The Valiant Viking

by Bambi Lynn

  “Fine, then. Stand there and hold him.”

  His cockiness fled when Einar pulled his sword and held it to Wulf’s throat. “Why not just kill him?”

  From off to the side, he heard Boddi’s whore scream. “Good idea. Before we leave at daybreak, we’ll give the men some sport besides whoring to whet their appetites for blood.” He did not relax until Einar lowered his blade. Satisfied that the boy was in no imminent danger, he crossed the courtyard, leaving behind the tormented cries of Boddi’s new plaything.

  He crashed the feeble door into the hut. Relief swept over him when spotted her crouched in a back corner. Leaving the door open, he stepped over people huddled on the floor until he reached her. By then she stood glaring at him. Anger, defiance and hurt as old as the ages filled her beautiful eyes.

  He couldn’t help but notice the hole she failed to hide. “Is that how he got out?” Even in the dim fire light, he could see the color drain from her face.

  “Did he get away?”

  He ignored her question. “Who went with him?”

  She grabbed his arm and stared up at him imploringly. “Tell me what is happening.”

  He clamped his teeth together until they hurt. “Come with me.” He turned back to the door never doubting that she would follow. As she emerged behind him, he was startled by her terrorized scream as she tore past him. Ahead, Wulf hung outstretched between two stakes, each of them barely taller than a man, someone had hammered into the ground. Einar had tied Wulf with his arms spread to a painful-looking stretch.

  She knelt in the mud at his feet and lifted his head from where it hung against his tiny chest. She cried again at the bruises that marred his face. Blood oozed from a dirty crack on his lip.

  In a fit of rage, she shot to her feet and flew at him, claws outstretched and the look of a myling. “You loathsome bastard!”

  He caught her wrists before she could rake the flesh from his face. He could barely contain her fury, ultimately holding her in a vice against him. “Please do not hurt him.” She stood rigid in his arms, her voice like steel.

  “Be still,” he barked in her ear. He had to think fast.

  It was Kaylla herself who offered him a plan. “I’ll do anything you say.”

  Mayhap he could find out enough from her to make his plan work after all. He grinned over her head at the men milling about. “Let us use this display to warm our beds with more willing women this night. No doubt they will be more obliging with hope of saving the life of one of their children.”

  The men turned as a collective group toward the hut. The door still stood open, no one really concerned that anyone would attempt escape. Many of those who had been huddled on the floor only moments ago now crowded in the doorway to see what was happening outside.

  He led Kaylla toward the hut she had probably called home since her earliest memory. She followed obediently but said nothing. He could not tell her of his plan. Her thoughts were too easily readable on her face. She would try to comfort the others. Or express too much confidence in his fealty towards her. Somehow, she would give him away. He would have to keep her in the dark until the jig was up. But he would also have to keep her safe in the meantime.

  And hope she didn’t slit his throat while he slept.

  ***

  Kaylla let him lead her across the courtyard. They passed Mae’s hut where she had huddled among her family and friends. Too few of them remained. Despite the injuries she had sustained in the fighting, her most threatening wound had been her heart. The ache she felt in her chest surprised her. Each breath reminded her of the pain she had suffered at the hands those Norsemen, especially Rolf Bloodhands. She glared at his back, imagining the rush of pleasure she might feel at plunging an axe into his fat head.

  Her worst fears had been realized. The Vikings would take everyone away, deserting the village. Never again would she enjoy a summer’s day along the coast. Her life would be dictated by men she despised. And Viking women? She had heard tales of the Norse women, hard-looking and burly as their men. Viking women were said to be as merciless and cruel as Viking men.

  She soon guessed he was taking her home. She pushed past him as he held the door open and, once inside, went straight to the hearth. She felt chilled to the bone. That combined with anxiety set her entire body to trembling.

  What would he ask of her? She had foolishly given herself over to his most perverted whim. But she would do it, whatever he asked, if it meant saving Wulf’s life.

  Her womanflesh ached at the possibilities. To be completely at his mercy…the thought made the tiny core of her cleft throb in anticipation.

  She pulled flint from the box they kept next to the bed frame and set kindling to flame. Soon a roaring fire warmed the interior of the hut. Their shadows danced on the daub walls. She stood up, keeping her back to him, and began unlacing the bodice of her smock.

  “Wait.”

  His deep voice startled her. She did as he commanded. Curiosity got the best of her when she heard him moving around behind her. She turned to find him freshening the furs on her faeder’s bed.

  “I’ll not be rushing through this time.” He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots and weapons. He inclined his head toward the window. “See if there is any of that mead left.”

  Pulling on the rope, she hauled the gourd inside. The stopper was sill wedged in the opening and the container felt heavy. Untying the knot, she crossed back to him and held it at arm’s length.

  “Drink some.” He pulled the tail of his tunic from where it had been tucked into his breeches and dragged it over his head.

  The hills and valleys of his chest caught the fire light. Golden skin stretched over his finely sculpted muscles.

  She pulled out the stopper with her teeth and spat it to the floor as she had seen him do just days before. It seemed so long ago. She lifted the gourd to her lips and gulped at least half the contents. The wine was cold but the fermented honey warmed her insides and somewhat stilled her quacking heart.

  She reached out again and handed him the gourd. This time he took it. He scooted back on the bed and leaned against the wall. She watched, mesmerized, as he lifted the gourd to his mouth. He licked his lips just before they closed around the slender opening. He sucked out some of the mead. Her mouth grew dry as the muscles of his throat clenched around the savory wine as he swallowed it.

  Everything about the man oozed deviant sin.

  Yea, some sacrifice this was. She would have fucked this man even if he did not hold her brother hostage. Certain she had irrevocably doomed herself to Hell, she decided to go down fighting. If giving herself to Rolf Bloodhands could ransom the life of one person, by night’s end, she would save all of East Anglia.

  The gourd made a sucking sound as he pulled it from between his full lips. “Put your foot on the edge of the bed.”

  Hesitantly, still unsure of herself, she held her skirt up and placed her bare foot on the bedframe.

  He kept his gaze locked at the juncture of her thighs. “Lift your skirt. Just a little. Show me your puss.”

  Her heart leapt to her throat. The fire at her back scorched her thighs as she lifted the skirt of her smock just enough for him to see her opening. The rush of cold air against her moist puss mingled with the heat of the fire behind her.

  “Spread your lips and slide your finger inside.” She swallowed hard and did as he commanded. “Are you wet?” She nodded. “Say it.”

  “Yes. I…I’m wet.”

  His russet eyes darkened further. “Use two fingers.”

  She could not count, but she had an idea what he meant. She slid both the middle fingers of her hand into her dripping entrance. It was not the first time she had worked her own fingers inside, but she had only ever explored her sex when she was alone or beneath her bed furs. Doing so while he watched her so intently gave her pleasure she would never have expected.

  She closed her eyes. With no virginal barrier to block her exploration, she pushed
her fingers deeper until the palm of her hand cupped her mound. The wiry hairs tickled the callused skin as she worked her fingers against the slick walls. Her lips fell open and a sigh escaped.

  “Taste it.”

  Her eyes flew open. His voice, low and gravelly, only served to excite her even more. The walls of her channel squeezed around her. “What?”

  “Put your fingers in your mouth. Taste your juices.”

  Was he serious? She looked for some sign that he teased her, but no such indication was forth coming. Her muscles contracted as she pulled her fingers from inside and raised them to her lips. She could smell her musky scent and screwed up her nose in anticipation.

  “Go ahead. Open your mouth.”

  Before she could think over long, she parted her lips and popped her fingers inside. The salty tang of her juice exploded on her tongue.

  “Open your lips. I want to see your tongue.”

  She was going to burn in Hell. She wondered if the heat of it could possibly be any hotter than the inferno she felt right now. With his intent gaze practically burning a hole in her, she swirled her tongue over and around her fingers until she had licked them clean.

  By now his eyes had grown so dark with the lust she recognized they appeared almost black. Even more telling was his cock. Hard and thick, the smooth head poked out the top of his breeches. He reached down and rubbed it through the coarse material. The jolt of her own lust spread to her core, inflaming her even more and filling her with a desire to please him.

  And not just for Wulf’s sake.

  Aye, the devil himself probably prepared her place in Hell.

  “You can remove your smock now.”

  It was easy enough to slip the bodice over her shoulders and let her entire garment fall to the floor at her feet. He sucked in a sharp breath at her sudden nudity. His fingers curled into fists, as if he fought against the desire to touch her. With the hearth behind her, she could see her shadowed reflection on the wall against which he leaned, relaxed and without the sense of urgency he had shown before the Vikings had arrived.

  It neared the witching hour by now, but it seemed like days had passed since she had let him into her bed furs and offered him her maidenhead. Had it really been just that morning?

  Chapter Twenty

  Before she could change her mind, she climbed onto his lap and straddled his thighs. She reinserted her fingers into her wet puss. He parted his lips slightly as she smeared her juices over them.

  He gripped her wrist and pulled her fingers into his mouth, closing his lips around her knuckles and suckling them as she had his cock. The ache at the juncture of her thighs grew so intense, she ground herself against him, anxious to relieve the pressure that threatened to overwhelm her.

  He aided her by pressing the pad of his thumb against the fleshy center of her slit and, using the creamy moisture from her entrance, stroked her until she cried out with pleasure.

  Leaning forward, she crushed her mouth to his, tasting herself on his lips. Tangling his hands in her hair, he plundered her with his tongue.

  He pulled away from her to stand up, settling her on the floor in front of him, and frantically began tearing at the bindings of his breeches. She found his suddenly flustered movements endearing. She stayed his hands, pushing them out of the way and slowly, tantalizingly loosened the stays. She slid her hands into the top, pressing her palms against his warm skin, and worked them down over his hips.

  When he stood before her, as naked a she was, he crushed her to him, ducking his head and claiming her mouth once again. This time his kiss was gentler. He savored her, sliding his velvety tongue across her bottom lip. He pulled it between his teeth and suckled her.

  Raking his hands through her hair, he pulled back to look at her. Flashes of gold reflected the fire light, making his eyes dance as he studied her face. Gone was the seasoned warrior, the brutal Viking come to kill and plunder. The man before her seemed more vulnerable. She thought she could ask him for anything, and he would give it to her.

  “Tell me what you want.” His raspy voice was further evidence of how he struggled to remain in control.

  Can he read my thoughts? She had never felt so strong, so certain of her ability to defeat her enemy. But was he truly the enemy? Mayhap Rolf played a part, gaining the trust of his king’s nephew for some other purpose. But to what end? To live in a poor village among a handful of women?

  She did not want to defeat him. She wanted to please him, and herself in the process.

  She reached between them, grasping his engorged manpart in both hands. It yet amazed her that the enormous cock she held could fit inside her. The pulsing walls of her sex belied her concern as she recalled the sheer pleasure of him sliding it in and out of her body.

  “I want you…”

  He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers once again. When he pulled away, he had the look of a desperate man. “Say it again.”

  She swallowed, took a deep breath. “I want you. I want to feel you inside me.” Heat flushed her face. Never before had she spoken such words to a man. With languid strokes, she milked his cock, shocked when it actually grew bigger. Emboldened, she leaned over and flicked the tip of her tongue over his puckered nipple. Her breasts bounced against her hands. She let go and held his narrow hips between her palms, relishing the feel of her breast brushing against his cock. “I…I want you to slide your cock into my hot…” she trailed feather-light kisses across the indentation in his chest, “… wet…”, what had he called it? “… puss.” She swirled her tongue around his other nipple.

  He sucked in a quick breath and pushed her hands away. Reaching beneath her arms, he squeezed her full breasts around his engorged cock. Her nipples ached, but she savored the pain as he worked himself between her heavy mounds as if he were indeed inside her.

  She continued to suckle him, moving from one nipple to the other and back again, until with a tug against her ribs, he pulled her on top of him as he sat back on the bed.

  Hoping he would return the favor, she cupped her breasts in both hands, guiding one pebbled nipple to his full lips. He rewarded her by taking much of the tip into his mouth. He slid his tongue across the taut peak even while he suckled her like a babe.

  She watched, fascinated, as he devoured her. His cock, rock hard and twitching for attention, pressed against her mound, teasing her exposed crux. She massaged the fleshy covering against his thick cock.

  He trailed his hands down her arms and along the pale flesh along her ribs. She squirmed against the tickling sensation and draped her arms over his shoulders. He squeezed her buttocks guiding her against his shaft.

  “Mmmm…Kjæresten min. Du er så våt.”

  She didn’t understand the words, but her heart beat faster at the luxurious sound of his voice as he spoke the Norse tongue.

  He kneaded the flesh of her backside as he lifted her up then lowered her wet opening around the tip of his cock. It split her like an axe head through firewood. His breath was warm on her neck. Eyes closed, she lowered herself onto his spear, inch by torturous, exquisite inch, until she felt the full lips of her sex tighten against the wiry hair at its base. His balls, full with his seed, bulged against the tender skin between her channel and the tight opening at the back.

  When she started to slide her puss back up, he stopped her. Her eyes snapped open to find him staring at her with a lust-induced intensity that frightened her.

  She thought of Udela. They had been forced to listen to her pitiful cries all afternoon. They had sounded even more disturbing during the short time she had been in the courtyard, even through her own fog of concern for Wulf. She could only imagine the torture and humiliation the poor girl was being forced to endure.

  The only torture she felt was the torture of unsatisfied lust. Her fear and guilt somewhat diminished by her overwhelming desire, she looked at him expectantly, awaiting his command, prepared to use her body to bargain for her brother’s life.

  Yea, that’s why
she was here.

  Even as the thought formed, she recognized it for a lie. She hungered for this man’s rough hands on her body, his cock to fill her. Was she his slave or a slave to her own body?

  With a wicked grin, he reached behind her, between her full globes, and stroked his fingers along the tender skin where her sheath gripped the base of his cock.

  Ripples of pleasure coursed across her body. With his other hand, he tugged one of her wrists and guided her hand to meet his from the front. How could so many sensations rack one’s body without causing sudden death? She had seen a man once, struck down by lightening. Had he felt like this just before he fell dead?

  “Squeeze my cock while you fuck me.”

  When she pushed up, his hand nearly swallowed hers as she encircled her small fingers around him. She massaged him even as she rode his cock until she thought she would explode.

  “I…”

  He clenched his meaty hands around her hips and ground her to a halt. With his lips against her ear, she felt them move when he whispered.

  “Come for me, kjæresten.”

  Coming was not a word she would use to describe what happened to her. She felt more like tiny slivers of her body were going off in different directions. As many different directions as there were stars. She almost collapsed completely against him as wave after wave of pure erotic pleasure washed over her.

  Before her spasms receded, he shoved his hips so high off the bed, she was lifted into midair. His seed pumped into her, mingling with her own gushing juices. His whole body tightened. The friction where their bodies joined fueled the already charged sensations wreaking havoc on her senses. Marveled by the roar of pleasure that escaped him during his release, she came again, harder than before.

  When the wave had passed, he cradled her in one arm and lowered her to the tic that covered the bed frame her faeder had built. He stretched out next to her, propped on one elbow, and idly stroked her arm as he gazed into the fire. Time passed without either of them speaking. The mood was tense, the room silent except for the crackle and occasional pop of the fire.