by Susan Amund
He withdrew slowly, and her body cried out for him. Her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord and her hands gripped his biceps. Her tight channel clung to him, begging him to stay. He knew she was uncomfortable, but it was all he could do to go slowly and not rut her like an animal in heat.
“Eric, please, just a little, please it doesn’t-”
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he ground his teeth together to keep from thrusting his tongue into her mouth and following suit with his cock in her lush body. “Relax, miláčik, it will feel good again soon. Even better than before.” He continued his movements, and brought one hand to her breast to toy with her nipple. His mouth he pressed to hers again, doing his best to distract her with kisses. Soon she had relaxed against him, even tentatively lifted her hips to gain a new angle.
“Oh,” she moaned, her eyes wide at her sensitive bud met his thrust and ground against him. He dropped all pretense at that sound, and sat back on his knees. His hands gripped her hips and he slammed into her, replicating the collision that brought his name to her lips with a gasp and a silent scream. Her breasts bounced with each hard thrust, the sight fueling his need for her. He picked up the pace as her body tightened around him for the third time, determined to reach completion with her. His balls seized and hardened, his cock pulsed and he buried his face in her neck as he shot his seed into her. She followed a moment later, bucking against him and milking him for everything he had.
They lay panting for a few long minutes, the sweat on their skin cooling rapidly in the chilly room. She shifted, no doubt trying to find a less constrictive way to breath, trapped under his chest. Her motions caused her body to tighten around him again and his groan coincided with her gasp of pleasurable shock. He withdrew from her slowly, her body reluctant to let him go. She hissed as he left, and he knew she would be sore, was probably already sore, but he couldn’t manage more than a twinge of guilt.
She was his. He tucked her up against him, her back to his chest, and covered them with the blankets. She sighed, already yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open. He wrapped one arm across her hips and the other under her breasts, keeping her pinned to him. Her head tucked under his chin, and she was nearly asleep when he heard her mutter,
“What language was that?”
“Shhh, miláčik. There is time for that later. After you rest there will be time for many things.” Time for him to tell her tales of his father, the Vandal barbarian. Time to give her the betrothal gift and speak their vows before the Abbot. Time to kill Dunholm and settle things with the Duke. She pressed back into him in her sleep and his cock twitched. Time to make certain she knew he would not let her go.
Consequences
The first light of dawn filtered through the crack under the door and the edges of the tapestry to soften the darkness of her chamber. Julia struggled with sleep for a moment, wondering why there was no warm glow from the brazier, and how her nose could be so cold while her body was toasty warm. She shifted, and a low rumble fell on her ears. Her eyes flew open, suddenly wide awake. The bed was warm because she wasn’t the only one in it.
Eric lay behind her, pressed skin to skin from her shoulders to her feet. One of her legs was trapped between his, and his arms wrapped around her. She was very aware of his chin where it rested on top of her head. His hand cupped her bare breast, not squeezing, but firm enough that she knew it was purposeful. His other arm was draped over her waist, stretching across her body to span her hip with his hand. His last two fingers lay against the top of her thigh, dangerously close to her most intimate place.
Julia also noted with some embarrassment and distaste that she was sore...and sticky. Her legs felt as though she had run all the way to the village, and deep inside her was a vague bruised feeling. She remembered how Eric had looked as he stripped beside her bed. The size of him was quite beyond what she had ever imagined, certainly more than she had seen in any medical manuscript. Then he had groaned and twitched and grew. She shook herself to remove those thoughts from her head. She had been right to have trepidations about his size. Although she knew it was supposed to hurt for a virgin, she did not ever recall having heard anything about feeling so...pleasantly sensitive. She blushed, trying and failing to ignore the memories of exactly what he had done to her, how he made her feel, how she would have done anything to make him finish, and she didn’t even know what that meant.
Eric sighed and grumbled in his sleep, his arms tightening around her. Apparently he didn’t appreciate her fidgeting. Julia wracked her mind for a way to slip out of his hold and the bed without waking him. She needed to wash, to relieve herself, and it wouldn’t be unfortunate if she could put off facing him for a few hours.
That was not to be. Muffled by the partially closed door to her room, someone knocked on Eric’s door. The sound had him up and braced over her in a moment. She stared up at him with wide eyes, almost too surprised to be embarrassed. His dark blonde hair fell across his forehead and onto his neck. His eyes were alert, but his mouth looked sleepy, swollen lips slightly parted under his beard. A hot blush flooded her cheeks as she remembered how his facial hair had felt alternately soft, abrasive, and ticklish - depending on what it rubbed against.
“Good morning,” he smiled slightly at her.
“Y-Yes,” she stammered, finding it difficult to meet his eyes, and impossible to look away. “There is someone at the door,” she continued unnecessarily. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and slipped out of bed. He was careful to keep the covers smoothed down so that no drafts bothered her. He was halfway across the room, her eyes glued to the dimples on his back, when she realized he intended to answer the door naked. “Trousers!” she squeaked. He looked back at her and smirked. Julia was stunned. She didn’t think she had ever seen him do so before. He calmly walked back to the bed and donned his tunic and trousers as the knocking became more insistent. Despite herself, she hoped he would lean over the bed for another kiss, but a voice joined the knocking and he sighed, leaving her chamber and closing the door behind him.
Julia jumped out of bed the moment the door was shut tight, and promptly fell to the floor. She sat on the fur rug, shocked to find her knees had buckled, and stared at the torn remains of her tunic. She shook herself, reminded that she would have to see de Beaumont and Dunholm off and she should clean up before Sarah came to help her dress. That thought spurred her into action. Once her cousin saw the state of her linens, it would be undeniable that the Lady Julia had not slept alone. She pulled on her woolen robe and seized a candle to light from the glowing embers in the brazier.
She rushed to her wash stand and used the remains of her sleeping tunic to soak up water from the basin and clean her legs. The mild abrasion of wet cloth over her most sensitive skin almost sent her to the floor again. How do women do this every night and still function in the morning, she wondered. She tossed the garment into a basket of things to be washed and patted her face and neck with water. Finding a tender spot, she pulled out a small silver mirror and examined what she could see of her neck. A mottled bruise, surrounded by tiny red scratches, had turned the skin a purplish brown. Julia was very aware of how such a bruise was made and her blush did battle with the chill of the morning as she remembered how Eric’s mouth had felt on her neck.
She put the mirror away less gently than she should have. Eric was still absent, so she opened a chest to find something suitable to see off the Norman party, which would also conceal her neck. She was startled out of her search when Eric added wood to the banked brazier. She stood while he stirred the fire, trying desperately to cover as much of herself as possible with the thin robe. This won’t happen again, he has to know I won’t be keeping him in my bed. Her heart broke a little at the thought, watching his hands as he encouraged the fire. This was just to remember him, something to do of my own will before I have to marry another and it can’t happen again.
He turned to her with a slight smile, and Julia steeled herself to tell him he should re
turn to his room. Before she could open her mouth, he had moved to her, grasping her shoulder and tugging her hair away from her face. She was surprised at his nearness, and then he made her decision even more difficult, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the love bite on her neck.
“Perhaps I should be more tender,” he said quietly.
“I was-” she licked her lips and noted how his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. “I was just looking for something to cover it.”
“I am not sure I want you to. This way,” he pressed his fingers to the bruise lightly, trailing them down to follow the vee of her robe, “everyone will know you have been well-satisfied.” Her breathing hitched while his hand played with the knot on her belt, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I am not a possession to be marked by its owner.” Her words were strong, but her voice was breathy. She did not sound as though she really minded being marked.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed easily. Her mind was pulled in too many directions. She worried that he gave in too easily, that he might be planning something. She worried that perhaps he did not want to announce publicly that he had lain with her - he might have changed his mind about marrying her. Idiot, she thought to herself. A part of her was still focused on the fingers loosening her belt, another noted how his hand had slipped from her shoulder to cup the back of her head.
“Since you already have to conceal your throat, there is no reason not to make another,” he continued.
“You-” his mouth found the same spot on the opposite side of her neck, and she was unable to finish her thought. Before she knew what was happening, her hands were pressed against his shoulders, her robe hanging open from her elbows. His hands were everywhere, touching, rubbing, squeezing. She had nowhere to run, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. He lifted her suddenly, his hands cupping her bottom, and turned to sit on the bed. She held tightly to his shoulders and found herself seated on his lap, her knees wide on either side of him and her hips pressed against his.
“I- I can’t...” His fingers traced the cleft of her bottom while his mouth found her breast. She swallowed and struggled to form a coherent thought “I need to write the Duke,” she blurted.
“It is early yet, miláčik,” he murmured against her skin. “I have sent someone to heat the bath. It will be ready when we are done, and afterwards you will have time to dress and finish your letter before the Norman leaves.” His hand slid between their bodies rediscovering the places that had made her see stars the first time.
“What does that mean?” She gave up all hope of distracting Eric and closed her eyes, giving into the sensations, “Miláčik?” His response was lost under the sound of her moans as he slipped a long finger inside her. She was still tender, but her body seemed to remember the pleasure that came with the pain and welcomed him. She didn’t have time to be ashamed for the wetness that coated his hand and formed a quickly cooling spot on his trousers. She arched her back, conflicted emotions battling within her. She wanted his touch, but she did not want her body to act without her direction. She couldn’t help another moan that escaped and her breast seemed to thrust into his waiting mouth of its own accord.
A tension was coiling low in her belly that she now understood as the prelude to release. He paused in his work, allowing her to lean back so that he could loosen the drawstring on his trousers.
“Wh-What did you say?” she panted. She drove her fingers into his hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look at her face and speak clearly.
“It is you. It is how I say what you are to me.” He smiled a wicked smile, full of promise, and lifted her hips to settle her over the tip of him. “Miláčik,” he whispered. “You must not forget, sweetheart,” he sank the first few inches inside her, and the pressure was incredible. She felt too full, too tight, too everything. She was sore and pinched and in a little pain. She wanted more. “You are mine, sweetheart; I am yours. No others.” He growled and tilted his hips to thrust in to the hilt. Julia forgot her question as blackness tunneled her vision and the tensed coil in her belly was sprung.
Later, in the bath, she admonished herself for being so easily distracted. He had lain with her, again, and managed to bundle her into a light tunic, shoes, and a cloak just as one of the servants knocked to tell him that the bath was ready for the Lady. He even carried her to the bathhouse, though thankfully few were around to see it. Only the guards posted in the entry hall and outside the bath witnessed Vandalsson stalking outdoors without an overtunic, the Lady Julia clasped to his chest.
Her cheeks burned in embarrassment and she sunk lower into the hot bath. She had hurried through the washroom, and scrubbed quickly in the cold bath - skipping the warm bath entirely just to avoid him. Even now, while she soaked in the small pool, she could hear him moving to the warm bath. He was humming. Julia narrowed her eyes. She had never heard him hum. The great Norse warrior smiled occasionally, laughed rarely, but he did not hum. He certainly did not smirk, and she had seen him do that this morning as well. It would appear he was quite pleased with himself.
And why shouldn’t he be, she couldn’t help but chide herself. She sank deeper, covering her mouth with water and trying to ignore the place that still throbbed between her legs. He had gotten what all ladies were told men wanted most from a woman, before even betrothing her. He has every expectation that this means I will marry him. I did tell him to convince me. She closed her eyes against her own misgivings. It had been foolish. It would be even harder now for her if she had to take another, and he would be right to be angry with her. She had all but signed her name on the marriage rolls, and for a serf or a minor freeman, his gifts and their joining would have been enough to be considered man and wife by the community.
All she had gained was a brief memory that would only serve to remind her of what she could not have. Whomever the Duke ordered her to wed, she would compare to Eric and she knew in her heart and her head that no man would fare well in that comparison.
Her muscles were as relaxed and soothed as they were likely to get in her frame of mind, and he would no doubt be ready for the hot bath soon, so she exited quickly and returned to the washroom to oil her skin and hair. She was dressed and waiting in the vestibule for him when he emerged fully dressed for the day, his soiled clothes in a bundle under his arms. She managed to keep her expression calm, but she couldn’t help but admire the way the brown wool clung to his broad shoulders and the way his leather belt hung on his narrow hips. He allowed her to walk back to the keep, which she silently thanked him for as the sun was fully up and the inner bailey was active with servants preparing for a morning meal, guards changing their posts, and the Norman and English knights preparing to leave.
He kept her close, her hand on his arm, and the guard followed them to the door of her study. He checked her chambers and she had to refrain from rolling her eyes. It would be impossible for anyone to get in with Norse guards at both entrances. He left her with Sarah to dress, shutting the door behind him and announcing that he would wait for her in the study.
Sarah had already stripped the linens from the bed and made it up fresh. She was just laying out the last fur covering when Julia opened a chest to select clothing. She was immediately shooed away, and her cousin chose her garments for her. Far more ornate than the occasion called for, she dressed Julia in a soft yellow under tunic and pale brown woolen over tunic. Dark brown and gold thread had been stitched along the collar and around the shorter hem of the over tunic. The sleeves were held back midway above her elbow with thick gold bands. Sarah insisted she wear the gold bracers, borrowed again. She brushed her Lady’s hair until it shone, and twisted it onto her head before she noticed the bruises.
“Oh,” the younger woman blushed heavily. Julia stammered, but her cousin waved off any explanation. “I hear the other women, when we do laundry, my Lady. They are quite envious of Vandalsson’s attentiveness.” She glanced meaningfully at the bed and Julia felt as if her own face was on fire.
/> “I-” she started, but Sarah interrupted her.
“You are practically betrothed. No one would dare say anything unkind about…about that.” Julia let out a shaky breath and Sarah continued, her blush still in full force, but her manner brisk. “There is no need for everyone to know what doesn’t concern them. I’ll take care of the bedding.” Her eyes fell back to Julia’s neck, and the Lady was grateful that she had selected her cousin to attend her. “These are easy enough to fix.” Sarah disappeared into one of Aelfreic’s deep chests and returned with a narrow strip of yellow silk that had once belonged to Aelfreic’s wife. “Cook says that the late Lady was a demure woman.” As Sarah settled the cloth around Julia’s neck, tucking the ends into her tunic and folding it to cover the bruises, she was reminded of a hazy memory of her sister-in-law. Joan Cruithne often wore such scarves, even in the summer, and would blush prettily when Aelfreic bought her a new one from London or visiting traders. Julia realized with a shock that Joan had most likely begun such a fashion for much the same reason she was continuing it. Her older brother had been attentive as well. She quickly steered away from that thought and simply sent a whispered prayer to Joan thanking her for the scarf.
She left Sarah to tidy up the room and returned to her study. Eric was making plans with Ulrich and Bjorn, who greeted her with smiles, but they continued to discuss tides and which men would be selected to make the journey to London while she sat at her writing desk. She finished her response to the Duke and was just sealing the wax when Galen entered to announce the meal was ready. Ulrich and Bjorn preceded them to the Hall, and Eric walked slowly with her hand on his arm.
“You look much refreshed,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe I have seen you in such a scarf before.” She took a deep breath and managed to keep her blush down to a mere tint of her cheeks.