The Valkyrie’s Mortal

by Lily Harlem

  Asger raked his gaze down her body, taking in her skin, the colour of milk, her weighty breasts and the golden triangle of hair between her legs.

  Iona could tell that he liked what he saw, not least because a thick wedge of flesh strained against the front of his trousers. His erection was hard and long, pressing upwards and a little to the right of his midline.

  He stepped closer.

  “Wait.” She held up her hand.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She frowned at him and pulled the dagger from the belt around her thigh. “It is always sensible to remove weapons before this kind of activity.”

  Asger made a growling noise low in his throat and his eyes flashed.

  Iona knew that he was on the edge of control. That thrilled her. She wanted to see him lose control of his passion. She wanted him to unleash his male desires on her.

  The second the dagger hit the floor he was on her, kissing her, dragging her close again.

  Iona went to her tiptoes, still wearing her boots, but no matter—they wouldn’t get in the way.

  His stubble abraded her chin, heating her further. His hands skimmed over her body. The calluses on his palms scraped and scratched her flesh and she adored it.

  She gasped as he cupped her breasts, squeezed them together and buried his face in her fleshy cleavage.

  “Mmm…” She moaned as he kissed across her mounds of flesh then tugged on her nipples with his teeth. “More.”

  He gave it—enthusiastically sucking and licking and tweaking her hard points.

  Iona shut her eyes and became lost in sensation. There was something so deliciously urgent about Asger. Not like the celestial warriors who took their time because their energy and control was a constant. Asger was impassioned, desperate, and urgent for satisfaction.

  It turned her on more than anything she could ever remember.

  “I want you,” he said, stooping and wrapping one arm behind the backs of her thighs and the other around her waist.

  “You have me,” Iona said, as he hauled her up against his wide chest.

  “No. I mean I want you on here.” He tipped her onto the large mound of soft hay.

  “Ohh…” Iona gasped as she landed on her back. She looked up at Asger and laughed.

  “What is amusing?” He frowned.

  “No one would dare do that to a valkyrie, but you—”

  “I am not afraid of you.” He reached for the drawstring on his breeches. “I simply want to repay my debt.”

  Iona studied him. He was breathing heavily and his abdominal muscles were tense. His jaw was set, thick and strong, and his eyes flashed with lust.

  She spread her legs slowly, showing him her soft, damp feminine place. She then dipped her fingers into her folds and separated them so he could see her entrance.

  His previously tense jaw slackened and he groaned.

  “So pay the debt,” Iona said. “Warrior.”

  Asger didn’t reply. He shoved at his clothing and his penis sprung free. It was in proportion to the rest of his size, thick with veins and sporting a large domed head.

  Iona itched to touch it, but Asger dropped to his knees and pushed her thighs wide apart, bunching up a mound of hay as he did so.

  “What are you…?” she asked, pulling her hand from between her thighs and staring at the top of his head.

  “This is how mortal men prepare their women,” he said gruffly.

  “But, I…”

  Iona watched fascinated as Asger dragged his tongue through her wet folds.

  Never before had a lover done that to her and it felt amazing. She groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated up from her belly. The need for more was instantaneous and desperate.

  Asger gripped her legs harder, his fingertips pressing into them as he licked her again.

  “Oh, yes…” she said, clutching handfuls of hay. “Oh, yes…like that.”

  Iona continued to watch as Asger, with his eyes shut, worked her. He kissed and licked and sought out her nub of pleasure. His nose, big and proud, rubbed against her and his tongue left no patch of flesh untouched.

  Pressure built in her pelvis along with a need to climb to fulfilment.

  She released the hay she was holding and placed her hand on his head. His hair and scalp were warm and his head moved as he adored her with his mouth.

  She shifted her hips and pushed closer. The skilful way he was stoking her desire made her crazy with want.

  Asger released her left leg and sought her entrance with his fingers. He pushed in, her moisture easing the way.

  “Oh, oh…Asger Holt…” Iona bucked. His wonderful, filling touch had driven her wild and even nearer to completion. She curled forwards, pushing onto his fingers. “Keep going,” she ordered. “Don’t stop.”

  He stopped.

  “What…?” she shouted, furious with him for disobeying.

  She grabbed his hair and yanked.

  “Hey,” he grunted, rising over her and ignoring her hand in his braid. “I told you, that was preparation.”

  “I was about to crest,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He grinned, his wet lips stretching wide. The scar on his face creasing.

  Iona itched to strike him.

  “And you, my valkyrie, are well and truly ready for my taking. More than prepared, you are on fire.”

  “Yes, I—” Iona huffed as she was roughly spun onto her stomach and her face landed in the strands of hay.

  Asger grabbed her hips and yanked her backside into the air. “Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer. A slain warrior would have, but not Asger Holt. He just forged his thick cock into her and buried balls deep.

  Iona cried out, pleasure overtaking her every thought and sensation as she was filled with hot, mortal cock for the first time.

  “Ah, Iona, you are mine, you are so giving and so perfect,” Asger shouted, his voice echoing around the barn. “Mine. All mine.”

  She was his. Or at least she felt like it as he drove in and out of her, over and over. His thick erection rubbed all of the right places deep inside her. Passion fogged her vision and the steady climb to climax claimed her thoughts.

  She panted through each thrust, his fingers tight on her hips and his belly colliding with her rear on each lunge.

  Soon it was there, her orgasm, faster than ever before. Her need to release was overwhelming.

  Asger thrust in and out, and as he did so he wound his hand around her waist and sought out her pleasure nub. He pressed it with the pads of two fingers and rubbed in a circular motion.

  It was too much, so much and when he reached for her plaits, gathered both of them in his big hand and yanked her head backwards, she came.

  She howled and gasped, her climax sending her reeling and lights brighter than Valhalla searing through her eyes. Her sex clamped around Asger’s cock. Hugging him tighter, harder, thumping through the glorious release.

  His clever, wicked fingers kept on giving her nub both ecstasy and torture and she arched her spine, bowed away and pressed back for more.

  “That’s it, my valkyrie,” he ground out, his pace not changing. “That is my debt to you.”

  “Oh, please…” Sweat laced her body. She felt so owned by him, this big brute who’d buried deep and was wrenching on her hair in the most uncordial of ways. “That is so…”

  “Good.”

  “Yes…good,” she panted.

  He pulled out and Iona groaned at the loss of him inside her.

  But she wasn’t without him for long. He flipped her over and buried himself deep once more.

  Iona reached up and cupped his stubbled cheeks as hay fluttered around them. “You are my mortal lover,” she said, still breathless.

  “Yes.”

  “Always.”

  “Yes.” He frowned, screwed up his eyes. “I am yours, and I am…ahh…”

  His thrusting picked up to violent shoves in and out of her body. Iona clung to his cheeks, wrapped
her booted legs around his waist and stayed with him as he spurted his semen inside her in long, agonising gushes of release.

  She stared up at him, committing his every expression, wince and sigh to memory. His climax went on and on. Pumping, heaving, gasping, he pushed higher and higher into her, as though he couldn’t get his cock high enough.

  It was like nothing Iona had ever seen. The celestial warriors were reserved in their moment of fulfilment. Asger succumbed to his, surrendered to it in every way it pulled him. He was even more beautiful in his moment of ecstasy than when she’d seen him fighting.

  He opened his eyes, stilled his hips, and studied her. He struggled to catch his breath and his cheeks were flushed.

  She rubbed her thumbs over his soft lips and smiled at him.

  “I have paid my debt, yes?” A final tremor went through his body.

  “You have.”

  “And did I do it well?” A sheen of sweat covered his brow.

  “Very well.”

  He smiled, and though still breathing heavily, he kissed her.

  Iona wound her hands around his shoulders and tightened her legs about his waist. She had no intention of letting Asger Holt of Esthland go. From now on he’d be her favoured one. She would follow him into every battle. Bless his weapon, his horse and his boat. She would ensure his safety, heal his wounds and scorn his enemies.

  With her support, Asger would become a great leader, a mortal with immortal abilities. He would rule, with her at his side, and achieve magnificent things until finally, when he was an old man, she would take him to Valhalla and enjoy him for all eternity.

  He pulled back. “I pleased you, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look very pleased.”

  “I am, because I have you,” she said, stroking down the column of his neck and resting her palm over his heart.

  He nodded. “Yes, you do my valkyrie, for all of time.”

  AWARD WINNING AUTHOR LILY HARLEM

  Lily Harlem's sexy romance novels are highly praised and frequently hit bestseller lists.

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  Keep reading to enjoy the first two chapters of bestselling Viking novel The Viking's Captive. (Read for FREE on Kindle Unlimited)

  Need more sexy historical romance novels from Lily Harlem…here you go…

  Head of Household

  Owned by the Highlanders

  Claimed by the Clan Chief

  THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE – bonus read of first two chapters.

  Chapter One

  “If you’d seen what I had, you’d be terrified.” Duna Terin dumped the last of the tanned hides onto the pile, then turned and placed her hands on her hips. “I promise you, Father, you’d be running for the hills.”

  “You’re being histrionic, lass,” Ronan Terin said, stoking the hearth fire. “As usual.”

  “I’m not, I tell you, there was a longship on the horizon again. The Nordic savages are sailing past us right now. Right this very day.”

  “Exactly, past, we have nothing to offer them here on our small island.”

  “Nothing to offer? We have goats and hens, fertile land that we use well, and look, hides of the finest quality.”

  “You have many there.”

  “There are orders in from the Laird and villagers. Also Esca needs a new saddle.” She brushed her palm over her woolen dress. It was getting old; she needed to earn a few coins to buy another.

  Ronan raised his eyebrows. “Esca is not that rich.”

  “Maybe he is.” Duna glanced up at the thatched roof. It was windy again, coming from the east, which didn’t bode well. They needed to replace the thatch, but that was costly and her father wasn’t the young man he used to be. Maybe she should take Esca up on his marriage proposal. Another man in the house would ease the burden of running their croft, and Esca did seem to have coins in his pocket if not a big farmstead of his own.

  “Here, you should eat,” Ronan said, taking a seat on a hard wooden chair. In his hand he held an earthenware bowl full of steaming broth. “There’s no meat in it.”

  She hadn’t expected there to be. The goats were too precious to kill, at least while they were producing milk. “That doesn’t matter.” She tightened her shawl around her shoulders. Despite it being early summer she was cold. Some meat in her dinner and on her bones would have been good for her.

  She took a bowl and filled it, the scent of sage and onions filling her nose. “Any eggs this morning?” Ronan asked.

  “Yes, four.”

  “I am pleased.” He nodded and slurped from his wooden spoon.

  “And I will make bread.”

  “You’re a good girl, Duna.” Her father smiled. “I thank God every day for you. I wouldn’t have survived without you after your mother passed and…”

  “Shh, you don’t have to say that, you know I’ll always be here for you.” She stared at the flames licking up from the iron grate and thought of her beautiful, kind mother. She missed her too, but the past could not be undone. Sickness was a terrible thing. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  There was nowhere else for her to go. The Shet Isles were home. Admittedly a cold, blustery home, which threw many challenges their way. But she loved it, and the people in it.

  There was a sudden loud knock on the door.

  “Enter,” her father called.

  Duna stood and set down her bowl with a rattle. A shard of panic rushed through her.

  What if it was the Nordic savages she’d seen in their dragon boat? Maybe they’d landed on the beach to the west and come to pillage their home.

  She swallowed down the bolt of fear. It was only Esca who stepped into their humble abode, ducking a little so his tall, lean frame could fit through the doorway.

  “Duna.” He smiled, then it dropped. “You’re eating, I’ll return.”

  “No, please, come in.”

  “Would you like to join us?” Ronan said. “It’s not much, but it’s warm.”

  “No, thank you.” He inclined his head. “I have been to Rockslewn Beach.”

  “And.” Duna held out her hands. “Did you see it too?” If only someone would take the threat seriously, and not dismiss the barbarians who came so close.

  “See what?” He frowned.

  “The Norsemen in their boat? The prow was so high, the sail so big, it couldn’t be missed.”

  “I saw no boats, and definitely no Norsemen. The wind is whipping through the trees and chopping up the sea. It would be a foolhardy fisherman to be out on the water now.”

  “They are not fishermen. They are warriors, expert mariners. I keep telling my father we should be preparing for them. It’s only a matter of time before they don’t sail on past and decide to come and see what they can steal from us.”

  “Duna, please do not concern yourself.” Esca stepped close and took her hand in his. His pale skin was cool, his fingers slender, delicate almost.

  “Do not concern myself? These are not men, they are monsters. They will rape and pillage, ransack our homes, destroy our stores and livestock. If we don’t die at their hands on a raid, we will die when winter comes.”

  “Be calm.” He frowned. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “There are tales from the mainland, and I know that is exactly what happens.”

  “Tales and fables,” Ronan said. “Your imagination is too wild, daughter of mine. Concern yourself with the tasks around our home and your leather sewing.”

  “Of course that’s what I do and will continue to do.” She tugged her hand from Esca’s. “I’m merely pointing out that we should be prepared, our men should have axes to hand, day and night. We should have lookouts posted around the island.”

  “Would it make you feel better if I discuss it with the Laird?” Esca asked.

  �
��Yes, yes, it would.” She nodded.

  “Then I will.” Esca puffed up his chest. “When I see him.”

  She frowned. “Why don’t you pay him a visit now? It’s the third longboat I’ve seen in a month.”

  “He’s a busy man.”

  “He’ll be a man with nothing, no tenants, no livelihood if the Viking conquerors decide to pay us a visit. If he’s lucky he’ll be left with his life.”

  “Duna, will you stop,” Ronan said. “Esca has said he’ll attend to your fears, now leave it at that, daughter of mine.”

  His stern tone created a bubble of anger and a shard of embarrassment in Duna. Upsetting her father was the last thing she wanted to do, or make him ashamed of her. But her dreams of a longboat racing toward Shet Isle, with a great serpent head at the prow, were becoming more vivid and more frequent.

  And Duna knew her dreams often came true.

  “And don’t tell me about the dreams again,” Ronan said. “Which is what you’re going to do next?”

  “What dreams?” Esca asked.

  Ronan set down his empty bowl. “My child here has dreams which she is convinced see into the future.”

  “She does?” Esca turned to her.

  Duna bowed her head. She was convinced her dreams were visions of the future. She’d seen her mother’s grave, dotted with daisies, three months before she was buried. And when she was younger, she’d dreamt of her own arm, twisted at a sickening angle, blushed with dark bruises; then two weeks later fallen out of a tree and broken the bones within it.

  And now, the longboat with its red and white striped sail, snake’s head complete with forked tongue and popping yellow eyes, caused her to wake in a cold sweat. Not least because he was on it; some kind of Viking monster wearing a helmet with horns as if he were the devil himself on some mission from hell. His sharp blue eyes reminded her of the snake he’d chosen for his boat, and his body, so big and broad and strong; surely he was some kind of freak, a creation designed for war, carnage, and brutality and nothing else. And to the right of his face was painting, dark and swirling, as if he’d been stroked by the pointed finger of a witch.

  She shivered and turned away.