Storm of Fury

by Bec McMaster

  His wet fingers traced slippery trails up her abdomen, and then he was suckling them into his mouth, and tasting her body’s slickness on his tongue. “Gods, you taste delicious. I want to drown myself between your thighs.” A rough laugh escaped him. “I want to teach you just what a man with a beard can do.”

  And then he was grinding her against the door, his teeth sinking into the muscle between her shoulder and her neck.

  “I love that I don’t have to be gentle with you,” he breathed, suckling her skin into his mouth. “I love that you’re woman enough to take all of me without complaint. I want to be patient, but I don’t think I have it in me. Not with you. I want to fuck you, Bryn. I want you on your hands and knees, begging me for more.”

  She moaned.

  “Is that what you want?” He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and her sex pulsed in response. “Do you want me to be rough, Bryn? Or do you want me to be patient?”

  She was always in control, but his words seemed to rouse some side of her she’d never felt before. She could see herself exactly as his words painted. Begging him. Screaming her pleasure. Desperate for more.

  “Rough,” she whispered.

  And he growled under his breath, biting her earlobe. “Good girl.”

  “Kiss me,” she demanded, turning in his grip and sliding both arms around his neck. Sense fled. Doubt fled. There was only this.

  Desire. Need.

  An absolute desperation to get under his skin.

  His mouth crashed down upon hers, and they careened back against the door. Bryn tilted her mouth to his, drinking in the hot lash of his tongue. The man knew how to kiss. Every move was hard and aggressive, as though he knew the seconds were ticking down until dawn.

  “Key,” he demanded, his hot breath scoring her sensitive lips.

  Somehow she got the door open. And then they were staggering through it. Tormund slammed the door shut behind them, then caught her beneath the thighs and hauled her legs around his waist.

  The shock of the moment seared her nerves.

  She was used to being the aggressor in all her physical relationships. Used to overpowering—or even dwarfing—most men. But Tormund was an enormous brute of a man, carved with thick, heavy muscle. Each of his hands could probably crush her skull. He strode toward the bed with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing.

  Bryn fell back upon the blankets, the breath hissing from her lungs.

  Pressing one knee between her thighs, he leaned down, capturing her chin in one hand and driving the knuckles of his other hand into the mattress. The way he claimed her mouth chased all her last lingering doubts away.

  He kissed her as if he meant to devour her. Their tongues met and clashed, wet and slick. She’d never truly thought much of kissing, but somehow, she found herself breathless. Somehow, she was leaning into his mouth, desperate for more.

  “Tormund.”

  “I know.”

  His lips grazed her jaw, and then she was arching her spine as he kissed his way down. The rough curve of his palm found her breast and he pushed it up until his tongue slid over the fleshy globe barely shielded by her shirt.

  Teeth raked over her nipple through the linen, and then his fingers found the other one. Bryn moaned, rocking into him. She liked the edge of pain, liked the firmness of his hands. He pinched her hard, until a whimper escaped her.

  She tugged at the buttons on her shirt, furious with need. The shirt vanished, and then he was tugging her bindings down, the hot cavern of his mouth enveloping her nipple.

  This was a man set upon conquering her, and curse fate, curse destiny, but tonight, all she wanted was to submit to his claim.

  But submission was not in her nature.

  Bryn locked her thighs around his hips and rolled them, shoving him down onto the bed. The timber groaned as he splayed there for her perusal.

  “Like what you see, love?” Tormund demanded, tilting his head back arrogantly.

  “Strip,” she demanded.

  He sat up, tugging roughly at the buttons on his shirt. Then he reached over his shoulder and hauled it over his head. Every inch of his chest was covered in thick, dark hair, but it was the scars there that caught her attention.

  One slicing dangerously close to his nipple.

  Another glancing off his ribs.

  She’d seen him without his shirt many a time, but she’d never let her gaze linger long enough to see those little signs of mortality. A lump formed in her throat as she traced them. Her own skin was completely smooth, devoid of the brands that should have lingered there like ugly scars, after her Valkyrie brethren burned her marks from her body.

  But this was merely another sign of the difference between them.

  He was mortal, while she had no true idea how long she would live.

  He would die one day, while she barely aged.

  And that thought struck her straight through the heart like an arrow, for she couldn’t imagine this vital, rugged bear of a man lying still and breathless.

  She didn’t want to imagine it.

  “Old wounds,” he whispered, capturing her wrists.

  “Then let us not talk of it.” Bryn traced her fingers across the broad slab of his shoulder. She closed her eyes, trying to fight down the brief surge of grief that threatened to steal her away from the moment. “When I said strip, I meant all of it.”

  His fingers dropped to the buttons on his trousers, and then he was tugging them loose, peeling the oiled leather down his powerful thighs as she shifted from one knee to the other. Bryn kissed that dangerous mouth as he kicked his boots free. He tossed his pants aside, and then lay back on the bed, looking for all the world as if he did this every day.

  “And now?” he challenged, running his hand down the flat plane of his abdomen and fisting the enormous jutting length of his cock.

  In answer, she knelt over him, sliding her palm up the hairy length of his shin. Freyr’s balls, the man was hung. “At first I thought you nothing more than a braggart, but you were right: you are man enough for me.”

  She skimmed his knees, leaving him breathless, and then kissed her way up his thighs. Every inch of him was corded with thick muscle. A warrior in every sense of the word, though it was the small imperfections—the scars here and there—that made her heart skip a beat.

  “I didn’t think you’d be this forgiving,” she admitted.

  “Oh, I haven’t forgiven you yet,” he whispered, still toying with the strands of her hair. “Though I could be so inclined. Now it’s your turn. Clothes off.”

  Bryn considered the statement, her gaze dropping to his cock. She tossed the remnants of her shirt behind her, and hauled her linen bindings over her head. Getting her trousers undone required a bit of patience, and his eyes twinkled as if he could read her frustration.

  Finally she was naked, and she could see the satisfaction in his eyes as his gaze traversed her lush figure.

  “Hell of a woman, Bryn. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  His shaft quivered with excitement, sloping up to the left. And as she watched, he pumped his hand up it, his thumb rasping over the satin-slick head of him.

  She took him in her mouth, suckling the swollen head.

  “Fuck.” Tormund’s head fell back on the pillow, and she knew he could feel her mouth working every inch of him.

  He surrendered to her, completely and utterly. There was no consideration in his motions, only pure, absolute abandon. And it made her breath catch. Tormund trusted her. He gave himself to her so completely that there was no holding back.

  She loved the power of this moment.

  The sound of his gasped curses and the feel of his hands fisting in her hair.

  Working the shaft of his cock, she swallowed him whole, tracing her tongue around the tip of him until his hips jerked.

  “Bryn, damn it.” He tried to look down at her. “I don’t think—”

  “Good,” she purred, lifting her head just long enough to meet his gaze.
“Don’t think, Tormund. Just feel. Just surrender.”

  And then she began to work his erection with hands and lips and mouth, drinking in every soft gasp he made and watching his desperate expression. The man writhed beneath her, until his eyes suddenly shot open.

  “Bryn!”

  She suckled hard, desperate for his pleasure. His cock jerked in her mouth, his testicles pulsing, and then hot seed spilled into her mouth.

  Bryn swallowed it down, working him until he grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up with a gasp.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered with a devilish smile, licking the last salty drop from her lips. “Are you all undone? Did you beg me, Tormund? And maybe you weren’t on your hands and knees, but I think I like you just like this. Flat on your back and at my mercy.”

  Sweat slicked his chest, and he lifted his head off the pillow to look at her before collapsing back down.

  Tormund fingered a silky piece of hair. “Undone.” He laughed under his breath. “Oh, you’re a devil of a woman.”

  Surging upright, he caught her wrists and hauled her over his lap before she even realized what he was doing.

  “But no, I’m not undone. Sated, perhaps.” He slid his palm over her ass, and then he was nudging her forward onto her hands. “Tolerably fucking pleased. But nowhere near undone. Or finished. My turn,” he whispered, then forced her onto her elbows. “Time to revere the beard.”

  She wasn’t prepared for it.

  But the second she opened her mouth to protest, his massive hands cupped her ass, pushing her knees wide. And then a hot-mouthed kiss was laid upon the dimples in the small of her back, a wicked tongue rasping over the sensitive skin there.

  Bryn froze. “Tormund.”

  “Aye, lass. My cock is a wonder, but you’ve not encountered the delights my tongue can yield yet.”

  Pressing her thighs wide, he drove his face into her wetness from behind. The stroke of his tongue was like a velvet lash that flayed her raw. Bryn cried out, her fingers turning into claws in the pillow.

  Oh, gods.

  “Tormund,” she breathed.

  But there was no stopping him.

  He licked and ate at her, his thumb settling to rest on her clitoris. Tracing slick circles with that thumb, he bit the curve of her ass, before driving his tongue back into her.

  Frigg’s mercy. It was like being devoured. Bryn muffled a gasp in the pillow, her entire body shuddering. She couldn’t hold herself up anymore. Could barely breathe. Oh, gods. Gods. It was too much.

  And then pleasure exploded through her.

  A scream tore from her throat, and she bucked and writhed beneath him, begging him for mercy until he finally let up.

  Every inch of her shook. The single stroke of his finger over her ass cheek made her shake her head desperately. She felt like bottled lightning, about to explode at the merest hint of a touch.

  Something round and firm brushed against her clitoris, and then he was using his cock to tease her. “This, Bryn? Do you want this?”

  “You know I do,” she gasped, trying to turn so she could throw her arms around him and take what she wanted.

  A flat palm smacked across her ass, and she gasped.

  “No,” he said, grasping her hips and forcing her to remain on her hands and knees. “In this room, you do what I want.”

  If his hands weren’t so damned good, she’d have protested.

  He wrapped an arm around her body, hauling her upright. Every hard inch of him melded to her; from shoulders to buttocks. The insistent press of his erection drove between her legs, gliding through her slick folds, but it was the hand trailing down her rounded abdomen that caught her attention.

  “Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he whispered in her ear. “You taste like honey, and I want to spend forever eating you.”

  Tormund’s fingers splayed her wide, and then he was sliding his entire hand between her legs. Sliding it back, caressing her in slow, lingering touches that threatened to drive her mad.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Take me. Now.”

  “Mmm.” His answer was a warm rumble through his chest, and it vibrated down her spine. “Do you think you make the rules here? You want me to take you? You want my cock inside you? Then beg me, Bryn. Beg for pleasure. Beg for my cock.”

  Never. But teeth sank into her shoulder as his fingers drove inside her, and suddenly defiance seemed like the stupidest thing she could do. She wanted this. She wanted him. And if he wanted her to submit, well, she could play along.

  But on her terms.

  “Give it to me,” she whispered. “Fuck me. Hard. Every time I move tomorrow, I want to feel the bruise of your possession. I want you inside me so badly. Please, Tormund.” His fingers stroked and teased, momentarily distracting her. “Please.” This time, it sounded like a sob. “Give me everything.”

  He pinched her clitoris, and then she was thrashing again, unable to prevent the wave of pleasure that swept through her.

  Bryn came with a cry, her back spasming and her thighs trying to wedge together.

  “Again,” he demanded, wrapping one hand around her throat and bending her back into his embrace until her spine bowed.

  “Fuck.” She couldn’t take any more. Trying to slide her hand between them, she found him hard and ready. Bryn maneuvered his thick cock between her legs, her thighs trembling with the desire to beg him. “Now. I want you now.”

  “As you wish,” he growled in her ear, and then she felt the brush of his cock at her entrance before he drove inside her.

  Bryn cried out as Tormund sheathed himself inside her.

  She was so hot and wet she was practically dripping, and every muscle in his abdomen flexed as pleasure shivered through him. Fuck. He’d planned to take his time—to torture her just as she’d done to him—but he didn’t dare move. He was close enough to the edge that a single thrust might tip him over.

  “I didn’t hurt you?” he whispered in her ear, because he was man enough to check.

  A throaty laugh shivered through the air as she reached behind her and caressed the back of his neck. “You do think a great deal of yourself, big man.” Then she hesitated, as if she’d sensed the concern behind his question. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

  As if to prove her point, she squeezed internally, and it felt like a shock of lightning jolted through him.

  Another squeeze almost brought him to his metaphorical knees. He slid a hand between her thighs and thrust. A shiver rolled through her, but then she was squeezing again, and curse the gods, but this wasn’t going to end well….

  Just fast.

  “Down,” he insisted, forcing her onto her hands and knees.

  Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he hauled her back into his thrust. Every inch of her was hard muscle sheathed in soft, generous curves. She had thighs that could both break a man’s neck or welcome him between their soft embrace, and the kind of ass he could sink his teeth into.

  He slapped it instead, his fingers splaying into soft flesh as she gasped. Little dimples etched into her generous flesh, and he wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

  “Did you think you were in control?” he growled, rubbing the mark he’d made.

  “I think I could break you,” she whispered.

  Tormund thrust hard, the slap of his flesh meeting hers loud in the dark room. He lost himself to the feel of her, of hair in his fingers, and the tight squeeze as she tried to drive him to climax.

  The soft rasp of her breath sounded loudly in the room, but he wanted more than a gasp, more than an inhale. He wanted to tear a scream from her lips, to break through that cold, hard shield she wore around her heart and leave her wrecked and vulnerable.

  The thick shaft of his cock drove inside her, and she cried out as he filled every inch of her.

  Gods. It was bliss.

  Tormund threw his head back, biting his lower lip as he paused, hovering in the moment.

  “Don’t stop,” she cried, her fi
ngers curling into little claws in the pillow. “Oh, gods. Don’t stop!”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  He drove himself into her hard, again and again, gritting his teeth as she begged and gasped. His fingers found her, wet and slick, and he pushed her toward that edge, desperate to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her. Every inch of her tightened, until his hips were barely flexing. He wanted more, wanted to last, wanted—

  He came with a hard grunt, his seed spilling inside her as Bryn squeezed so hard he swore he saw stars. Tormund growled out an explosive breath, driving into her with slow, shuddering thrusts until there was nothing more left in him.

  And then they were collapsing on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, breathing hard, her soft skin brushing against him and his semihard cock still inside her.

  Bryn shook in his arms, sweat slick on her skin. Tormund curled his arms around her, burying his face in the back of her neck. His chest heaved, and he didn’t want to let go of her.

  A rough laugh echoed through her throat, as she reached behind her and rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t feel like punishment, Tormund.”

  He bit at her fingers. “It was never meant to be punishment.”

  “No?” Those lightning-kissed eyes met his as she half-turned in his arms. “Then what was it meant to be?”

  He suckled the tips of her fingers into his mouth, tasting her musk on her skin. Their eyes met. “Just the start, sweetheart.” The start of forever, if he could convince her to let him in. “By the time morning arrives, you’ll be wondering why you ever resisted.”

  Bryn stroked the softness of his lower lip. “I’m already wondering, big man.”

  And then she turned in his arms, her mouth meeting his in a desperate kiss.

  Somehow he found himself flat on his back, her thigh sliding over his hips.

  Bryn gave him a wicked look as she leaned down and kissed his chest. “Let me beg for forgiveness again then. Since I know how much you like having me beg.”

  He swallowed as she kissed her way lower.

  She might be intending to beg, but somehow, it felt like he was the one on his knees.