the strap in his hand, he watched me with curiosity. “This excites you?” He regarded my buttocks and then the belt. “You appreciate pleasure only when tempered with pain?” He appeared to think upon it, rubbing the leather between his fingers.
“I shall first give you pleasure and then we shall see.”
He extracted a small pouch and then a vial from within.
A potion? I wondered. There were such things, I’d heard, that heightened sensation and passion. Only once had I experienced such a thing—breathing the sacred smoke of Svolvaen’s Ostara celebrations. I’d not been myself that night—my inhibitions lowered, until I’d welcomed a coupling that should never have been.
Eldberg came again to the bed, sitting above me.
When he opened the bottle, it brought a strong scent—ginger and sage? I wasn’t sure. Those could be drunk when prepared as a tincture.
“Neroli,” he murmured, “and sandalwood. I paid a fine price this morning. You see, thrall, what I do to coax what I desire from you.”
It made no sense. He had only to thrust himself between my legs and the act would be done.
His hands, though calloused, were rendered slick and slippery—caressing my shoulders, pulling my arms to my sides. His thumbs travelled downward, until he found the dimples of my lower back. There, he gripped my waist, and his arousal brushed against me.
Kneading, he rubbed the curve of my hips and the fullness of my cheeks, his fingers working the fleshiest part, moving to the crease where they met my thighs. Again, he returned to my buttocks, the fragrant oil aiding his movements. Back and forth he worked, his fingers dipping lower, slipping into the cleft of my behind, skimming my curls, encouraging me to accept his fondling.
All the while, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that it was Eirik who touched me, but I could not deceive myself. These hands were not Eirik’s.
Eldberg lowered onto my back, his cock nestling where his hands had caressed, between my cheeks. His thigh pushed insistently between my legs, obliging me to open wider.
He was breathing hard, rubbing, then nudging where he wished to enter.
No! I cannot!I’d taken a man inside me there before, but Eldberg was bigger than any lover of my past, and I feared what he was capable of—that he might use me too roughly. Suddenly, I feared taking him at all. What was I doing! In the throes of desire, he would tear me asunder.
He shifted, drawing my legs between his own so that he fully straddled my hips. In that moment, I turned swiftly and the slickness of the oil permitted me to slip onto my back.
In this position, at least, I would have a better chance of diverting him.
“My lord.” I was aware of my voice quivering. “I beg you—” I tipped back my head, making myself look at him, saying the words I knew he wished to hear. “You shall own me everywhere.”
Reaching for his fingers, I brought them to my breast. “But first, caress me here.” I wetted my lips. “Spend your seed here, if you wish it—or over my belly. Let me rub you into my skin, that I may smell of you.”
His expression was inscrutable, his eyes half closed. His erection rested on my stomach—a hard rod pressing where there was no entry to be had.
Drawing back, he sat on his haunches, his arousal above me.
Grasping my legs, he brought them on either side of his. Reaching beneath, he raised my hips, so that my sex rested upon his testicles.
Only then did he pour more of the oil into his palms.
His fingers, light and firm, swept over my belly, circling, moving ever higher, until he gathered my breasts in his hands—covering then revealing, holding their weight, then releasing. Rubbing my nipples until they ached.
Even through my fear, I did not wish him to stop. Beneath the rhythm of his caress, a strange languor overtook me, and a warmth low in my womb.
And, all the while, I was aware of his manhood—the head dark and swollen, the shaft, thick-veined.
At last, he brought his mouth where his hands had caressed, gently biting, grazing with his teeth, then suckling hard, so that I arched into his hunger. His mouth was fiery hot on my skin, his beard softly grazing, making me moan, even as I was repulsed.
When our eyes met again, his glinted darkly, and he touched his tongue to my lips.
