The Valiant Viking

by Bambi Lynn

  Hugh always advised her to count backward when hunting. He said it would give her patience not to shoot prematurely. If only I had learned to count in either direction. Now Hugh would never be able to teach her.

  That’s it. I’ll think about how much I hate Vikings.

  I hate Vikings.

  I hate Vikings.

  When Rolf claimed her mouth again, she forgot about everything but him. She could indeed taste herself on him. Tentatively, she slipped her tongue out and slid it across his full lips. The taste of her own juices ignited her senses. She recalled the taste of his seed as it spilled into her mouth. She should have been repulsed, but as his cum slid down her throat, she had lapped at him, suckled him until she had swallowed every drop.

  A moan escaped his lips, igniting her from the inside. Her clothes stifled her, and she longed to rip them off and press her feverish skin against his.

  Rolf did not resist when she pulled her hands from his grasp. Instead he cupped her face in his big palms and kissed her even deeper. He ground his massive cock against the rough fabric of her smock.

  I hate Vikings!

  With her hands now free to roam over his naked skin at will, she gave in to the sin she felt sure would damn her to Hell. But animal lust overrode her fear of God. She splayed her fingers across the expansive muscles of his wide shoulders but had to grip them in a vice as he devoured her mouth.

  It was not enough. She wanted to touch him all over, to feel every spot of his luscious body beneath her palms, against her fingertips. The dusting of hair tickled the tender skin of her hands as she cupped his chest. She slid them around to his back and down the length of him until she could squeeze the tight mounds of his arse.

  His body was hard. So much strength. Rolf Bloodhands was all man. Years of raiding and pillaging had honed his muscles so they rippled beneath her hands.

  Oh yes! Raiding and pillaging.

  I hate Vikings!

  She was drawn to him. He attracted her like she had never been attracted by any other man. He sucked in a sharp breath as she cupped his cheeks and pulled his hips even tighter against her, rubbing her thigh against his hard cock. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. “By Odin, woman. My cock has never been so hard.” He kissed her closed eyes, trailing his lips across her cheek and down the length of her throat. “You do this to me,” he mumbled against her.

  Empowered by his words, she reached around with one hand and grasped his cock. With the same gentle strokes he had taught her to use with her mouth, she slid her palm up and down the length of him. She took deep breaths in a vain effort to calm her quaking heart.

  Dragging his mouth from her throat, Rolf squatted before her. Kaylla pressed both hands to the frame of the door and held her breath. What was he about now? She should have been scurrying away from him. Instead, she braced herself for whatever ecstasy–uh–agony he meant to bestow on her. With tormenting slowness, he hiked her entire skirt up to her waist and lifted one knee over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” She hopped on her other foot both hands planted firmly in the door frame. At last she gained her balance and gaped down at him. The long strands of his hair caressed her naked thigh, sending shivers all the way down to her toes. He grinned up at her, the same devilish grin she had seen too many times.

  “I wish to see you up close.” He wrapped one arm around the thigh that rested on his shoulder. His rock hard muscles pressed with sharp contrast against her soft thigh. “I want to see your puss all shiny with your juice.” He shifted her legs further apart and reached up with his other hand. He split her opening with the tip of one finger. He slithered it like a feather through the creaminess that gathered between her lips then smeared it round the spot where she craved his touch the most.

  She throbbed with such sweet pain; she wondered that a person could survive such pleasure and still keep a sound mind. She stared down at him, self-conscious at his close inspection of her. She could feel his breath, warm and wet against her already slick thighs. The tiny bud enfolded in her slit ached. She resisted the urged to pull his head against her.

  I hate Vikings.

  She didn’t need to. With that devilish grin, he popped his wet finger into his mouth and glanced up at her. He drew it out slowly, tormenting her further still. “It has been a long time since I tasted a woman,” he said. He splayed a hand against the soft skin of each of her thighs. He parted the folds of her sex with his thumbs and inspected her further. He took a deep breath.

  “Mmmmm…you smell so good.” He licked his lips.

  She swallowed hard.

  He leaned forward and laved his tongue from the cheeks of her ass, across her tender skin and up through her slit.

  She gasped and let her head fall back against the door. She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him against her. Flashes of light popped behind her eyes as he slid his tongue through her creamy folds. She slid her hands to his shoulders and clung to him for support, fearing that her leg would buckle underneath her.

  His tongue lingered at her opening, the tip swiping back and forth just inside. Chills raced up her spine. With soft puckered lips, he latched onto the sheath that nestled her sensitive bud. He suckled her, sending wave after wave of ecstasy throughout her entire body. Kaylla thought she would die from the excruciating pleasure. And she could think of no better way to go.

  I... Hate… Vikings.

  He lifted her leg higher with his shoulder and tilted his head back, pushing his tongue into her. She recalled the feel of her virginal barrier and wondered if he felt it, too. He probed her nether core, alternately plunging and swirling his tongue inside her until she lost all thought of everything but him.

  She shuddered as his sinful tongue made her cleft quiver and her nipples pucker painfully against the inside of her smock. How could this man give her so much pleasure? This man who was her most hated enemy? Surely he was the devil himself come to tempt her away from God.

  But as she looked down at him, at the gentle seductive way he lapped at her quim, she dared to hope that he could be trusted. This was a man like none she had ever known. She let her hands rest on his broad shoulders. She had the strangest feeling of floating above the ground, for the briefest instant, all her burdens had been removed and there was nothing else but him. This delicious man kneeling before her with his mouth attached to her most private spot. Please, God. Do not let him play us all for fools.

  Kaylla filled the hut with quiet whimpers as he alternately licked her then plunged his tongue inside. She felt her release building and held her breath. Rolf seemed to sense it as well. His snaking tongue slowed to very deliberate movements as she grew still. When she came, it seemed a blinding light exploded behind her. She arched her back, pressing her hips against him. She threw her head back, ignoring the slam of it against the wooden door at her back, and spilled her juices onto his lips.

  She came in spasms. Rolf continued to nurse her swollen lips as she shuddered over and over again. When it was finally over, when her convulsions changed to mere twitches of pleasure, she struggled against him, able to bear the overwhelming sensation no longer.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  With a soft chuckle, he trailed fleeting kisses down her thigh. He flicked his tongue against the back of her knee, making her draw in a quick sharp breath.

  With the gentleness unbefitting a vicious, marauding heathen, she noted with some disappointment, he lowered her leg until her leather boot touched the floor. Her eyes followed his as he rose to stand before her. He took her face in both hands and stared into her eyes.

  “Sweet, Sif. I have never known a woman like you, Kaylla. You taste sweeter than honey, and you make me so hard I barely know my own mind.”

  She reached around his waist and linked her arms behind his back. Pulling him against her, she indeed felt how hard he was. And big. His cock, thick and rock hard, pressed against her. The thought of him filling her made her want to come again.

 
; He kissed her. Not the probing, demanding kiss from earlier, but a lingering kiss that made her knees weak. A kiss that promised more pleasure to come. She inhaled the spicy scent of his skin and kissed him back, exploring his mouth with her tongue. He tasted like honey wine and sweet fennel and she loved it.

  Hated it. Hated it. Hated it. Because she hated Vikings.

  Pulling back slightly, Rolf stared down at her. She wondered at his confused expression. He pushed wayward tresses from her face with the tip of one finger, his eyes, much darker now that he was aroused, darting back and forth between hers.

  “I would see you safe.” He blurted the words quickly, as though he wanted to get them out before he changed his mind.

  Reaching behind him, he pulled one of her hands between them and urged her to grasp his swollen cock.

  She held him in a gentle grip and stroked the length of him from hilt to tip then back again. Rolf closed his eyes. A gruff moan escaped his lips.

  “By Odin.” He looked at her again. “I yearn to throw you down on yon blanket, push your knees up to your ears and claim you.” His lips brushed hers. “I want my cock to the hilt inside you, filling you.”

  With one hand behind her head, he crushed his mouth to hers. He mimicked fucking her with his cock in her hand. She cupped his tight cheek with her other hand, felt it clench each time he languorously pushed his cock through her fist, then relax into a perfect round ball when he pulled it out again.

  A groan escaped from her depths and into his mouth.

  She missed his lips the instant he pulled them away. He leaned back and looked down at where she stroked his cock. He fairly panted through parted lips as he watched. “Look.” He did not look up at her. “Do you want me to fuck you like that, Kaylla?”

  Trembling from head to toe, she reached up, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him towards her. She managed to utter a few words before their lips met.

  “I hate Vikings.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kaylla pitched forward when the door nudged her in the back. Rolf tried to tighten his grip around her waist, but she jumped away from him as if he was a raging fire. He did not miss the accusing look Edlyn gave them as she pushed her way in.

  Kaylla fluffed the bottom of her skirt around her ankles, smoothed back her hair, careful to avoid looking at her mother. Licking her kiss-swollen lips, she stammered an excuse for their delay. “I…I do not remember where I hid his clothes.” She glanced around the hut. Edlyn’s glare snapped back and forth between them, but Kaylla carefully averted her gaze before their eyes met.

  With an angry smirk, Edlyn walked over to the lone bed frame and lifted the tick, rustling the straw inside. “These clothes?” She stood back, one fist holding up the tick, the other propped on her hip, and scowled at him.

  Undaunted by her show of displeasure, he flashed the older woman what he hoped was a knee-weakening grin. It had worked before. Betimes, he had managed to seduce a woman with little more effort, but Kaylla’s mother appeared immune to his charms.

  She continued to glare at him as he sauntered over to retrieve the meager wardrobe hidden there. He guessed she had seen at least forty winters, but she was still a handsome woman. It was easy to see where Kaylla’s beauty came from.

  Edlyn reached out to grasp his arm. “Keep your bloody hands off my girl,” she said in a low, threatening voice.

  The mother bear protecting her cub. Despite admiring her mettle, Rolf chuckled. “I assure you, Frue, there is little chance of that.”

  “Modor, where is Wulf?”

  He pulled his braies over his hips, noting the new holes that would need to be patched. He held up his hauberk, peering through the rips and shreds and wondering how he had survived this recent battle. Thor must have indeed watched over him. Delivered him here, for what purpose he could only guess–retribution.

  Edlyn turned her attention from him and faced her daughter. “Helping at the forge. I went to see Rheda. That poor woman suffered greatly at the hands of those bloody cockers.”

  Rolf ignored the icy glance she spared him. A sense of dread washed over him, memories of another woman taken prisoner by the king’s nephew filling his thoughts. Nausea settled in the pit of his stomach. No matter that he forever tried to block out those memories, they often times surfaced unexpectedly, giving him pause to doubt his role as protector.

  Misgivings he pondered now as he watched Kaylla set to work collecting their household tools. He had lived with raider brutality all his life, men who felt it their right to take what they wanted. His father had abused every woman in their household, free-woman or thrall made no difference. He had watched, helpless, as his mother suffered, vowing that when he was big enough he would protect her and anyone else who could not defend themselves.

  Mostly he succeeded. His father had backed down easily, the coward. Even his clansmen who were similarly inclined balked at crossing him without reinforcements.

  But that one girl…

  And the king’s nephew…

  And all his men…

  The stories were true. His brethren were merciless looters. Nothing kept them from treasure, be it gold or flesh. He felt sick at the thought of Kaylla in the hands of such a man. Even if he knew nothing about her, he would give his life to protect her.

  But would it be enough?

  “That’s all of it.”

  Two work knives, a walking stick, an axe, and a handful of sewing utensils made up their stash. He hefted the axe and measured its weight. “By the gods, even the blade is made of wood. Have you nothing forged from iron?”

  Kaylla frowned. The most delectable dimple appeared between her brows. “Let’s take them to the hall and see what the others have gathered.”

  He slipped into his hauberk while the women gathered up their paltry weapons. Neither of them spoke as he led the way from the hut, across the yard and into the hall. Already a small few had returned and piled similar stores next to the hearth.

  She trailed him as he inspected the growing mound.

  “Farmers,” he mumbled.

  “Mayhap we have nothing they want.”

  He nearly cringed at the hope in her voice. They stood together and scanned the scraggly lot that staggered into the hall. A few old men, several women, children. He guessed no more than thirty people made up the failing village. That would be no advantage against thirty-one Norsemen gone a-vikingr. A number of boys, who might never have the chance to grow into warriors, darted in and out of the building, dropping off weapons before racing out to search for more.

  He turned to her. He did not want to scare her. Yet she needed to understand the urgency of the ensuing threat. He stared at the barely concealed despair in her eyes. He longed to ease her concerns. To snatch her up and disappear into the countryside and away from danger. But he already knew her too well. She would never desert her kinsmen.

  “You have slaves.” He nodded around the room. “Most of these women are still young. They would bring a hefty sum at the market in Hedeby.”

  They turned at a commotion from the door. William entered, struggling under the weight he carried. Rolf rushed to help him with his burden. They laid the weapons out next to those already collected.

  “Every scrap of iron in the forge that might be used in defense,” William said with a curt nod. The smith, considerably older than he, glowered at him, but made no other comment.

  Rolf understood the animosity. He was the enemy, the raider confined amongst them and threatening the meager hold he had on his people.

  Kaylla moved to stand between them. “Will it suffice?

  William crossed his arms over his chest, stepped closer to her and glared at him over her head.

  Ah–so it was more than a mere threat to his leadership.

  Kaylla did not move. She kept her eyes focused on the pile of weaponry and avoided looking at either of them. He stamped down his sudden urge to stake his claim on her. He would have to ignore the other man’s jealously, and his
own, for now. Time to have that particular conversation later.

  He dragged his attention back to the pitiful store of weapons. Mostly spears and long knives. Only one sword. A few common tools, hammers and spades. He shook his head. “It must. There should be enough here for each person to have a weapon.” He looked over Kaylla’s head at the smith. “We will have to show them how to use it and pray to the gods there will be time for them to practice.”

  The three of them began matching each weapon or tool with one who could best wield it. He demonstrated to groups with like implements the best modes of killing. He worked tirelessly through the day, teaching the villagers the best ways to kill a man, where a warrior was most vulnerable, and how to avoid mortal wounds.

  Kaylla followed him, offering praise and encouragement at her kinsmen’s efforts. She countered their weaknesses with optimism, assuring each person she spoke to of their coming success.

  She was his perfect balance. He drove everyone with conviction, often asking more than they could perform. Kaylla tempered this with calm efficiency, equally intent on their common goal.

  Betimes he found her quiet diplomacy stirring. She fancied a perfect world, one that she would never achieve, but he could not deny her determination to protect those close to her.

  As he observed her calm manner, the attention she commanded from those around her, the fascinating movement of her hands when she talked, she moved him to fulfill that dream for her. To create the utopia she craved and offer it to her on a salver.

  ***

  The delectable aroma of roasted meat assaulted Kaylla when she opened the door. She could almost close her eyes and follow the scent. How long had it been since their hut had smelled of anything other than sweat and the animal stench of people living in close confinement?

  Squatting on the other side of the hearth, Wulf grinned up at them as they entered. He held the scrawny carcass of a hare, skewered on the end of a stick, over the fire. Barely any meat covered the bones, but he was obviously proud of himself.