I have a deep thirst I can’t seem to quench, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with needing water.
Chapter Four
Einarr
My head hits the back of the tin. I hit my hand against the water, frustrated with how bad that interaction went with Thyra. Why did I get out of the water? Why did I step closer to her? Why did I touch her?
I groan when I remember the spark that seemed to travel between our skins. I look down at my very hard cock, standing tall out of the water. It only reminds me of the horrified expression on Thyra’s face when she saw me naked. It’s as if she has never seen a man naked before.
My head slides off the basin from the realization, and I submerge under the water for a moment before coming back up for air. She has never seen a man naked before, which means, she is most likely a virgin, which explains the expression on her face.
I decide to be optimistic and say it isn’t because of my scars.
My cock leaks a bead of precome, and it flows down my shaft until it hits the water, dissipating into the heated pool. I want to be her first. I need to be her last. The look of innocence across her features is meant to mine.
My hands clench around the sides of the tin, holding on for dear life as more blood pools in my shaft. I become harder, longer, and thicker. I clench my teeth to fight off the need to ease the desire rutting in my shaft, but the memory of her chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale and her breasts pushing against her dress, straining the mounds as they begged to breathe, is my undoing.
With raging lust, I slap my hand around my cock and grip it with a firm, almost painful hold. I like it a little rough. I like a little pain. Not too much, but enough to remind me I’m still alive and breathing. When it mixes with pleasure, it’s the best reminder in all the lands.
I use the water as lubricant as I stroke myself. Small waves crash against my body from the disruption I’m causing in the tin. I jerk myself hard and quick. My toes curl. I thrust my hips up, tightening my arse as I fuck my own fist. I imagine it’s her virgin pussy. I imagine taking her fine arse in my hands and ramming into her from behind. I imagine my name falling off her lips.
“Ah, fuck. That’s it. That’s it. Thyra, oh, Thyra,” I moan into the empty room, as my balls tighten to my body.
The base of my spine tingles, and the last breath I take gets choked off as the first rope of come leaves my pulsating slit.
“Thyra!” I shout a little louder than I want, but I can’t help it. She drives me to the edge of madness. The first string of pearls hit my stomach. The next fly further, hitting me in the chest. I grunt as the last rope hits the water.
I sag against the tub, gasping for breath. My limbs are heavy. My mind is blank. The only thing I can hear is the rush of my own blood in my ears. My vision is blurry. Even my body feels like a weight. If I was in the middle of the sea, I’d drown.
“Fuck,” I chuckle. I’ve never come so hard in my entire life. No other orgasm compares. This one tops all of them, and it is because of Thyra.
I should feel guilty for lusting after her. She is the second’s daughter, for crying out loud, but I don’t feel an ounce of it. I just want more. I want more of this adrenaline she feeds me every time she is around, every time I think of her. Just every fucking time.
Washing the come off my body, I lean back smiling. Fuck. I feel so good right now.
“Einarr!” Grim’s loud, and as of right now, annoying voice yells outside the door as he pounds it until it might fall over.
“Aye! What?” I hiss, but I don’t move from my position. I’m too sated to care.
“Dinner will be ready in ten. Your big arse better be down there.”
“I will be. Shite! Let me bathe in peace, you madman!” I shout.
He grunts something incomprehensible. And by the sound of it, he is walking down the steps, away from the bathroom door.
Thank the goddess.
I’m in no rush. There will be plenty of food. And I’m in no hurry to see Lord Troy. He will only glare at me, sneer, and threaten me like every other time. Maybe it’s time I fight him. Man to man. He needs to respect me, and he doesn’t. I wish to earn his daughter’s hand, but I cannot if he hates me so.
If he hates anyone, it should be himself for creating such a perfect creature. Those green eyes, that body, her luscious breasts…
Aye, my cock is perking up just from the thought.
“That’s enough out of you,” I grumble to myself. I stand, the rush of falling water hitting the basin fast as it drips off my body. I reach for another linen and dry myself off.
I get dressed, remembering I don’t have a shirt. I’ll have to ask Grim if I can borrow one of his. I braid my hair in the back until the ponytail reaches my midback. A quick comb through my beard with my fingers and I’m out the door.
And run into Lord Troy himself.
There goes my post-orgasm high.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going, Scotty,” he hisses, spewing his hatred.
“Ah, we are back to that, are we?” I hate that he calls me a Scotty. So much so, if he were anyone else, I would kill him. But I can’t. As long as Lady Thyra is near, I dare not raise a fist to her father.
“We never left it, boyo,” he sneers.
I curl my lip, keeping my mouth shut as much as I can, and make my way down the stairs. I’m not sure why Lord Troy has decided to hate me so much. Everything was fine before he saw me ogling his daughter. His true colors came out then. He likes Grim just fine, but I wonder if Grim had an interest in Lady Thyra, if his reaction would be the same.
As I make my way down the stairs, the smell of roast hits me in the face, and my stomach flips. I haven’t eaten since this morning.
“Do not sit next to me,” Lord Troy growls.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I bite my tongue. What I really want to say is, “I’ll just sit next to your daughter.” But when I take a left into the dining area and the long, oak table comes into view, I do not see Thyra.
My heart breaks a little. I very much wanted to see her again after our encounter. If I’m not mistaken, there is something between us. Something fired between our souls in the bathroom, and I wish to explore it.
I pull out a chair and sit. Queen Sassa is at the head of the table, and Grim sits on the other end. It shows their status. A bowl of roast with thick meat and plump potatoes and carrots sits in front of me. My mouth waters. A warm piece of bread is next to it on the plate with a melted piece of butter. It looks delicious.
“Where is Lady Thyra?” Grim asks.
None of us take a bite of our food until the queen does. Once she sips from her spoon, we dig in.
Lord Troy takes a messy gulp of water. The liquid runs down his beard from his mouth. He can have some manners while sitting with the Lord and Queen. “She has fallen ill. She will not be making it for dinner.”
My spoon hits my bowl as it falls from my fingers. It is because of me that she isn’t coming, but no one needs to know that.
“Oh, dear. I hope she is alright. I’ll make sure to bring her a bowl after we eat,” the Queen says, before blowing the broth on the spoon.
I clear my throat, knowing what I am about to say next is really going to piss Lord Troy off. “If you don’t mind. I would love to take the bowl to her.”
Grim nods, fighting a smile.
“That would be very kind of you,” Lady Sassa says.
Thyra’s father slams his fist on the table, and I haul another spoonful of stew in my mouth, to hide my salacious grin.
“I think it is best if I take the bowl,” he grunts.
“I think Warlord Einarr is more than capable of carrying a bowl,” Grim states before taking a few swallows of water.
“Indeed, but she is my daughter. I shall look after her.”
“Einarr is taking the bowl. That is the end of it. You will not defy my order,” Grim slams his fist on the table this time, louder and more powerful.
La
dy Sassa jumps, becoming startled from the unexpected sound.
“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Grim tells her with a bashful grin.
My heart longs to do the same to Lady Thyra.
“It’s fine. I wasn’t frightened,” she says, her cheeks pink. Grim lets a low growl rumble his chest.
Rolling my eyes, I finish my bowl in a record amount of time, so I do not have to see them lust after each other. “I’ll take the bowl now.”
“The hell you will!” Lord Troy stands and swipes his bowl off the table, sending it flying against the wall.
Lady Sassa lets out a yelp, this time of fear, and Grim pushes his chair back. The legs scratch against the floor, and his fingers flex on the table as he stretches his palms out over the worn wood.
“You dare defy me?” he growls, his voice deep and threatening.
“I don’t want that Scotty near my daughter!” Troy shouts, clearly challenging Grim.
Grim takes the fork he was using and moves so fast that no one has time to blink before he sticks Troy’s hand with the fork, nailing him to the table. Troy shouts in agony, and Grim gets in his face, snarling.
“You dare call my brother that? I should kill you or cut your tongue out so you can no longer insult those around you. He is Viking. He may not have been born Viking, but he was raised Viking, and if I hear another word fall from your lips, the next thing I shall use against you is my sword.”
“Aye, Lord Grimkael,” Troy grunts. Grim yanks the fork from his hand.
“Take Lady Thyra the bowl, Einarr.”
I nod to him, and before I leave, I give a slight bow to our Queen. “Lady Sassa.”
She rolls her eyes at me, again. “We have been over this. Call me, Sassa. The formality unnerves me.”
I know. It is why I do it, but I dare not tell her that. I give her a smile and walk to the stove where the stew is and grab the handle of the ladle. I pour one scoop and scoff. Why, that isn’t enough to feed a bird. Instead, I fill the bowl to the rim. I have to make sure Thyra does not starve. She must never go hungry.
I carry the bowl out of the room and up the steps. I know Lord Troy means well, but when it comes to his daughter, he can be an utter fool.
I let out a breath when I leave the room, thankful to leave the tension in the room. After I make my way up the steps, I pause, clear my throat, and run a hand over my braid to make sure it is still intact. The Adam’s apple in the middle of my throat bobs as I swallow and take my first step toward the woman that I wish to make my destiny.
Thud. Thud. Thud. My boots echo until I am standing in front of her door.
Lifting my fist, I pound the thick wood. Bang, bang, bang.
“Who is there?” Her soft voice makes my heart skip a beat.
“Lady Thyra, it is I, Warlord Einarr. I bring stew. I hear you are unwell.”
Her feet patter against the floor as she comes closer to the door. “I’m not hungry. Thank you, Warlord.”
“Nonsense. You will starve. You must eat to get well. Open the door.” My plea sounds more like a demand. And I’m about to apologize, but the lock slides and the door cracks before I can.
She is going to allow me to feed her. A sense of pride overwhelms me. My chest puffs out. Perhaps she will let me spoon-feed her.
A man can dream.
Chapter Five
Thyra
I cannot believe he is here. I’m in my undergarments, for goddess sake!
“I need a few moments. I’m not decent,” I say.
The door vibrates when something hits the door. Einarr grunts, and for a split second, I wonder what that sound would feel like between my legs.
“Is everything alright?” I ask as I throw on my long bathrobe.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t sound fine, but I shall have to take his word for it. I tie a knot with the belt around my waist to keep myself covered. When I open the door, Einarr is right in front of me, eyes cast downward. His large, wide palms cup the bowl of stew. It smells divine.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything to eat. It is very kind of you.”
“A lady must never go hungry,” he explains in an even tone.
“I am far from hungry. I mean, look at me. I could probably skip a few meals,” I joke, waving my hands up and down my figure.
Einarr’s eyes wander over my body and back up until his gaze locks with me. “You’re perfect. You always need to eat. You’re beautiful. If it were up to me, I’d feed you every day, by hand.”
“Oh,” leaves my lips in one breath.
He barges in, pushing the door wide, and comes close to me, moving his body to the side, almost touching me. I wish he would. I wish his strong forearm would just brush up against mine. He sets the bowl on the table next to the bed.
“Come. Sit.” He points to the bed.
“Really, it’s fine. I don’t need—”
“—Sit,” he growls.
And I can’t help but listen. I rush toward my bed and sit, folding my hands in my lap.
“Open.”
I drop my jaw, and he scoops a piece of beef and potato on the spoon and places it in my mouth. I close my lips, and the beef broth bursts across my tongue. I can taste the flavors swirling around on my taste buds. The potato is soft, but not too soft. It’s perfect.
“Good. We have an entire bowl to finish.” He scoops another piece of meat, and this time, a carrot.
I hold my hand up to stop him. “I can feed myself.”
“I know,” he grunts, shoving the spoon back into my mouth.
I chew fast and swallow, wiping the bead of broth escaping my mouth. “Really, I can do it myself. I’m not some helpless woman.”
“I don’t think you are.”
I find my mouth full again, and at this point, I can’t tell if he is feeding me or shutting me up. Perhaps, a little bit a both.
“Warlord.”
“Call me Einarr.”
“Why are you feeding me?” I barely have time to ask before another spoonful is shoved in my mouth.
“I want to.”
I swallow the delicious food. “Why?”
“So I know you are fed. You need to eat.”
“I eat just enough,” I scoff.
“You weren’t going to eat tonight.” He scrapes the bowl for the last bit of stew.
“I am unwell.” I leave out that it is because of him that I can hardly sit down without the sensitivity between my legs throbbing.
“Because you need to eat. You eat. You sleep. You wake up better.” He shrugs.
“Oh, you are being such a typical man.”
“And you are being as stubborn as an ox, Lady Thyra.”
My mouth drops in a gasp, and he takes the opportunity to shove the last spoonful in my mouth. A part of me wants to spit it in his face, but I know it would be a waste of perfectly good food. So I swallow it.
“There. Was that so hard, Lady Thyra? You are fed now.”
“Do you feel better about yourself, Einarr?” I say, laying back against the headboard my father made for me.
He grabs the blanket from the bottom and pulls it to my chin. For a moment, I forget that I am ‘ill’ and get lost in his eyes. They are beautiful. Copper. They almost match his hair. A bead glimmers in the light that is attached to his beard. I’ve heard of these. I believe, if my memory serves me correctly, the first bead signifies the status of becoming a Warlord, and every other bead after that are battles won. It seems he has not had a battle yet with his new title.
Grim, on the other hand, he has what seems like hundreds.
Einarr is the first to look away, but foolishly or bravely, I place my palm on his cheek and turn his face back to me.
“Thank you for caring for me.” I run my fingers down the large scar on his face, and a puff of breath tickles my palm.
He grabs my wrist, but he doesn’t pull my hand away. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
I shake my head, running my thumb over the scar on his top lip. “You’re beautiful.”
“I am everything but that. I’ve done horrendous things.”
“I don’t care. You are still beautiful. A warrior. A leader,” I say. “How did this happen?”
“Just another battle. He got me right before he fell to the ground. I’m just glad he didn’t get me eye.”
“Me too. You have such handsome eyes.”
“You must have no sight because the man in front of you is all beaten up and used, Lady Thyra.” He tries to pull away, but I keep him near me.
“You mustn’t speak that way about yourself. I see you, Einarr. I see you for who you are, not for what you are.”
“Then you are foolish,” he mutters. Einarr places my hand on the bed and bolts out of the bed. “I am a killer. It’s what I do. This scar is one of many. I’m a man you aren’t used to seeing. That is why you are so entranced.”
“No, Einarr. Please—”
“—Good day, Lady Thyra.” He opens the door and slams it shut, causing me to jump.
I’ve never had a man call me foolish before. I’ve never been close enough to one I am interested in to have a conversation with. I don’t understand what is going on. There is something going on between us. Why would he leave like that?
I flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Of course he would not want me. He can probably have all the women in the world. It’s foolish of me to think otherwise, but something about Einarr just captivates me. My heart leaps for miles when he is near. He makes my heart skip a beat. His scars are far from ugly. I love the way they felt against my fingertips. The tough scruff of his beard tickled the inside of my palm. And the look on his face when I rubbed my fingers over his scar, he seemed… relaxed. The muscles in his face stopped straining, the scar was less stressed, and his lips appeared to be softer.
He is such a beautiful man, but he doesn’t see it. I need to make him see he is more than what he is, but I’m not sure how. He is a distant man. We only ran into each other today by luck. Granted, I saw more of him than I could ever imagined and I don’t feel guilty about it, not in the least.
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