Bjorn

by Jane Burrelli

  “Are you sure you won’t join me?” she asked boldly, throwing out the challenge between them that never failed to heat her Viking’s blood.

  Bjorn made a strangled noise in the back of his throat before palming her nape and dragging her into passionate kiss that stole her breath. Promising dark and delicious pleasure, he still had the power to turn her into a wanton, trembling mass.

  Bjorn broke off, raw hunger burning bright in his gaze. His lips next to her ear, he said, “If I join you now, we will not make it to the feast.”

  He delivered a playful nip to her ear, and Rhiannon’s core clenched, her whole body trembling with want.

  “And we are expected.” Gently, he turned her in the direction of the bath. “This once you will bath alone, min hjarta.”

  Rhiannon sighed with disappointment but knew the wisdom behind his words. If they didn’t make an appearance, the others would just seek them out, wishing to see them after such a prolonged absence.

  “Don’t be so disheartened, Rhiannon.” The corners of his lips curled sensually. “I promise you will not get much sleep tonight.”

  She shivered, her mind flashing to the last time Bjorn had made that promise. He had kept it and left her deliciously tender in places but with a big smile on her face. With one last look of longing over her shoulder, she passed through the doorway into the next room.

  Rhiannon sighed with contentment, stooping in the half barrel of steaming water lightly scented with dried lavender, a gift from Eithne. After so long without the opportunity to bathe, the water was heavenly. Rhiannon set about washing all evidence of the long journey and, grabbing a pitcher, she scooped up the water and poured it over her head and diligently combed through her tresses with her fingers, scrubbing every inch of grime until her skin stone like byzantine marble and rinsing again. Mindful to leave the water warm for Bjorn, she stepped out into the waiting drying cloths then wandered back through the door.

  “Your turn,” she said simply, dropping the cloth.

  Bjorn’s gaze skimmed her body, and she felt it almost like a caress, and her nipples beaded in answer. He took one step towards her before cursing and, tightening his jaw, marched in the direction of the still-warm bath. Rhiannon laughed softly under her breath, gratified that she wasn’t the only one finding their abstinence a sore trial. Her skin dry, she slipped a fine shift over her head and set about combing her damp locks until they lay straight over each shoulder, humming under her breath. A plan formed. The splashing of water signalled Bjorn leaving the barrel. Rhiannon was aware when he entered their room, shaking his head and spraying water droplets in every direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she tracked his movements. He padded closer to the bed, and she shadowed him. Creeping closer and closer, she waited to strike. Bjorn was just leaning over the bed to collect a clean tunic when she nudged her hip heavily into his side, sending him sprawling onto their bed, softly exhaling upon landing. He rolled onto his back, his legs overhanging the bed. Perfect for her intentions. Bjorn pushed himself up on his elbows and peered down the length on his body and into her eyes.

  “Rhiannon?” he questioned, raising a brow.

  “I want some alone time with my husband,” she purred like a wildcat on the hunt.

  Her hands braced on Bjorn thighs, she sank to her knees and rubbed her palms back and forth over the taut muscles. Lust and mischief thrumming through her body, she ducked her head, her hair cascading over his groin, and took his member into her hot mouth.

  “You wicked—” whatever Bjorn was going to say was lost.

  He broke off on a groan, and Rhiannon slid her tongue along the underside of his shaft. Clean, masculine scent filled her senses. His strangled groans spurring her on, she encircled him with her tongue. Never had she felt more powerful—it was heady and intoxicating. Her hair tickled his thighs. She glanced up at him and almost forgot to breathe. His head was thrown back, the tendons of his neck standing out in stark relief. His hands gripped the bed, the knuckles turning white.

  “Rhiannon,” he choked out, giving her a warning that he was close.

  Rhiannon sucked harder. Muscles tightening in his thighs, his breathing became laboured—he was almost there. When Bjorn was just short of reaching the edge, she released him with an audible pop. Rhiannon smirked up at Bjorn’s dark face, and she licked her lips provocatively. The bed shifted, and strong arms scooped under hers, and Bjorn dragged her up the length of his body until she was at eye level. At the simmering heat in Bjorn’s eyes, immense satisfaction burned through her, and his shaft jerked beside her thigh. She parted her legs to straddle his lap, and his fingers speared through her thick hair to cradle the back of her head, flexing in the silken mass.

  “That was very naughty of you, little wife,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as his teeth raked the sensitive skin of her neck and bit down lightly. “Have I been neglecting you?” Bjorn’s hands smoothed down her back, cupped her bottom, and massaged the full globes.

  A little cry caught in her throat, and Rhiannon frantically nodded. God, she loved his intensity, that slight roughness tempered with tenderness.

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  Leaning forward, she lightly scraped her teeth over his flat nipple and was rewarded when he shuddered.

  “I thought you enjoyed taming feisty women.” She smirked, shooting him a look of pure calculation beneath her lashes. “Unless you are no longer up to the task?”

  Understanding flared in his face before his eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m more that up to the task,” he growled. “Come here.”

  Rhiannon shrieked, his arm looped her waist, and with the utmost care, he flipped her over his knees. Rhiannon’s skin pimpled at the cold, but his hot hands sweeping over her flanks, back, bottom, and legs were a delicious contrast to her cooling skin.

  “A good wife should obey her husband,” he murmured.

  “Mmm.” She arched her back, her hair tickling the base of her spine. “Only when it pleases me.”

  Bjorn had since taught her that a playful sting in her bottom could be used to enhance her pleasure and, breathing through her nose, she squeezed her thighs together in eager anticipation. His hand clapped on her bottom, deceptively light, alternating left then right. The heat grew, and Rhiannon wriggled her hips. Bjorn’s shaft jabbed beneath her stomach. His hand rubbed, the tingling heat dispersing through her body. Her thighs parting, his fingers brushed through her nether lips and found her nubbin. Bjorn rolled that delicate piece of flesh between his fingers, and Rhiannon fisted her hands in the bedding.

  “Bjorn,” she groaned on a ragged breath, bucking her hips hard to increase the maddening friction of his fingers.

  “Not yet,” he chuckled, adding another spank to her heated bottom.

  Rhiannon moaned in frustration and hid her face. She knew that tone, it said that she was going to pay for teasing him earlier. Now he had started, he was of the mind to play, leisurely laying slaps on the pinkening globes beneath him. She alternated between pushing up to feel the sting of his palm and grinding against his knees to find release. He paused at frequent intervals, gentle strokes and brushing the center of her pleasure with increasing pressure. His blasted talented fingers brought her to the edge, and the telltale tension tightened in her muscles when the muttonhead pulled his fingers away.

  “Bjorn,” she snarled, twisting to try to face him, her flyaway hair half covering her face. “I am going to kill you.” She meant every word. She’d get her sword and chop off his manhood if he was not going to use it and satisfy her.

  “No, you won’t.” He chuckled with the utmost confidence and allowed Rhiannon to wriggle her way free, but not before he landed several heated slaps to his retreating target.

  “On the bed,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “On all fours.”

  Her belly fluttered. It was one of her favourite positions, and she eagerly scrambled to do as commanded. The bed dipped, and she felt him kneel behind her, his heat blanketing her,
his cock nestled between her buttocks. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest. Scorching lips pressed kisses from her lower back and up her spine. He nipped and sucked at the pulse point on her neck. Rhiannon mewled. Bjorn slid into her from behind, stretching her, and Rhiannon’s quivering knees threatened to buckle. Breath shuddered in her lungs, and Bjorn sat hot within her, his defined arms bracketed either side of her flanks, caging her in. His hips drew back, and biting her lip, Rhiannon groaned. He almost slipped free of her body and then blessedly drove back into her. Her hands sank into their bed, and she braced herself for his powerful thrusts. His lean hips slapped her stinging rump, adding an extra frisson to her pleasure, driving her higher and higher.

  “Please,” she sobbed under her breath, a constant litany rolling from her tongue, begging for release. “Oh, please.”

  Bjorn demanded more of her, rough endearments rumbled in the Norse tongue, and Rhiannon’s inner muscles tightened.

  She tossed her head, her hair tickling her skin, and pressed her chest into the bed, taking Bjorn deeper. Bjorn hit the magic spot inside her that drove her wild, and a strangled sob tore from her. She clawed at their bedding, her hips bucking erratically, the rough blanket abrading her tender nipples. His cock rubbed over it again, and it pushed her over the edge. She stiffened, her back bowing.

  “Bjorn!”

  It hit her hard, the breath freezing in her throat, and all she could do was ride out the pulsing waves. Bjorn continued to surge into her, driving to find his own completion. He dropped onto his elbows, groaning against her skin. His cock jerked and pulsed, releasing his seed. Rhiannon’s muscles sagged, and they collapsed onto the bed in a tangled mass of limbs. Even with a pleasure-addled brain, she was aware how Bjorn was still careful not to crush her with his weight, and her heart felt like it might burst. One of the many small ways he showed his care of her, but it was no small thing.

  They snuggled after their coupling, Rhiannon loving the sense of closeness binding them together. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing the skin over his heart.

  His arms tightened round her, and he kissed her, deep and drugging. “And I you, min hjarta.” He stroked her side. “We need to dress.”

  “Do we have to?” She pouted.

  He nuzzled her just behind her ear before nipping it lightly. “Yes, they will be waiting for us.”

  He made to move, but Rhiannon curled her limbs tighter and anchored him to her. “Wait.”

  Bjorn settled back down beside her. “What is it?”

  Rhiannon swallowed hard. “I won’t be able to go with you trading next summer.”

  Confusion clouded his light-blue eyes. “Why? I thought you enjoyed yourself?”

  “I did.” Rhiannon took his hand and laid it on the soft swell of her lower belly. “But we agreed I could accompany you until our first child is born.”

  His eyes flickered from the hand on her still flat stomach and back to her face, and he took a moment to process her words.

  He frowned. “You’re with child?” he asked slowly, like the words were unnatural to him.

  “Yes.” Swallowing hard, Rhiannon nodded, closely watching his reaction. “Are you pleased?” she asked hesitantly, biting her bottom lip.

  A delighted grin broke across his face and, rising to his knees, he cupped her cheeks. “I’m delighted, min hjarta.” His fingers spread over her lower belly reverently, as if to protect the life already growing inside her. “A child,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Then his gaze flew back to her face, creasing with worry and a hint of panic. “Was I too rough with you? Will it harm the baby?”

  Rhiannon smiled sleepily at him. “I’m well, Bjorn.” She was quick reassure him before breaking off with a yawn. “You will never hurt me.”

  His face softened with his relief. “I wish we didn’t have to go tonight. You should rest.”

  A smile curled her lips at his gruff protectiveness. “I am well, and we need to hurry, or as you say, they will seek us out,” Rhiannon said, reaching for her shift and outer dress, fixing them with the tooled brooches that Bjorn had gifted her early in their marriage.

  She never thought she could be this happy. Rhiannon clapped in time to the music, basking in the merriment. She stood back and watched the glow of the bonfire reflect on the faces of their friends and family who were alive and vibrant, the embers swirling in the air, their eyes bright with excitement. The original nine couples who were strangers not so long ago shared a bond that thrummed like a physical entity. Soft, tender looks passed between them when they thought no one was looking, even Graeme and Rinda between their playful sniping. Their village was thriving once again. It seemed like so long ago since Brandr had landed with his men upon their patch of shoreline.

  Rhiannon joined in the dancing and prayed this perfect night would never end, wishing to capture the moment and carry it with her always. She struggled to catch her breath, and a wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled a step. A strong arm immediately steadied her, and she knew immediately who held her.

  “That’s enough,” Bjorn instructed, and Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at his order. “Come and rest awhile.”

  Bjorn had hovered over her all night, that strong, protective drive turning him into her second shadow ever since she’d revealed her secret. Nonetheless, she allowed him to guide her back to the bench where others sat, carefully seating her upon his lap like several of the other couples who were gathered. A wicked thought entered Rhiannon’s mind. Just because she couldn’t dance, didn’t mean she couldn’t play. Rhiannon slipped her arms around Bjorn’s neck, gaining his attention instantly. She leaned up and deliberately brushed the soft skin of her lower lip against the lobe of his ear. He shot her a reprimanding look, and her cheeks ached at fighting the grin that was threatening to burst forth. They were slowly driving each other to madness with subtle touches and heated glances. It had turned into a game of who would break first. So far, she was in the lead.

  “Behave,” he whispered for her ears alone, pressing her thighs tightly together when he retaliated by nipping her ear. Bjorn then went one step further by brushing his beard over the sensitive skin of her neck.

  Ooo, not fair. He knew how she loved it when he nuzzled that spot. She walked the fingers of one hand with excruciating slowness up the length of his muscular thigh to its obvious target. Or it was until Bjorn neatly captured her disobedient hand and, lacing his fingers though hers, he rested it on her lower belly in a protective gesture that warmed her all the way down to her toes. Her keen-eyed mother locked on where Bjorn’s hand rested and then back up to Rhiannon’s flushed face.

  “You have happy news, daughter?”

  The chatter in their immediate area ceased, and all eyes turned to look at them. Rhiannon squirmed, uncomfortable at being the sudden centre of attention. An impossibly wide grin spread over Bjorn’s face, and his chest puffed out with pride.

  “I’ve just learnt that my wife carries my child,” he said.

  Rhiannon rolled her eyes at the smug tone. You would think that the man had carried out an insurmountable feat of great daring.

  Immediately, they were surrounded by well-wishers in a what appeared to be a whirlwind for smiles, hugs, and congratulations, until Brandr stood before them.

  She offered him a small, tentative smile, their relationship improving as they’d realised one crucial thing: they both loved Bjorn, and she no longer felt the need to fight against his authority. Though if there was ever the temptation, Bjorn was quick to keep her in line.

  “That is good news indeed, but you need to make sure you take good care of yourself, Rhiannon,” he said kindly.

  Rhiannon nodded, knowing the jarl’s first wife had died in childbirth and that he was well aware of the sorrow it could bring as well as the joy. His concern warmed her.

  Bjorn wrapped a hand round her hip and tugged her close. Rhiannon fought the urge to roll her eyes. Take good care of herself? She already knew her fiercely protective husband was goin
g to be insufferable if tonight was anything to go by.

  “A word of advice,” Brandr offered with the supreme confidence of a veteran who had survived the births of his four children. “Keep all sharp weapons out of reach when her time is upon her.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Bjorn scoffed, plying Rhiannon with a choice cut of boar from their trencher.

  Brandr snorted, eyes gleaming with unreserved amusement. “My sweet Eithne threatened to unman me, and your wife tried to gut you upon meeting...”

  Brandr left the thought unfished, and Bjorn paled under his golden tan. Rhiannon grinned and patted his knee, reaching for another sliver of boar meat.

  “Perhaps I should make sure there are no blades close by so she can’t injure herself.”

  The table erupted into laughter, and Rhiannon nuzzled closer into his shoulder, a sly smile playing on her lips.

  “Did I ever tell you I’m pleased I didn’t kill you?” she whispered in his ear.

  Bjorn threw back his head and laughed. “I’m rather glad of it, too, little warrior.”

  She relaxed against his strong chest, content to let the jubilant atmosphere roll over them. Soon their child would be born in the spring and be part of the next generation of Achnaryrie. They had come a long way in just over a year, from death hovering with a scythe in hand to the thriving village before them. The future was shining brightly in front of them, and she was no longer afraid to seize it.

  About Jane Burrelli

  When Jane realised that the world was not hiring for a ‘sarcastic but benign Supreme Ruler of the Universe’, she decided to put her vivid imagination to good use and create her own world. Affectionately dubbed the 'sex author' by her good friends, Jane can often be found crafting her saucy tales in her local coffee shop, fuelled by copious amounts of vanilla tea.