Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  The couple stirred. The sticky slurp of a cock leaving its mooring filled the air.

  Eirik’s lips twisted into a snarling smile. The effects of the drink had long dissipated. The stink inside the chamber, the stickiness of his own skin, disgusted him.

  The room reeked, and yet Aliyah’s nose didn’t twitch. The bitch likely smelled only gold. Lots of it.

  Her gaze went to the other woman, who stirred lazily beside Hakon.

  Eirik reached across and swatted the woman’s bare rump. A high-pitched giggle erupted, making him wince.

  When she, too, hurried out of the room, Aliyah closed the door, and then turned to face the men, her posture regal, her expression set.

  Hakon shot him a glance. Eirik shrugged. Perhaps she wanted to praise them for their performances or remind them once again that they were hers to command—just to keep them humbled.

  Whichever, Eirik was grumpy enough not to care. He shoved a pillow behind his shoulders and spread his legs on the bed, making sure she understood that he didn’t hold her in high regard.

  The insult caused a slight pinkening of her cheeks, and her lips to thin, but otherwise she remained silent. She still wore the white gown, but her jewels had been removed, except for the diamond amulet and a broach holding together the dress at her shoulder. Her long, black hair was down around her shoulders.

  Her gaze flicked from Eirik to Hakon, then darted down to Eirik’s cock, which lay curled against his thigh.

  Eirik felt his stomach tighten at the narrowing of her gaze. “We should bathe,” he said, sitting up and sliding his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Don’t bother. I don’t mind,” she said, her tone even. “Your debut was a stunning success. I don’t think we’ll have trouble filling the salon every night.”

  Her continued perusal of their bodies sent warnings clamoring through his mind. “Since you watched over us, you must know we need rest,” he said, keeping his own tone uninflected. “To be ready for tonight.”

  Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Have no fear; you’ll be petted and pampered by my attendants, but not until after you’ve pleasured me.”

  Eirik glanced over at Hakon, who lay with an arm thrust beneath his head.

  His expression was shuttered, but his cock was already hardening. Hakon shrugged, sliding a large hand up and down his shaft. “A chance to fuck our mistress?” he said, playing the barbarian to the hilt. “To bend her to our will?”

  Eirik didn’t miss the inflection on the word “bend.” Nor the sparkle of sly amusement in his friend’s eyes. Hakon had a murderous streak. Which was just one of the things Eirik liked about him.

  Aliyah’s chin rose. “So long as you understand that if you try to harm me, the implant will be activated.”

  Although he wasn’t similarly inclined as his friend, anger at having every impulse leashed pulsed through him, pounding at his temples and his groin. He pushed off the bed and strode toward her. “What is it you wish from us?” he bit out. “Supplication? Do you want us to hold up our cocks for you to ride?”

  Her gaze slid to the side, and yet her demeanor was no less composed. Not for the first time, he noted that her delicate features weren’t in consonance with the crude, avaricious role she played here.

  “You know what I want, Viking. What all the women wanted.”

  Hands fisted on his hips, he stopped in front of her. “Not all wanted savagery. Quite a few were content to be tongued and caressed into a gentler climax.”

  “Only because they knew the power you leashed for them.”

  He circled behind her, and then bent toward her ear. “Do you wish to be taken?” he asked softly. “Will you submit—so long as we cause no permanent harm?”

  Her breath caught on a soft gasp. “I am not delicate.”

  He translated that to mean she liked a little pain. His interest piqued. Boredom slid away like an ice serpent sloughing skin.

  With another glance at Hakon, who gave him a shrug to indicate he’d follow his lead, Eirik circled around to her front, eyeing her much the way she had him when he’d been oiled and polished for the unveiling. Assuring his worthiness.

  Aliyah’s back stiffened as he stepped closer, forcing her to raise her glance. Her eyes glittered. When he was close enough to smell her perfume and the musk of her arousal, he braced his legs apart to draw her attention down to his filling cock.

  Her gaze swept down his body, then slowly back up.

  Feeling like a potentate addressing a new concubine, he stroked his flesh within inches of her belly. “I know that you can force my arousal with the snap of your fingers,” he said, keeping his voice low and seductive. “But I am not a thrall—despite the band I wear on my wrist and the device you implanted inside my body. However, you don’t want the thrall, do you, madam?”

  Her mouth opened; her chest expanded, but lowered again as she breathed slowly out. “No,” she whispered. “Slaves I have aplenty.”

  Her answer pleased him on a level that didn’t bear any scrutiny. For the first time, he felt as though she’d addressed him as a man. He released his shaft and bowed his head to acknowledge her unspoken concession. He would lead. She would submit.

  Lifting his hand, he threaded fingers through her thick, wavy hair, bringing a handful of it to his nose to inhale the scent of roses.

  Her berry-glossed mouth parted. Her head swung toward him.

  Without a smile or a softening of his expression, and keeping his eyes wide-open, he bent to take her lips. They trembled against his. His cock stirred, and he deepened the kiss, stepping closer to press his full body against hers. And even though he was dirty, his skin coated with salt from his sweat and smelling musky from the half dozen women he’d bedded, she melted against him, unmindful of her pristine dress.

  He liked her lack of care. She might still be a bitch, and he could hate her outside this room, but for now, she was just a lusty, driven woman, begging for a stronger lover to dominate her. Here was a challenge to lift the enervating boredom.

  Behind him, Hakon’s feet slapped the floor. When he stepped into view behind Aliyah, both his eyebrows were raised, asking silently what was needed.

  Eirik reflected with silent amusement that he didn’t have to wait until the morning meal to begin instructing his men how he wished to be followed.

  His fingers gently pinching her chin, Eirik broke the kiss and held her stare. “Undress her, Bearshirt.”

  With relish, Hakon tore away the broach at her shoulder and flung it to the floor, where it clattered.

  Aliyah jerked but made no sound of protest. The soft white slip of gown dropped to the floor in a puddle at her feet, revealing her nude body.

  Tall, slender as a sapling tree, her skin was a smooth, creamy tan. Her breasts were set high with small, rusty brown nipples at the centers. The tips were already engorged, and Eirik didn’t resist the urge to touch them, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers before plucking harder.

  Gasping, she rose on her toes, swaying toward him, and then fell again when he let them go.

  He lifted his chin to Hakon, and his second backed away while Eirik circled her now-trembling body again, his gaze sliding over her, noting the nude cunt, her lightly oiled skin, the roundness of her small bottom. And the way her short, shallow breaths made her breasts and belly quiver.

  He stopped to unlatch the necklace at her neck, but she reached back a hand to stop him.

  She didn’t want him to touch it. One question was answered.

  Hakon’s lips thinned, and his gaze flicked to her nape.

  He too had noted her action. Eirik gave a subtle shake of his head to warn Hakon to ignore it, then waited silently while she removed it and carefully laid it atop her ruined gown.

  When she stood, he cupped her buttocks, lifting the globes to measure their weight and parting them to remind her of her vulnerability. Then he gave her rump a soft pat. “Go to the bed and bend over the edge.”

  Her eyelids
fluttered nervously, but she followed his instruction without hesitation, striding to the bed, then settling on her knees, her torso on the bed and her hands resting beside her shoulders.

  He bent and picked up her gown, ignoring the way she stiffened as the amulet fell with a clink to the floor. He dipped again, and picked up the amulet, but walked to the windowsill and laid it gently on the masonry.

  Pretending he didn’t notice where her glance went or how she sighed her relief, he began ripping the soft fabric into strips.

  Aliyah’s glance darted to his hands, and she gave a soft groan.

  “Expensive, was it?”

  “A fortune.” But she laughed, and he found himself smiling as well.

  Hakon gave Eirik a heated glare as though to remind him that they stood in a chamber with their whore-mistress, but Eirik wasn’t unmindful of the need to beware.

  However, he thought he had her measure. That he understood her need. He’d played at domination with women before and knew some females had a deep-seated desire to be used and toyed with by a man, that they found relief from whatever stresses or troubles they had in their lives only through rough, humiliating play.

  He wondered what issues weighed on her mind, and scoffed inside at the thought that she struggled with her conscience concerning the Vikings’ plight. But he thought that, as a woman who held so much power in her hands, she might appreciate a momentary weakness of spirit. Perhaps her femininity would bloom beneath a firm hand. A strategic advantage might be gained here.

  Striding slowly toward the bed, he dangled strips of fabric from his palms. When he stood behind her, he trailed the ends of the strips over her back and buttocks. “I will tie you.”

  Her head lifted, but she didn’t look back. “Yes.”

  “And blindfold you.”

  She gasped and nodded quickly.

  Hakon’s scowl eased, and his stance widened as his cock lifted from his taut groin. When his gaze rose again to Eirik’s, a small, self-satisfied smile tilted the edges of his firm mouth.

  At last, he understood the opportunity they’d been afforded. If they played this right, if they curried her favor, they might find that breach they needed in their prison’s defenses. They already possessed one key bit of information.

  Both men shared a smile, then dropped their gazes to the woman whose buttocks quivered with ill-concealed anticipation.

  Fatin stalked toward a dockside saloon, feeling edgy and angry, and ready to drink herself blind.

  Aliyah had denied her request to see her sister.

  To add insult to injury, the whore-mistress had made a spectacle of her, tempting her with an elusive promise of an audience with Zarah in order to manipulate that scene at the Viking’s debut.

  However, to be honest with herself, Fatin acknowledged that she hadn’t dug in her heels hard enough to insist on limits or to bargain harder for an agreement. The sight of Eirik’s large body and unyielding face had been all that was needed to drive her to her knees.

  He was her Achilles’ heel. But whether it was because she was falling beneath his spell or some scrap of conscience had made her weak, she didn’t really want to know. Either was a luxury she could ill afford.

  Her body and soul ached. Bruises on her wrists and buttocks reminded her of how vulnerable she’d been—and how close to disaster she’d been. If Eirik’s need to slake his frustration and lust on her body had been any less, he might have sought the ultimate revenge she’d seen burning in his eyes those first few moments when their gazes connected.

  He’d kill her if he got a second chance. Or his friend, the blond barbarian, would do it for him. That one’s libido was much less tempted by her feminine distress. Without remorse, he’d have broken her spine had Eirik not intervened, and Aliyah, the bitch, might not have been moved to save her because then she could reclaim the small fortune she’d paid Fatin for her precious cargo.

  Fatin shrugged off her disappointment, determined to wash the taste of the dark Viking from her mouth with as much liquor as she could hold before the meyhane closed.

  In the morning, she’d seek out Adem Pantheras, and let him know that she was ready to join his cause. She’d play both ends against the middle and see which strategy won. Besides, she’d danced around him long enough and knew his patience was at an end. With fingers deep in the Heliopolite underworld, he could easily have her killed rather than risk her changing sides. He knew what she wanted. And he also knew that she’d do anything, even betray him and risk her life, to get it. That he was attracted to her wouldn’t stop him, any more than Eirik’s attraction would still the hands he’d wrap around her neck.

  Music blared through the open doorway. The sickly sweet odor of opium wafted in the air. Light from runners tracing the edges of the street didn’t begin to pierce the murky shadows as she stepped through the entrance of the seedy establishment.

  Inside, darkness masked dancers gyrating to mechanized lutes and a tribal drumbeat. Small pots of pure light gleamed on tabletops, but did little to intrude into the upholstered cubbies where male patrons played with the prostitutes who crawled beneath tables to pleasure them, or where women straddled their man-whore companions for an illicit fuck.

  This meyhane was small and dingy, and hadn’t the advantage of privacy the more exclusive clubs offered. Not that she cared. She wasn’t here to fuck. Only to forget.

  The bartender, who was on Adem’s payroll, glanced up, his expression growing wary as she approached. He ducked his head, poured her an ale, and slid it across the bar.

  Sucking down the sour foam, she eyed him again. Something was making him nervous. Had he heard that she’d stolen a pirate’s cargo? Did he think she was marked? Too dangerous to be around now? Well, fuck, she couldn’t stay here long. Certainly not long enough to drink herself into a stupor, not with this one acting so cagey. She set down her drink and leaned over the bar. “Samson, have you seen Adem?”

  He shrugged and swiped a towel on a nonexistent water spot. “Not tonight.”

  She slid her bottom off the stool. “When you do, tell him we have something to discuss.”

  “Sure. Gonna finish that?”

  “Not really thirsty. But thanks.”

  His gaze roved past hers, then narrowed.

  She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You expecting trouble?”

  “No. Just busy.”

  “Huh. Well, good night. Tell Adem I might stop at Suffrage House.”

  He gave her a vague nod, and turned his attention to the patron next to her.

  She wandered away, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Something was up. Best to move along.

  She headed toward the lavatory at the back and entered the unisex room, first making sure no others were inside.

  Water spilled automatically from the faucet, and she washed her face, her hands, and lifted her hair to scrub a wet hand across the back of her neck. The night air was humid, sticky. And she needed a bath in the worst way.

  Her thoughts turned to Eirik and Zarah, and she tried not to think about what they must be doing at this moment. Eirik was a big boy. He’d figure something out. Zarah wasn’t as worldly, and didn’t have the Viking’s strong will. And she had no one other than Fatin to care whether she ever gained her freedom.

  Fatin stared at her reflection and grimaced. Her lips were swollen, her eyes large in her face. Dark half-moon shadows rimmed her lower lids. She needed sleep. In the morning, she’d find Adem herself.

  She shoved away from the basin, wincing. Her wrists, with their matching bands of bruises, were complemented by the lovely reddish scrapes Aliyah’s fingernails had dug into her forearm.

  Her hand ran over her backside as she felt for the tender spots where Eirik’s fingers had gripped her hard and where his slaps had left swollen welts. Those she couldn’t regret. She’d loved every moment he’d held her. And also couldn’t hate him for the spanking or even for that last demeaning act. She’d earned the punishmen
t. So her ass would be sore for a week. Now she didn’t have to feel so guilty about leaving him there to his fate. They were even.

  Retying the knot between her breasts that kept her torn shirt closed, she let herself out of the room and strode past open stalls with deep bench seats. She headed toward the exit when a large hand gripped her wrist. For an instant, she froze.

  Spinning, she ducked beneath the hand and aimed a balled fist between the legs of the man foolish enough to assault her.

  But her blow was caught inside a strong fist, clenching hard enough to pop her knuckles.

  An arm looped around her neck from behind, pulling her up and cutting off her air. “Don’t fight. I have a blade poking your ribs.”

  The voice was husky, but feminine. And the prick of a blade drew blood from her side.

  Fatin held still, eyes trying to see into the darkness, but she found only a tall, burly figure in front of her. Had Adem run out of patience and already put a bounty on her head? How ironic would that be?

  “We’re taking this outside,” came another rasping whisper. “Call attention to us, and you’ll be dead before anyone can rise to help you.”

  With her heart thumping hard against her chest wall, and her mind clouding from lack of air, Fatin let the pair lead her across the threshold and into the dark alley beside the bar. The arm around her neck loosened, and she was turned and slammed against the hard, mud-brick wall. The bruises Eirik inflicted would be nothing in comparison to the sharp edges of the bricks now digging into her back and shoulders.

  “Who are you?” she asked, rubbing her neck and squinting into the darkness to make out two tall shapes.

  Her mind clearing, she realized that the harsh inflection of the woman’s voice had held traces of an Icelandic accent. This couldn’t be good.

  “The barman pointed you out to us,” said the female. “For a price. You’re Fatin, the bounty hunter. And we’ve been looking for you.”

  Six

  Hakon and Eirik left the whore-mistress tied to the bed, her arms and legs spread wide, her body bucking as she cursed them. No one had rushed to her aid when they’d trussed her up, so they assumed she’d given explicit orders for no one to intrude. Eirik had seen the evil glint in Hakon’s eyes, but Eirik didn’t believe Aliyah would be so foolish as to leave herself completely vulnerable. He’d shaken his head, telling Hakon silently that no harm would come to the woman.