North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  This would happen. There was no more planning, no scheming, no opportunity to run to the church and hide. She would go to London and meet with a King, where her fate - and that of her people - would be decided. She shivered again, and this time the trembling did not stop. She could still marry another, but– she admitted her heart would break. If William demanded it, she would step away from Eric and take another man to her bed. If given the opportunity, she would choose a man strong enough to defend the island and intelligent enough to let it continue to run as it had for the last five hundred years. Although she was realistic enough to know that respect for her, a handsome face, wealth, even kindness were luxuries. She had known, from the beginning, that there were few outcomes that did not include releasing Eric. After London, she would not see him again.

  She choked back a sob and pressed a pillow to her face. She would live through that. There was also the possibility that Eric could be killed in the Holmgang. She pressed against the pillow harder, soaking up the hot tears that could not be stopped. It was unlikely, she knew. Dunholm was no match for Eric, as had been proven many times. Still, they would be far from the tonics and bandages of the monks, and even a minor wound could become mortal if it turned rotten.

  If he died, it would not matter if she married another, bore that man's sons, but she was sure that if Eric were killed she would be not only hollow, but dead inside. She curled up on her side, finally releasing the pillow and taking great gulps of air to calm herself. She loved him. There was no question. She loved his absolute loyalty to his men, and the values he pressed upon himself and them. She loved that he looked to not just defend the people, but to secure their happiness as well. He had her respect, and she knew she had his. She liked his infrequent grin, and his sly teasing. She loved the way he put his hand on the small of her back to seat her at the table, the way his eyes sought her out in a room first before all others. She loved their verbal sparring. She loved how his hot kisses ignited her senses, and the gentle ones made her heart soften.

  There was no treasonous creak of hinges in the well-run household to alert her to his presence until it was too late.

  “Are you alright?” His voice was quiet, but she still flinched. She wiped her cheeks furiously with the pillow, afraid that even in the dim light of the brazier he might be able to see her tears. She did not think it would be her voice to betray her,

  “Yes.” The sound broke on that single syllable. He was at the bedside in an instant, kneeling so that their faces were level.

  “You are not,” he said softly. He brushed away a fresh tear with the pad of his thumb.

  “I am,” she insisted, but a new sob caught in the back of her throat.

  “You are stubborn,” he smiled. “And proud, and beautiful.” His deep voice eased her trembling and replaced it with a gentle heat that slid from her heart to her belly. “But you are not alright.” She might have argued then, but he leaned close enough that the last word was breathed against her skin, and then his lips were on hers. He was gentle, ghosting across her mouth once, twice, before pressing against her and tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened for him with a sigh, and he swept inside, finding her tongue and tangling with it, teasing until she followed his lead and took her own taste.

  They pulled apart, breathing heavily, and he leaned back far enough that she could see his eyes had dilated. Two black pools surrounded by liquid gold that burned with passion for her. She wondered if passion was enough when she would have to send him away, to be with another, and when he might die for her. She wondered if she could be satisfied with only a memory.

  “Stay.” Her voice was so quiet, she almost didn’t hear it, but he did.

  “To keep you safe?” he questioned.

  “Yes,” she could feel her blush rising, but sometime during the kiss she had decided. If she would lose him, to marriage or Dunholm’s blade, if she had to go on without him, living only for the sake of her people, then she needed something to fill the empty hole that would be left behind. Even if it was only the memory of one night, she would take it unrepentantly and thank God for one chance to show him that although she could not be with him, she did love him.

  “Yes,” she said again, “to keep me safe, to comfort me, to warm me,” she swallowed and her embarrassment almost made her look away. “To convince me.” She threw down the challenge, and he did not disappoint.

  He drew back the covers, and before she could protest at the draft of cold air, he slid his hands behind her shoulders and under her bare knees to lift her into the center of the bed. He did not immediately follow, but stepped back, the glow of the brazier casting deep shadows under his cheekbones and across his eyes. He wore an under tunic and simple trousers, which he removed quickly and left lying on the floor. She flushed and let out a stifled gasp.

  Eric could not help a fierce smile at that little sound. He had given her ample opportunity at the baths to get used to him, but her shock made it quite evident that she had been far more circumspect than he had. Her eyes were fixated on his groin, and he felt a surge of lust bringing him to full attention under her stare. Her eyes widened further, and he had to stifle a groan. She was a virgin, and although his touches and kisses had been designed to prepare her for this, he could see her sharp mind working. From her expression, he gathered that she was having trouble with the proportions.

  He slid into the bed beside her, hiding himself from her view and pressing another kiss to her mouth to distract her. He should have asked her if this was what she truly wanted. He should have paused to let her consider her actions. A better man would have simply walked away with promises to find a priest to marry them, but he was not a better man. He was a Viking. The son of an Eastern barbarian and the grandson of a Norse raider. He knew what he wanted and he took it. He was rather proud of himself that he had held back as long as he had. She had invited him to her bed, and he would take full advantage. He would convince her, turn her own passion into a weapon to defeat the convoluted reasoning that kept her from accepting him outright. By morning he would have her exhausted and replete - voice sore from calling out his name and pleading for more. If this act - acts, for he did not intend to let her rest until dawn broke - got her with child then she would have even less reason to make him wait.

  He growled against her neck at the thought of her, breasts swollen and belly heavy with his child, and she moaned. Finding a tender spot he nuzzled against her skin again, licking and nipping at the smooth flesh and drawing her breath out in gasps. His hands did not remain idle. One circled underneath her and cupped her head, baring her to his ministrations. The other disappeared under the coverlet. He traced the neckline of her tunic, running a hard callous across the delicate shape of her collarbone and following the pulse of her heart down her chest to the loose ribbon that was intended to tie the garment shut. He tangled in the string for a moment, abandoning her throat to capture her mouth while he pulled the bow free.

  The tunic immediately loosened, but she did not seem to notice as she responded to his kisses, delving into his mouth and even reaching out to nip at his lower lip. “Easy,” he growled, running his own teeth along the dark red lips that parted in frustration. “There is time enough for that, miláčik.” He whispered into her ear, grazing the lobe and causing her to shiver. He distracted her again, this time with the words of his father’s people. His free hand found her collar again, slipping the linen down over her shoulder to snag for a moment on the tip of her breast before settling at her elbows.

  His hand came to rest on her bare arm and she stilled for a moment before stroking her own small hand against the hard muscles of his back. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do, how bold she would be. Her fingers slipped down his spine, finally searching out the depressions at the small of his back. She sighed against his mouth. He traced up her arm and down her ribs to cup her breast without hesitation. She gasped again, and he watched her eyes close as he squeezed her gently. She was full an
d firm, filling his hand better than he had imagined. He let go suddenly, letting that sweet mound bounce against her chest and drawing another surprised sound from her. His palm brushed over her nipple, gently grinding until she gave in with a gasp of, “Please!”

  He answered her plead by replacing his hand with his mouth. He traced around the pink skin with his tongue, waiting for her to arch her back before pulling the tip into his mouth and sucking. He watched her response from under heavy lids. Her mouth parted in a silent “O” and her head tipped back. Her nails found his scalp, scratching and tugging with an eagerness that pleased him. His hand slid down her body, pausing to trace light circles around the shallow indentation in her belly. One of her hands fell from his hair, sliding down his shoulder to rest on his chest. The thin linen of her night clothes caught on the roughness of his fingers as he drifted over her hipbone. He smoothed the material down, following the natural line to the crease where her leg met her body. He stilled there, increasing the pressure of his mouth, nearly humming at the taste of her, before letting the back of his fingers slide along the inside of her thigh until they met bare skin.

  He released her, whispering across the wet peak while he made circles on the inside of her knee. “Miláčik,” he murmured. She moaned and he blew a short breath out, watching her skin tighten and flush further. “Len pre mňa-” He broke off with a groan when her fingertips found his nipple. She brushed across the sensitive spot, and hesitated, unsure in such a new experience. “Yes,” he growled, licking her breastbone and enjoying the salty-sweet taste of her skin. “Anything you want.”

  Her nails raked gently across him, and he could not help his own back from arching. His erection was thrust against her leg, the pleasure incomplete and so powerful as to be almost painful. He allowed his head to fall into the crook of her neck and breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control. If it felt that good to press against her, through a layer of cloth, he worried that he would not be able to last long once he was actually inside her. At the thought, a river of heat flowed straight to his cock. She sucked in a breath and he forced himself to still.

  She was tense, and Eric had to remind himself again that, despite the kisses and touches, despite having seen more of her body in the baths than he had seen of some of the women he had met in the darkness of a tavern room, she was untried and untouched. He would take her, he reminded himself. He had all the time he needed and she would scream with pleasure before he ever entered her.

  He returned his attention to her mouth, and gradually she relaxed and her responses grew more eager. He dragged his hand up her thigh softly. Her legs were pressed close enough together that the back of his hand touched one leg while his fingertips sketched soft lines on the other. She shifted restlessly, unconsciously parting to allow him better access. He pulled her lip between his teeth, fighting the urge to grind against her, and settled his hand at the apex of her thighs. She didn’t react, not until he pressed another kiss on her throat and slipped his fingers across the soft hair that concealed her secrets only to find her ready for him.

  She bucked, surprised, and clamped her legs shut, which served only to trap his hand against the softest skin he had ever touched. He shifted, using her hesitancy to place pressure on the nub he knew was hidden there. “Eric!” She cried softly, frustrated and a little afraid.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. Heat radiated from her core and he bit back a groan. He rolled his shoulders, throwing the coverlet back to slide down their bodies and leave her exposed to the chilly air and flickering light of the fire. She shivered, rubbing herself against his hand.

  “Eric...please!” She responded. The hand in his hair fisted, pulling his face to hers while she gripped his bicep. He turned his hand and her eyes fluttered closed. “Er...ic, “ she moaned, all traces of fear gone.

  “Áno, má lásko,” he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, denying the kiss she demanded. “Open for me,” he commanded softly. She relaxed and he withdrew his hand, catching the hem of her tunic and drawing it up to meet the neckline gaping around her waist. He withdrew his other hand from behind her head and followed it down her body with his open mouth. He leveraged his weight, kneeling between her legs and dipping his tongue into the depression in her belly. Her breath was coming in quick pants. He seized her tunic with both hands and ripped.

  The sound caused her eyes to fall open and he moved quickly to silence her protest. One hand slipped behind her back and pressed her chest up to meet his mouth. Milky white globes were displayed like a feast before him, and he took a moment to admire the hard little crests, begging for his attention, the graceful length of her neck, the taunt muscles of her belly. She squirmed, a flush spreading down her cheeks. He smiled against her nipple as he took it in his mouth. He had often wondered how far her blushes extended; pink flesh spread out to meet his mouth and she squirmed again - this time in pleasure.

  He gently laid her back against the bed, smoothing his hands along her sides. He squeezed at her waist and hips, sliding his hands down her legs to circle her knees and touch every inch of skin along the back of her thighs to grasp her ass. He trailed down her breast with his teeth and his tongue, licking his way down her body. He pushed back to lay between her legs, pausing only to adjust himself and groan at his own touch. The pressure on his cock was almost painful. He lifted her hips and nudged her thighs apart with his shoulders. She tensed for the barest of moments before relaxing and allowing her legs to fall open. He leaned back on his elbows and drank in the sight of her in the flickering light. Her pale thighs quivered with tension as she held them, just apart enough to allow him access. The neat, dark hair of her sex concealed little at that angle, as the pink flesh between her legs glistened. The little berry at the top, which he knew would bring her pleasure, peeked out at him.

  He could almost hear the sounds she could make, and imagine how it would feel to thrust into her. His cock twitched again, eager to complete the act. He pulled his gaze reluctantly to her face when she interrupted his fantasies with an awkward sound. Her face was bright red, and she was propped up on her elbows to look at him.

  “Eric?” she whispered.

  “So beautiful,” he said. His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “Krásna lásko,” he repeated. She smiled shyly and he continued in every language he knew. “Vakker min kjærlighet. Belle mon amour. Krasivaya lyubov' moya.” With each word he drew closer to her, until finally his breath blew across her heated skin. “Dovoľte mi, aby som ťa ochutnať, zlatíčko.” He breathed deeply, inhaling the floral scent of her soap, the spicy oil she used to soften her skin, and the hot musky scent of her excitement. He ran his lips along her opening, teasing the sensitive skin leading to the nub he was eager to explore. He watched her face as he flicked his tongue across the little bud, pleased with her shudders - but he knew she needed more. He murmured, humming with his lips pressed against her. He knew she couldn’t understand the words, but the vibration, the sensation of his hot, wet mouth was her undoing. Her arms collapsed and she fell backward, grasping at the linens and arching her back.

  “Please - Eric...please!”

  He tilted her hips further and her legs fell back against the bed. Completely open to him, he thrust his tongue inside her and listened to her strangled scream. Not satisfied with anything less than her complete surrender, he lapped at the honey flooding from her and licked his way back to her bud. He stretched one hand to her breast, finding her nipple and rolling it between his thumb and finger. When she begged him, pleading his name, he asked,

  “Yes, miláčik, tell me what you need.”

  “Please, Eric....please, I need...please...” He flicked his tongue out and she moaned.

  “Yes, miláčik?”

  “I - I -” She gasped when he pinched her nipple. Eric was stunned when she kicked him in the ribs. He paused and looked up to find her glaring at him, her hands still wound tightly in the linens. “I don’t know, you idiot! Just-” He chuckled, and pulled her te
nder bud into his mouth, sucking and rolling it against his tongue. She screamed and her body drew taut like a bow ready to snap. He strummed along her surface, drawing out the vibrations of her completion. When she finally relaxed against the bed, her muscles were trembling and her breath was coming fast.

  “You...I just...” She flushed, but offered him a relaxed smile.

  “This isn’t finished, miláčik.” Her eyes widened, and he smiled, crawling up her body to lean over her, his weight on one arm. He found the tender spot on her neck, and once she was making the small sounds that made his cock pulse, he eased one finger inside her. She tensed, and he whispered in her ear, nipping at her lobe, that she was beautiful, that her taste was still in his mouth and he wanted more, he wanted to hear her scream with pleasure again. He followed the first finger with a second, slowly plunging into her and withdrawing, gently scissoring inside to make her ready for him. When he thought he would not be able to wait any longer, he curved his fingers, drawing them up and pressing against the top of her cavern. She arched up, and he swallowed her scream before removing his hand and positioning himself between her legs. He gripped her hips and pressed his mouth to hers, sharing her taste and muffling the mild protest she made when he entered her.

  She was tight, gloriously small, hot, and wet. Nothing had ever felt so good as the way she wrapped snugly around him. He did not stop at her maidenhead, but pressed on, not pausing when she flinched and uttered a surprised “oh” against his neck. Inch by inch he continued, not waiting for her to become accustomed to him, but steadily forcing his way deep inside until he was buried to the hilt. He took a deep breath through his nose, leaning into her hair and trying desperately to hold onto his control. He had the wild thought that the Christian God could not have made this woman - she inspired urges in him that were not kind or honorable. The scent and taste of her sex, the feel of her around his cock like velvet, tugging insistently and demanding he throw aside his restraint and take her hard and fast, those things were dark and mysterious and wickedly pleasurable. He would maim, kill, destroy, beg – he would do anything to finish inside her.