by Koko Brown
He brushed a butterfly kiss over her mouth.
“Your mother’s name is Brita,” she breathed.
Exerting the smallest pressure, he advanced deeper, parting her lips.
“You fought Bjarni for me and won,” she said, coming up for air. Head swimming with neural overload, she held onto his hands.
His tongue twined with hers, then penetrated more deeply, demanding more, promising more.
“I was your slave but you set me free.”
Reese didn’t protest when he picked her up, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Cheered on by his customers, Eirik proceeded to climb the stairs. With each step, a tremulous pulsing fluttered deep in the pit of her stomach—a fevered response she hadn’t felt in years and what she’d believed only happened in her dreams.
It took him less than five minutes to climb both flights of stairs, unlock his apartment door, and then carry her into the bedroom. She was quivering helplessly as he lowered her onto the bed. Settling between her legs, Reese was almost lost to him, but she needed answers. She slid her fingers into his hair, until her palms rested against his temples, and gently pushed.
“How did you get here?”
She might have arrested his attention, but his hands were quickly undoing her clothing when he replied, “Freyja took pity on me and sent me forward to your time.”
“The goddess of love took pity on you?” Reese asked. Not completely invested in her interrogation, she lifted her hips, and he removed her shorts.
“She appreciated my sacrifice ‘for my lady love’ and rewarded me.” He rolled his eyes as if making light of the situation. Reese knew better. Gods and goddesses rarely did anything lightly.
“What does she want?”
“Nothing. I already made my sacrifice.”
“What did you do?” Reese searched his face, endeavoring to find answers, but what he said next she least expected.
“When you disappeared, I held out hope, thinking you would return, and refused to leave. I froze to death.”
Biting her bottom lip, Reese tried to repress the wetness welling in her eyes. She failed.
Noticing, he shifted her in his arms. “No tears, only happiness,” he said, settling in beside her. He tried to soothe her with soft caresses, but nothing helped.
“You keep this up and you’ll drown me. And between you and me, I’ve run all out of goddesses.” His smile could banish the gloom from the world, she thought.
“You...better have,” she warned in a hiccupy breath.
He propped his head in his hand. The intensity in his pale gaze, a direct contrast to his casual bearing. “Do I detect a little jealousy?” he asked.
“Try a ton.” She ruefully smiled. “That must be why I love you.”
“Say it again. Say you love me.” A tremor ran through his voice, and she briefly wondered if her answer hinged on his next breath.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
With a low growl, he rolled with her across the bed.
“Now it’s your turn.”
“Was there ever a doubt? I died because of you, was resurrected, and then searched for you for two long years, never giving up.”
Reese peeked up at him. “Saying it won’t hurt.”
Smiling, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek and earlobe, on the corner of her mouth. “I love you, and I always will.”
“Now show me.”
Reese held her arms up, so he could tug her blouse over her head. Naked, but warm from the heat pervading her senses, she watched him undress. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and moved to throw it over his shoulder. She pulled it from him and inhaled. His scent was heavenly.
“I’m keeping this,” she declared.
“You might as well. You have everything else.”
He rolled her beneath him. Flesh against flesh, bodies fitting together as if made for each other.
“What do you want from me?” It was only fair she give him something in return.
“I want this.” He bent his head and licked her breast.
“It’s yours,” she whispered as a shiver skipped down her spine.
His hand settled between her thighs. “I want this as well.”
“Yours,” she said readily, her thighs splaying wide.
He titled his head and his expression turned suddenly serious. His gaze direct, pierced her soul.
“I want forever.”
“So like a Viking to demand all my time.” Smiling, Reese wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, well you’re my Viking, and I’m stuck with you.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Tired of talking, Reese angled her head, and kissed her Viking.
EPILOGUE
Sogn og Fjordane county, Norway
Reese, mug of coffee in hand, made her way to the upper deck. With no working clocks on board and her cell phone back in the cabin, she estimated it to be around ten o’clock. If her calculations were correct, Eirik would have already set sail, beginning the second leg of their journey.
Topside, Reese paused to gain her bearings. After three weeks navigating a quarter of the world, she still hadn’t earned her sea legs. The salt air still irritated her nostrils. The constant squawk of seagulls made her yearn for the serenity of open waters, and the relentless rocking hull always followed her ashore.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sigurdsson.”
Reese glanced over her shoulder. Hand on the tiller, blond hair tucked beneath a heather gray skull cap, Eirik smiled at her. Reese sighed, a feeling of tenderness fluttered in her belly. He was the reason why she’d suffered silently, grinned and bearing it while secretly popping Dramamine.
Wanting to return to his roots, this trip had been his idea, a way of killing two birds with one stone. She’d always wanted to see the world, and he needed to discover his family’s fate. A natural-born sailor, he nixed her idea of a commercial cruise, and insisted on captaining the vessel, a rented Hardin 45.
“How are you this fine morning, Mr. Sigurdsson?”
Eirik tucked her to his side, an arm draped around her waist. “Fine now.” Quietly said, Reese didn’t miss the emotional inflection in his tone.
Reese turned in his arms. “Are you sad about leaving?” she asked, studying his body language. “You know we can always come back.”
“How about Christmas?” a cautious lilt underscored his words.
Reese hadn’t expected to return that soon, the holidays were only six months away, but she wasn’t surprised.
“Only if we’re flying,” she offered as a concession.
He looked out at the sparkling sea, stretching before them. As expected, the boat, sails unfurled, was pointed east. In two days they would circumvent the British Isles, and then head south to the Mediterranean. A hint of a smile quirked his lips. “As long as you don’t mind lugging all the gifts aboard a plane. I have a very large family,” he said, chest swelling with pride.
“Almost an entire village.” Reese hugged him. Discovering Thoren had survived, and that his line still continued, had brought tears to her husband’s eyes. “I guess I’ll have to pack light.”
“You are sure?”
“I would follow you anywhere,” Reese pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Even around world,” she joked since she was doing just that. “What about you? Would you follow me?”
“From this life to the next.”
And Reese believed him because he’d already fulfilled that promise.
If you liked The Viking Wants Forever, then you might like...
TAKEN
By Koko Brown
Prologue
Paris, France
Khalid Francois Duïs loaded the cartridge into the chamber and spun the cylinder. By now a seasoned veteran of the game of chance, he prepared his weapon without looking, and set it on the table.
While a cacophony of bets swirled around him and his opponent sat across from him sweating bullets, Khali
d poured three fingers of cognac into a balloon snifter.
The delicate crystal glass looked out of place in the secret chamber located in the basement of a bordello in Petite Asie. It was the only thing of worth in the room sporting blood stained floors, smoke charred walls and a single table flanked on either side by two chairs.
Khalid mentally shrugged. He probably looked out of place as well to this crowd of thieves, bruisers and common laborers in his rumpled, yet tailored, evening suit. Still, that didn’t keep them from betting on his soul.
Too bad they didn’t know their bets were nothing but a symbolic gesture. He’d died months ago—the day she walked out of his life.
Without warming the contents of the snifter and per his usual habit whenever thoughts of her fucked with his head, Khalid downed the contents in one lusty gulp. Pickled from a two-bottle a day habit, his insides barely recoiled from the liquor burning a path to his belly.
Unfortunately for him, his newly acquired vices had not assuaged his wounded pride or the fact that the only woman he gave a damn about didn’t give a fuck about him. Scowling, Khalid poured himself another drink. Hopefully, if his luck ran out—he prayed it would be tonight—his wasted existence and his troubles would soon be over.
Khalid eyed his opponent and smiled. Barely out of his teens, the ginger-haired youth had taken up the gauntlet to pay a seemingly insurmountable debt to Le Vautour...The Vulture, an unscrupulous loan shark and ring leader of these nefarious weekly games.
As if he’d conjured him, Le Vautour pushed his way through the throng to the center of the room. Barrel chested with a ruddy complexion, he was a prince of the underworld and filthy rich from other’s misfortunes.
“Silence,” he bellowed. “Silence! The appointed hour has arrived and all bets have been placed.”
He was probably sitting on a hefty purse, Khalid mused as he eyed the bulge in the other man’s upper coat pocket. Indebted to no one and a five-time victor, Khalid had become a legend in Paris’ back alleys. Add in the fact that no one knew his true identity, and the attendance of the games had grown exponentially.
“The game is simple,” Le Vautour continued. “Two men. One revolver. One bullet. Each round one shot a piece. To the victor, a quarter of the spoils.”
Le Vautour placed his hands on the scarred tabletop and eyed his pawns in turn, finally settling on the boy. “Since Monsieur La Chance is the reigning champion, Lucas, you will go first.”
Despite the multitude crowding around them, the room was as quiet as the inside of a church. Nonplussed, Khalid sipped at his cognac. There was nothing in the rules about not imbibing between rounds as long as he didn’t get too impaired he couldn’t complete his turn, which would result in forfeiting his share of the purse. Of course, that didn’t bother Khalid either. He hadn’t collected his earnings since his streak began. Instead, he’d asked them to be tallied and delivered to a Miss Olivia Bryant living on the continent.
“Lucas we’re waiting,” Le Vautour prompted.
Adam’s apple bobbing, the youth reached for the revolver so fast, it spun out of his reach and half way across the table.
Khalid would’ve felt sorry for the boy, but that would mean he still had feelings and emotions. “Steady,” he said, thrusting the gun toward his opponent.
Hand shaking, brown eyes rolling with anxiety, Lucas lifted the revolver to his temple. His fear was so palpable it rolled off him in waves like the stench from Paris’ sewers on a hot summer day.
“Keep your hand steady,” Khalid coached. “You don’t want to miss your mark and end up maimed.”
Lucas nodded slightly as he pressed the barrel firmly to his head. The crowd pressed in closer. Expression marred with greed, Le Vautour licked his bulbous lips. White knuckled, the boy squeezed his eyes shut at the same time he pulled the trigger.
Click.
The room erupted with raucous cheers as Lucas, shoulders slumped with relief, placed the revolver onto the table. Khalid lifted his glass in salute and in quick order downed his drink. It was his turn and unlike the boy, he never wavered.
Palming the revolver, he turned it on its side and gave the cylinder a spin. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he caught it with his hands, eliminating his chances of survival. The rush tasted better than the one hundred dollar-a-bottle of cognac he favored and even opium.
“Kal, what the hell are you doing?”
Hearing his childhood nickname, Khalid recoiled, and for the first time, in many weeks, his resolve to self-destruct wavered. Even worse, he felt ashamed when his older brother, Aksim, materialized out of the crowd, followed closely by his younger sibling, Izîl.
Khalid blinked at them. How in the hell did they catch up with him? He’d paid out the nose to stay two steps ahead of them.
“Get out of here,” he growled.
Aksim shook his head and water dripped from his hat onto his heavy winter coat. “I’m not leaving without you,” he countered. “Father sent us to retrieve you and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Of course.” Khalid almost grinned in the face of his brothers’ apparent astonishment. They must have expected a fight. And with good reason. A notorious hothead, Khalid would’ve given them one if all the fight hadn’t left him months ago.
“I’ll be right with you, just let me finish up here.”
Smiling broadly, Khalid pressed the barrel of the revolver against his temple and squeezed the trigger.
Other Books by the Author
Charmed
The Merry Widow
Forever, I Do (Book 1, All Cooked Up series)
Cooking With Sin (Book 2, All Cooked Up series)
Kisses & Curses
Carnal Moves
Jezebel
Nerds Are Freaks Too
Player’s Ultimatum (Book 1, Hands Off series)
Player’s Challenge (Book 2, Hands Off series)
Taken
About the Author
Koko Brown is the pseudonym for a quintessential romance junkie who read over 200 Zebra Club novels in less than 30 days the summer before her senior year in high school. Bit by the writing bug at an early, she self-published and made a profit from a newspaper she distributed to her fourth grade classmates. Unfortunately, the school principal didn't appreciate the competition and put her out of business after one best-selling issue.
Undaunted, Koko continued to write and read everything she could get her hands on. She honed her writing skills as a staff writer with her college newspaper and writing obituaries for the local newspaper.
One day back in 2006, Koko came up with the idea for her first erotic manuscript and the rest they say is history. While not writing, Koko loves to travel and shop in thrift stores.
Social Media:
Website
Facebook
Twitter
Sign up for Newsletter