Conquests: an Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance

by James, Elle

  He was magnificent, solid and muscled, his cock tauntingly erect, his stones heavy and pendulant. Every nerve in her body fired with desire, a desire tinged with the possibility of fulfillment for once not by her own hand.

  He chuckled. “You look as if you have never seen a man before.”

  She ripped her gaze from his body only to meet the persistent twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve not seen such as you.”

  “Ah,” he rumbled. “But you blush. Is there shame in another man’s nakedness?”

  She shook her head. “No shame. For God made man in His own image.”

  He quirked his head, his smile teasing. “Does your god look like me?”

  She swallowed hard. It was so very wrong to think of God in the way she was thinking about the man before her. But this Rakki was some sort of god; he had to be. No man she had ever encountered had his height, his coloring, his brawn, his…

  She tore her gaze from his crotch. “God looks like no one man, yet resembles all men.”

  He grunted. “And what does your god’s wife look like?”

  Nothing like a young woman in monk’s clothing entertaining adulterous thoughts. “God does not have a wife,” she explained softly.

  “Then it is a shame your god cannot enjoy the body he has created for himself.” His cock twitched and bobbled.

  She had to stop looking at God’s magnificent creation. With a shake of her head, Aelfrun gestured to the entrance of the tepidarium. “We will proceed to the bath.” She grabbed a towel and a washing cloth from the shelves by the doorway.

  Rakki chuckled and followed.

  The warm moist air of the heated room prickled Aelfrun’s already flushed skin. Rakki’s presence was disarming. Never before had male flesh been so exciting and arousing, the soft hair covering the chest inviting touch, tempting her to trail her fingers down sculpted abdominals to tangle in the wiry strands of the groin…

  And clutch the impressive attribute hungering for satisfaction.

  She had never enjoyed a man’s embrace. Instead, she had endured her husband’s disgusting girth as he wheezed over her in bed. Once safely ensconced in the monastery, new desires had flared, and she had tried diligently to repress her base urges as she worked alongside novices in the bloom of youth. Now she wanted nothing more than to wrap her legs around Rakki’s taut butt, press her mouth to his, sink her nails into the flexing muscles of his back as he plowed into her yearning cunt.

  The walk to the caldarium only inflamed her further, the sticky wetness between her legs rubbing with each step. She would not watch him. She would leave him to his bath to fetch a clean tunic.

  “Your bathing houses never cease to amaze.”

  She turned to see Rakki studying the tessellated vault, the colored glass glistening with droplets from the pool’s rising steam. His arousal had slackened in his awe, but remained an astonishing attraction. He would feel wonderful inside her. Her breath hitched at the thought.

  She had to distract herself. “Do you require oil for bathing?”

  He offered a quizzical expression. “Oil?”

  “For cleansing the skin.”

  “There is no soap?”

  “Soap?”

  “For cleansing the skin.” He winked.

  “You will make do with water.” She indicated the hot bath.

  He jumped in, splashing her, drenching her tunica. The linen clung to the curves of her now-obvious female body. She plucked the damp fabric away from her skin, hoping he did not see.

  But he had seen. He sat on the marble banquette in the pool with a grin then closed his eyes and leaned his head against the edge.

  Her breath raced at the glorious sight of serene masculinity. She should really just leave to fetch his clean tunic.

  Rakki opened one eye. “But you will not.”

  Aelfrun chilled. He had read her mind.

  “Because I wish you to join me.” He extended his hand in invitation, his silver rings catching the sunlight pouring through clerestory windows.

  “No.” Instead, she gave him the washing cloth, her fingers grazing his as he took it, the touch thrilling her sex. She recoiled as if he were fire.

  He rubbed the cloth along a beefy arm. “You fear me.”

  She only feared the desire welling within. “I fear the men you sent away. I feared they were the army of Satan, that it was the Apocalypse.”

  He raised a brow in query.

  “The end of the world.”

  “Ah.” He nodded as he swirled the wet cloth over his chiseled chest. “No. I am not a harbinger of Ragnarok.”

  Now it was her turn to offer a questioning look.

  “That is what my people call the end of the world.” He patted the edge of the pool.

  She removed her sandals then sat out of arm’s reach, dangling her legs in the hot water. “We have similar beliefs.”

  “Yes. We both want power over another.”

  “Not I.” She stirred her feet through the soothing pool.

  “No, perhaps not. But your emperor has left to attack a tribe of the east. We found the palace almost empty when we arrived.”

  “Almost empty?” Her heart thudded. Her husband was not a soldier. He must have stayed.

  “We met a courtier—Vaanes,” he said with a derisive twist of his lips.

  Her gut clenched. So he had stayed.

  Rakki snorted. “He offered to sell us the palace. Foolish man. We do not buy such things. We take them by force.”

  Her sycophantic husband would serve any master to save his skin. “What became of Lord Vaanes?” she whispered.

  Rakki wiped the blood streaking his face. “I killed him.”

  Aelfrun tried to choke back her shock but to no avail.

  Rakki swam to her, grasping her calves under the water. He narrowed his eyes. “What troubles you? Did you know the man?”

  “He was my husband.”

  He searched her face, concern coloring his expression. “And are you sad for the loss?”

  “No,” she breathed. “No, I am not. I am relieved. You have freed me from my torment.”

  “Your husband did not respect you as his wife?”

  “Respect?” Tears smarted in her eyes. “No.”

  “That is why you are in a holy place?”

  “Yes. Father Damianos mercifully took me in to protect me.”

  Rakki gazed deeply in her eyes as his hands skimmed up her legs to her thighs. “Your husband was a fool in many ways.”

  She should shake him off. Propriety demanded it. But his strength was imbued with a possessive sensuality she wanted, nay, she needed to feel. She did not move as he caressed along her thighs, her hips, to her waist, grasping her, lifting her up and into the water. He bent his towering form over her, touched his finger to her lips, wetting them as he licked his own.

  “So beautiful, little one.”

  His mouth covered hers, his soft but insistent tongue exploring, tangling with hers as he wrapped her in a comforting embrace. She clung to his shoulders as his body undulated, gentle waves lapping around them.

  He laid kisses down her neck. “How shall I call you?”

  “Aelfrun,” she panted. “My name is Aelfrun.”

  Her tunica floated around her waist. In one movement, he stripped off the garment.

  Aelfrun gasped and cupped her palms over her breasts.

  Rakki urged away her hands, grasping and securing them behind her back. He bent over and pulled a nipple into his mouth.

  A thrill shot straight to her cunt, intensified by his thigh rubbing the pearl between her legs. He held her firmly as he moved to the other breast, the luscious torment like nothing she had ever experienced. She breathed his name with a sigh.

  He chuckled against her skin. “So responsive. So willing.” His left hand gripped her wrists as his right coursed over her curves, his caress somehow familiar, as if he had touched her many times before.

  “You are too young, too beautiful for the likes of Vaanes
. How did this happen?” He slowly drew his tongue along a deliciously sensitive cord of her neck.

  “I am Saxon,” she managed. “From a noble family in Wessex. Four years ago, my father gave me to Lord Vaanes to solidify political ties.”

  “Then you are a foreigner like myself.” He cupped her butt and pulled her against him, his cock pressing against her belly.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am. Father Damianos taught me Greek while I lived in the palace.” She rolled her hips.

  He grinned. “The celibacy of the monastery has made you as wanton as Freya.”

  She pouted. “Your wife?”

  He laughed and picked her up. “A goddess. We have many.” He set her on the edge of the pool, licking his lips as he eyed her breasts. “I wish to worship you.”

  He gently sucked one nipple as he spread her legs wide. He pecked tender kisses over her waist, across her belly, to the hair of her mound. He drew in a breath, then exhaled a muttered oath and pressed his mouth to her sex.

  Aelfrun’s yelp of surprise melted to a sigh. It was a kiss like no other, teasingly delightful in a new way. He licked and sucked, a ravenous man, tasting all of her, until he fixated on the locus of pure pleasure, flicking his tongue as she writhed against him.

  Warmth whorled in her belly, rushing to her feet, curling her toes. She murmured his name in a litany of gratitude. Desire smoldered where his relentless tongue worked, the familiar coiling a welcome sign of what was to come. She grabbed his braids, pulling him closer. She needed this, needed him, needed release—

  “Oh, God!”

  He jumped out of the pool to slide under her, splaying her knees on either side of his head, his moustache tickling her nubbin, his eyes sparkling with delight as he gazed up at her. His devilish tongue thrust deep inside, plunging in and out forcefully, unsteadying her. She fell forward, catching herself with a slap of her hands on the wet tessellated floor, seeking purchase to ride him. His tongue filled her, the tip reaching a new pleasure spot deep within. She moaned his name with each splendid slide to orgiastic oblivion.

  He grabbed her thighs and lifted her slightly. “I want you to see me.”

  She turned around to face his crotch, his cock jutting proudly toward the vaulted ceiling, the purplish head glistening with his excitement. As his tongue found its aim in her depths, he gripped his shaft and slid his hand up and down slowly, his groan of relief reverberating against her quim. His strokes matched the rhythm of his tongue, languid and leisurely, increasing to a frenzied pace, his stones tightening, his breath hot. She wanted his cock, his glorious cock filling her, slamming into her, releasing his emission inside her, claiming her as his own.

  She swallowed her wail of ecstasy as her climax flooded his mouth. With a jerk and a growl he came, the initial spurt surprising, thrilling her to another orgasm. She remained poised, staring at the milky fluid cascading over his fist, over his rings, wanting to taste him as he had tasted her.

  She bent over and drew him into her mouth.

  He bucked up with a guttural word, thrusting his cock further along her tongue. He was salty and sour, and she relished every flavor, swallowing his enticing liquor, reveling in its burn down her throat.

  He handily picked her off him, easing them both into the warm pool to clean away the evidence of their union. He sat on the underwater banquette and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her securely in his strong arms. “We shall return to the palace where I will make you my wife. You will never know fear again.” He nuzzled her neck.

  She lifted his chin and pecked his lips, deepening the kiss when he opened his mouth with a low rumble of approval. His beard chafed her tender skin, his lips and tongue were still fragrant with her musk.

  “I would like that, Rakki.” His was an embrace she would never flee.

  *

  Aelfrun sat rigidly in the women’s balcony of the Church of the Holy Wisdom, struggling to maintain a stoic veneer, grateful that her dark widow’s veil obscured the pinched lips and furrowed brow of despair.

  Three months had passed since Rakki made love to her. Three months alone without her barbarian Rus. Three months craving his caress.

  She had left the bathhouse to fetch a clean tunic, meeting Father Damianos as he approached. Rakki’s chieftain had returned. The conquest had failed. The imperial army was quickly returning to the palace from campaigns against the Muslims, and the Rus were retreating. Aelfrun begged Rakki to take her with him. She had nothing now; she was but a widowed foreigner.

  He refused, regret in his eyes. “To take you captive would be an act of war. We are not prepared for such battle. Your soldiers are too numerous.”

  As she sat behind Empress Eudokia, Aelfrun blinked back her sorrow. The smoke and heady fragrance of smoldering incense wafted up to the gallery, burning her eyes, searing her lungs.

  Her heart ached at the scene on the dais below. Emperor Michael was investing a new unit of personal guards, a squadron of Rus who had requested baptism to prove their fealty.

  A dozen or so men knelt before the bishop and the emperor, their blond heads bowed, each one powerfully built, their strong arms and thick thighs straining chain mail and silk, reminding her of limbs that once secured her.

  Tears blurred her vision, falling down her cheeks as the ceremony plodded on. At the emperor’s exit, the empress rose. Aelfrun followed her mistress on legs wobbling with emotion. Once in the palace, she hurried to her apartment to wallow in her misery, crying herself to sleep.

  Her maidservant gently woke her. The empress was waiting in Aelfrun’s reception room and had brought a gift.

  Aelfrun composed herself and went to the richly decorated chamber. Attendants lined the marble revetment, their gazes cast to the mosaic floor. The empress reclined on a gilded couch, a soldier of the new imperial unit standing at attention behind her. The empress waved her hand at the man.

  The very tall muscular man.

  “Aelfrun, here is your new personal guardsman. He is one of the Rus converts.”

  Aelfrun stared as the guard removed his helmet and offered a slight bow before meeting her gaze.

  Rakki.

  Every nerve in her body fired with desire and hope. She stilled, not daring to move for fear she would throw herself into his arms.

  “His Christian name is John,” the empress continued. “He found inspiration from the Book of Revelation.”

  Rakki’s blue eyes flashed with memory.

  “He will accompany you when you travel and keep watch when you sleep.”

  He subtly raised a brow.

  “He is yours to command.”

  Aelfrun had only one command in mind.

  The empress stood. “I suggest you communicate your expectations to him.” She smiled at Aelfrun, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “I’ll take my leave.” The empress withdrew.

  Aelfrun quickly dismissed her attendants. She stared at Rakki, disbelieving.

  He grinned. “The empress knows it was I who held your monastery. She knows my true name.”

  Aelfrun blinked. “I told her of the siege of St. John’s. That it was you who saved us.” Her voice trembled with incredulity. “That I felt safe with you.” The empress must have understood the meaning behind her words.

  He took one slow step forward, and then another, unbuckling his cuirass, pulling up his hauberk with each excruciating stride. Aelfrun’s heart pounded at the smack of leather, the slink of chain mail as both were dropped to the stone floor.

  She stepped backwards to keep a view of all of him, until the bed pressed against the backs of her knees. He stopped an arm’s length away to strip completely, revealing the sculpted brawn of the warrior she had longed for. He was as she remembered, as she had dreamed every blessed night, her hand between her legs seeking release from despondent frustration.

  He was before her in one stride, taking her in a secure embrace, his mouth seeking hers, his tongue exploring her yearning depths, fingers tugging off her veil, u
nfastening her stola, her tunica, stripping her bare. He smoothed his thick palms over her curves with a heavy sigh, and then lifted her in his arms.

  She reached up to cup his cheek, the bristle of his beard like velvet under her palm. His braids were gone, his hair cropped short.

  “My hair is longer than yours now,” she giggled.

  He chuckled. “Just barely.” He untied and plucked off her sandals, the familiar smirk playing on his lips, the twinkle still shining in his eyes.

  He pulled back the bedcovers and lay her down gently upon the feather mattress. He slithered under the silk sheets to stretch alongside, propping himself on an elbow to gaze down at her.

  With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of her mouth. “Soon, I will make you my wife, little one.”

  Her chest tightened. “It’s impossible now.” She was a princess, he a mere guard.

  “No, love, it is not.” His finger trailed down the heated pulse of her neck, to her breast. “Your emperor has too many enemies. He is not long on the throne.” He swirled circles around her puckering areola. “Your future in his court is uncertain.” He cupped her left breast, over her heart, his warmth comforting, calming. “I will remain at your side to protect you, but when the time comes, I will steal you away.”

  Her doubt melted to joy. “And in the meantime?”

  He pulled her into his arms, the heat of his skin penetrating every pore, his mouth once again slaking desire too long denied.

  His hands smoothed down her back, squeezing her butt before finding her sex. He grinned. “You are wet for me.”

  She had been from the moment she saw him.

  He stroked her pearl, slowly rubbing her to excitement, increasing his rhythm to the puffs of her frantic breaths. Rapture coiled in her belly as she rocked against his hand, murmuring blasphemies. He bore down, wickedly pressing the sensitive nub, willing her climax to burst forth. She bucked up and cried out his name.

  He rolled on top of her, crushing her into the mattress, his weight exquisite in its absolute power. She slid her hands along his spine, relishing the ridges of each vertebra, the coarse strands of hair, the solid muscles.