The pre-come dripping from the tip gives me enough lubricant to slide between the valley she made. My throbbing rod is swallowed by pure silk. My eyes roll to the back of my head. Her skin is so soft against the hard, weeping muscle.
“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” I moan, letting my head fall back as I fuck her breasts. “I’m going to come all over you, paint you with my seed before I fuck you.”
“Yes, my love. Do it,” she opens her mouth and leans forward, taking the tip of my cock in her mouth every time I thrust. The dual sensation is incredible. I get both the tight soft walls of her breasts and the suction of her mouth.
Fuck, I’m not going to last at all. It will be as quick as an arrow leaving a bow. My sack drags along the tops of her tits. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
I slap her hands away from her tits and hold the bountiful morsels myself, tweaking the nipples between my fingers. I nearly pass out as the first spasm leaves my body.
I watch her try to catch every rope shooting from my cock, the creamy seed laying thick on her swollen lips and tongue. A few streams are left on her chest, and I grunt in satisfaction, rubbing my come with my−−still very hard—cock on her skin, hoping her flesh soaks me up. I grab her chin and force her mouth to stay open to dip my fingers inside to gather my load.
Once I’m satisfied and feel like I have enough, I paint her pussy with it. She doesn’t need to be more slick, but it makes me happy knowing she is wet enough to take me. Plus, it soothes the primal side of me.
“You’re so pretty covered in my come. Do you want my cock, Angel?” Grabbing my girth, I swirl my cock through the sticky mess and rub the tender head over her pulsing clit.
“I want it, Beowulf.”
I love the way she says my name. It nearly makes me come again from how breathless and needy she sounds.
“Take me then.” I flop onto my back and stroke myself. “Ride me. Show me how much you want me.”
She takes her lower lip between her teeth and swings her leg over me, mounting me like one would a horse. Lilith drips from her sheath, raining juices on my aching steel. A low, guttural groan leaves me as I quiver in anticipation. I want to push my hips up until I slam home, and she is screaming out my name from pleasure.
But I don’t want to cause her any pain.
She takes the base of my cock in hand and keeps it straight, settling her tight hole against the head. And then she lowers herself.
Lilith sits down on me until her ass is against my thighs, and I’m ten inches deep in her hungry channel, spreading her lips wide with my thickness. Her body falls forward, catching herself on my chest with her hands to use me as leverage.
“Beowulf. So deep. So good. You fill every part of me,” she gasps, swivelling her hips back and forth, then flipping those blonde locks over her head, so they are out of her face. The golden strings catch the light of the fire and shine so bright; they twinkle like stars in the night sky.
“A fucking angel,” I murmur as my eyes roll and my toes curl. She picks up speed. My hands grip her thighs and pull her forward every time she pushes back. I know it helps her orgasm quick, and my goal tonight is to be covered in my woman’s come. I want to reek of her when I go into battle tomorrow, have the taste of her on my lips. If anything does happen to me, at least I’ll die with her love on my tongue.
Lilith keeps rocking back and forth. She brings her lips to my ear, taking the lobe into her mouth and between her teeth. She lets it go with an audible pop and blows the delicate air from her lungs against the wet trail she left. My breaths stagger. She’s sending me to fucking heaven with how good she is making me feel.
“If I’m your angel, does that make you my demon?” she whispers.
My cock gets impossibly larger, swelling from her words.
“Is that what you want me to call you? My demon? No, you are my Viking.” She licks the shell of my ear, a true vixen as she destroys all restraint I have.
I pull her to my chest, control be damned, and plunder her pussy with my cock. I don’t hold back. I give her everything I’ve got. My balls slap against her ass with every deliberate, hard stroke. A high-pitched ringing noise replaces her sweet, sultry screams as she calls my name. She’s so loud, I’m afraid she will wake Rian, so I shove my hand over her mouth, silencing the beautiful noises that help me climax.
To me, nothing is better for a man than to hear a woman calling out his name, begging for him, praising his cock from how good he makes her feel. And the way Lilith calls out for me, wanting me to give her more with every hard pound, almost makes me spill my seed prematurely every time.
She has no idea how much I must hold back my orgasm every time I slip inside her. I could let go the moment her tight, hot cunt wraps around me. My jaw is locked tight, and my teeth grind against each other, threatening to crack from the force it takes to hold myself back.
It’s worth it, though. Because when I do spill inside her, it only feels that much better.
“Beowulf, ah. Oh, yes. Yes, please, don’t stop. Oh, you feel so good, never stop.” Her fingers find her clit, and she ruthlessly flicks her sweet little bean to get herself off.
I let out a sinister chuckle. “I’ll have to stop breathing for me to stop. This is mine. You’re mine, say it. I need to hear it.” I hate that I’m going to war and that she isn’t my wife. It’s part of the reason why I need her to say the words, the exact words. If something does happen, it will be the one regret I’ll take with me to the afterlife.
“Say it,” I bring my hand down on her arse, and my greedy little angel’s pussy clamps down on my cock, spasming until a flood of her cream soaks me.
“Yours. I’m yours. Forever.”
The answer is muffled since my hand is over her mouth, but I heard it. The promise causes my cock to jerk, and my teeth chatter from the strength of my orgasmic convulsion.
“Fuck!” I grunt, keeping her hips locked down on me so she can feel every twitch of every inch of my cock as I unload.
“My love,” she moans before taking my lips.
Those words mean more to me than she knows. It isn’t just sex. I’m her protector, her lover, her fighter, her soulmate, her everything. I am her love.
And I must make sure I do everything in my power to come back to her.
It’s the least I can do for her to willingly give a man like me her love.
Chapter Thirty-One
Beowulf
The tension in the air is thick. The threat of death looms.
It’s the day we all knew was coming, but now that it is here, it almost seems unreal. Every single one of these men carries a deep hunger, a starvation, a craving to have their hands wrapped around a Jackal’s throat or their sword deep in their gut. Many men here have personal vendettas against them, and that is what fuels them right now. It is what gives them the courage to stand behind their Lord and Warlord and fight, possibly to the death.
For most kingdoms, it wouldn’t be common for the Lord to come with us. The Warlord always leads into battle. But Lord Grimkael isn’t a typical Lord, and he has a very specific hatred for the Jackals. As does Warlord, as do I.
Three hundred men behind us, and they follow us with pride and honor. Our pain is theirs, as theirs is ours, and it’s why we do this. We must protect our families and other families alike, so no one shall ever suffer the wrath and hatred of the Jackals any longer.
We are heading to the trapped door that is hidden under mounds of snow, and since there are so many of us and we aren’t charging into battle like we usually do, we are walking. It takes longer to get there. On horseback, it took a day, so I know for sure we won’t be there until another day’s nightfall.
My mind drifts back to this morning, and my heart squeezes so tight, I forget how to breathe for a moment. Saying goodbye to Lilith was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I never showed her my fear of never returning, but it was there—is there. And she cried, goddess, did she cry. I’ve never seen tears fall so
fast in my life.
She clutched onto me, begging me to stay, and it made my own eyes turn to oceans. I wanted to give her what she wanted. I wanted to stay and lay with her, make love to her all day and night just like we did yesterday, but life isn’t always bliss.
To have such luxury, people must fight; people have to spill blood, and wars must be won. As long as threats like the Jackals roam in the wilderness, we will never be safe.
“Sir Wulf,” Abram says, breaking the silence rendering through all three hundred men. He is still carrying his bow and arrow, but his muscles have grown. “I wish to prove to you that I can fight. When we return from this battle, I beg you; please train me.”
I scoff. “Aye, my friend. But first…”
He rounds on me. “Do not! Don’t tell me to do any menial chores anymore. I will chop no more firewood. I will carry no more boulders. I want to learn to wield a sword.”
“You didn’t let me finish, Abram.”
He stops, a quizzical look on his face.
“I shall train you in the advanced techniques of swordplay when we return victorious from this battle. But first, catch.”
I toss him the extra sword I’ve been carrying in my belt. The steel shines in the snowy air for a moment, and then with a single outstretched arm, Abram grabs it… and catches it by the hilt. He holds it high above his head, and instead of tumbling to the ground, he holds it strong.
His eyes go wide. He turns it this way and that, testing his strength, pure disbelief in his eyes. Finally, a light brightens in his mind, and he understands.
“Sir—Sir Wulf!”
“Aye,” I say with a large grin on my face. “Now you can swing it without chopping your own head off.”
“I understand now. You have been building my strength this whole time,” he says. He raises his voice shout over the army. “I can lift a sword! I can fight!”
Cheers go around, and everyone bangs on their shields. It’s all a bit much, but the happiness is needed. It helps the mood shift. The air is lighter, and everyone has somewhat of a better expression on their face.
The only man who refrains is Warlord Einarr. His wife is missing. And now his son is charging into battle. I can only imagine how I would feel if Rian was marching alongside me to rescue Lilith.
Einarr hangs back and comes to my side.
“My apologies, Wulf. I should not have treated you with anger. Thank you for finding the way to lead to her.”
“Aye,” I nod. “I understand. If Lilith were there, with our child, I would stop at nothing to rescue her.”
“I’m happy for you,” Warlord Einarr says, his mouth tight and stressful. “Thyra is pregnant, too,” he says. He looks up from his feet, and his eyes tell me how sad he is.
“Warlord—”
“—If anything happens to her and my babe, I want you to do me a favor.”
I gulp. There are only a few ways this conversation can go, and I have a feeling I know the exact road we are about to take. “Warlord Einarr, do not say what I think you are about to say.” I keep my voice low so no one can hear me.
“No, you listen to me.” He sets his cold eyes onto mine. The scar on his face disappears under his beard, and the question of how he got it runs through my mind. Only a few people know. The Lord and his Lady. That is all. When someone asks, he always puts a blade to the person’s throat and asks if they want one of their own.
“If anything happens to them, I want you to kill me.”
I stop walking, and the warrior behind me slams into my back. I step out of formation, and Einarr follows me to the edge of the treeline. “You can’t mean that. I couldn’t have heard you right.”
“I would want to die under my best warrior. The one I know would give me what I need.”
“What of Lord Grimkael? He is your best friend.”
His eyes soften when he hears his friend’s name. “Aye, that is why I cannot have him do it. He won’t. He will call me foolish.”
“It is foolish,” I hiss, but his eyes harden from the insult. “You are smarter than this. You cannot—”
“I will. That is an order, do you understand? Stick your blade through my heart.” He holds his hand over his chest, and I can do nothing but stare.
I shake my head and take a step forward. “I can’t. You are more than my Warlord. You are my mentor. You’ve taught me everything—”
“There is nothing else I can teach you. I’m asking you, Beowulf, put me out of my misery.”
“You are stronger than this. You are stronger than—”
“I am not. Just as you would not be. I saw you in previous battles. You didn’t care if you died. A part of you wanted to. And now your heart is back, and if anything happened to her, you’d want to die.”
“Einarr! Wulf! Let’s go. Don’t fall behind,” Lord Grimkael yells at us from the front.
“Think about what I said,” Einarr pleads. He isn’t a man that begs, but I am going to take a wild guess, this is me witnessing one of the weakest moments of his life. It reminds me that even the strongest men can fall.
No matter the brute strength and size of the body, the heart can only take so much before pain rots the insides. Warlord Einarr spins on his heel and turns away from me, leaving me gaping at his retreating form.
Shaking my head clear of what just happened, I run back toward the front where Trident is. We are always in the same formation. It’s Lord Grimkael and Warlord Einarr, then me and Trident. Jericho is next, along with Erik, Abram, and then the rest of the army.
“What was that about?” asks Trident, always curious and never able to keep to his own business.
“Ah, you know Warlord.” I slide my eyes to my leader in front, and I see how his head is slightly turned, listening to our conversation. “He threatened me to find Lady Thyra first thing. If I didn’t, he would off my head.”
“He wants everyone’s head,” Jericho mutters from behind me.
Trident peers over his shoulder and sneers, “Well, if you did your fucking job, maybe everyone wouldn’t have to worry about their heads.”
“Save it for the battle coming up, alright?” I place my fingers against Trident’s cheek and jerk his head back to the front. If we can’t get our heads out of our asses, this battle may be over before it begins. And it won’t be the Jackals that kill us, but our own hands.
* * *
“I’m going to spank her arse,” Warlord Einarr hisses through his teeth, staring into the darkness that the trap door reveals. “How the hell are we going to fit three hundred men in these tunnels?”
“Single file line. It will be long but must be done,” Lord Grimkael explains. “This is our only upper hand.” He unfolds the drawing that Alaric made and points to the spot that matches where the trapdoor is. “He came out this way, the boy. He says it leads to the Jackals. This is it. This is how we end this once and for all.”
Lord Grimkael walks down the dirt stairs first, followed by Einarr, and then me. The first thing I notice is not only is it dark, but it is cold and smells damp. The heavy smell of earth is in the air, and critters scatter along the walls. I can’t see them, but I can hear them. And I shall never admit it, but I fucking hate bugs.
And I also have a thing about being in the dark. I’m not perfect. I hate not being able to see where I’m going, what my feet are hitting, and what else—or who else—is out there. I’m not afraid of the dark, no, I’m not a wee bitch, but I’m apprehensive of it.
“How is there a torch lit?” Lord Grimkael says, grabbing the burning piece of wood with his hand. “We are not alone. Tell everyone. Pass it down. Be at the ready,” he orders. His long fur disappears into the shadows.
My hands rub along the tunnels, getting a feel for where I am. I need to be able to picture how it looks in my head.
“According to the drawing, we take the West tunnel,” Lord Grimkael calls back. “Can’t believe I’m taking instructions from a boy.” He folds the paper back up and slides the small square i
n his belt.
I follow my leaders, trying to tune out Trident’s heavy breathing behind me. He never does well in small spaces. It is the one thing about himself he refuses to give up. I don’t ever push, but I do wonder. Focusing my efforts on how my surroundings look again, I notice that the dirt rubbing against the pads of my fingers isn’t as grainy as the earth we walk on. It’s thicker, damper, smoother. Only one place has earth like this, and it is where Lord Grimkael killed his brother.
“Goddess,” I whisper from the realization. This can’t be right. I hope, for all of our sakes, that I am wrong. It has been a long time since I’ve scoped the area so far from the kingdom, so perhaps things have changed.
“What?” Trident asks, slighted with trepidation.
“Nothing. Talking out of my arse.” I swallow, knowing deep down, I’m right. If the Jackals have been using Krane’s old home as a base, rotating where they live, so we never get a true location of them, but also living right under our noses the entire time, Lord Grimkael will never forgive himself.
I’m not sure how long we walk. The air is getting thinner, and the fire in the torch starts to sway, threatening to give from the lack of air to keep it alive. I can feel it in my lungs, the slight pinch of not being able to breathe in all the way. It keeps me focused more. The slight fear of not being able to breathe gives me a jolt of adrenaline.
Or fear.
I’ll take either one right now, considering the situation. We must have been walking for hours; I’m not sure. Time is hard to tell down here. Water starts to slosh under my feet, which means we have gone deeper into the ground. The liquid is freezing, matching the cold temperatures above on the surface. My teeth begin to chatter, but all that drives me is the need to get this war over with and crawl back into the warmth my Lilith holds.
“Stop!” Lord Grimkael shouts. “What is this?”
“Thyra!” Warlord screams, and from the tunnels being so narrow, the loud boom rumbles the fragile dirt, and it dusts onto our heads and eyes, nearly blinding me.
Beowulf's Claim (Viking Warriors Book 3) Page 22