Jerrik raised his head, looking into the rapidly darkening sky, as though he was expecting whatever gods he believed in to offer him guidance. She stood there waiting on his response, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her body as a fresh gust of wind swept around the house. When his eyes returned to her, Brigid could tell whatever was coming next was Jerrik’s final decision.
“There will be no need for another bride,” he informed her in a matter-of-fact tone. “I like the one I have already.”
She swallowed at his verdict, aware of more heat rushing to her cheeks at his unexpected compliment. So, Jerrik liked her, then? What in the name of God was that supposed to mean? Was the man so in need of carnality that he sought to flatter his way into her bed?
Their bed, she reminded herself. His bed. He is your husband now, and that means it’s his bed as well.
“The news of your son is unexpected, Brigid, but it changes nothing. You are still mine, and I am still ready to take what belongs to me.”
Brigid’s breasts heaved beneath her dress at his edicts. She should be outraged at Jerrik’s verdict. Had she not just explained that Bram was inside sleeping—she was sure that she had? Yet while she prepared to vocalise her protest to the massive Viking now leaning in towards her face, another thought occurred. In her mind, an image of Jerrik appeared, and in the seconds that followed, she imagined how the deed might actually be with him. Not just a terrifying prospect of surrender, but maybe of something more than that? Her nipples beaded at the idea, and reflexively, Brigid folded her arms over her chest.
It’s the evening chill, she told herself in response to her body’s reaction, but Brigid knew that was a lie. It wasn’t the cold that had affected her. It was Jerrik.
3
Jerrik
The diminutive figure of the woman beside him trembled, but Jerrik couldn’t decide the motivation behind the response. Was she cold? The wind had picked up since the wedding feast had begun, and the darkness of night now loomed, but perhaps she was merely afraid of what he proposed? Drawing his face down to meet Brigid’s, Jerrik appraised her more closely. He had seen fear in the eyes of his prey many times before, and that was not what reverberated from his new wife’s gaze. It was something else. Something that thickened the arousal beneath his tunic.
It was lust.
Jerrik’s lips curled in an instinctive response to Brigid’s hot gaze. It was difficult to fully take in the beauty of her eyes in the shadows, but he had already noticed she had the most incredible hazel gaze, and what those eyes were telling him now… Gods, he wanted to devour her there and then. And he would, too. If he needed to.
Raising his right arm, he leant against the side of the dwelling he now owned.
“Your house looks larger than some of the others,” he mused.
His mind was already whirring into action, but he didn’t want to presume. If this boy was going to be his responsibility from now on, then Jerrik wanted to understand how life with the child would work.
Brigid drew in a shaky breath, but her gaze never left him. “Yes, a little,” she confirmed. “My husband—I mean, my first husband—was a man of some importance here. He used to deputise to the chieftain. It afforded us a little more luxury than some of the other villagers.”
Jerrik raised his chin at her explanation. “So, you have more space?” he replied. “A place for Bram to sleep perhaps, while we make this union real in the eyes of the gods?”
She blinked at him wildly as the reasoning for his enquiries presumably became clearer. “But he will still hear us!” she countered, raising her palms in some vain attempt to convince him that her concerns were valid. “Or, worse, he may see us.”
He chuckled at that, the sound filling up the air around them for a moment. “How old is the boy?” Jerrik asked once he’d managed to compose himself. “Is he a baby?”
Brigid sighed. He sensed she knew where this line of questioning was going.
“This is the eighth summer he has seen,” she told him in a quiet voice.
“So, he is not such an infant then?” he concluded with a defiant nod. Raising his free hand to his chin, Jerrik ran his fingers through the thick hair at his face. “He will be a man in a few years. It is no bad thing that he learns how a husband and wife interact.”
She gasped at his suggestion, her hands falling to her hips in apparent disgust. “But—”
Jerrik shifted his free hand the short distance from his face to her mouth in a split second, one finger silencing her pretty little mouth with ease.
“I do not suggest that the boy bear witness to our union,” he cooed. “Only that he understands his mother now has another master, and that he will one day enjoy the same rights.”
Brigid panted around his digit, but her lips remained still.
Good, he thought. So, the little woman can be compliant. She can be taught.
“So, there is a place for him to sleep which is separate from our bed?”
Jerrik sensed he was gaining ground in the debate, and he wanted to press his advantage. Amongst other things…
She withdrew an inch from his finger. “Yes,” she said with a second quiet sigh. “Bram is already there. In the small sleeping quarters he occupies.”
He licked his lips. “And your bed?” Jerrik enquired. “Our bed. Is that in its own space?”
Her hesitance told him everything he needed to know, but demonstrating uncharacteristic patience, he waited for Brigid’s tiny response.
“It is,” she answered after a lengthy pause.
“So, it seems there really is no reason to delay,” he pondered. “I should like to consummate this marriage now, just as every other Viking husband is bound to be at this time. Do you have any further objections, wife?”
Not that he was particularly bothered by Brigid’s objections, but still, Jerrik was enjoying the way she was practically panting before him.
She’d delayed him for long enough.
Brigid:
Her heart was pounding out of control. Brigid had been so sure that Bram offered her the perfect deflection from this consummation, and yet somehow, her new husband had managed to make her admit that he was already asleep in a separate part of the house. To make matters worse, Jerrik seemed entirely unconcerned about the fact her son may still hear them together. Bram had never been exposed to the carnal acts of a man and his wife before—he’d thankfully been too young to recall any of the unceremonious acts of his father—and Brigid worried what he would think. Would merely hearing such a union damage him in some fundamental way? She just wasn’t sure.
“Will you?” she hesitated, struggling to think of the correct words to elaborate her concerns.
“What, wife?” he practically huffed.
It was becoming evident that Jerrik was impatient for their union to begin, and once again, Brigid wasn’t clear how she felt on the matter. She remembered with disturbing clarity just how dire some of those unions with Bram’s father had been, but there was no denying the need in Jerrik’s gaze now. Or the way it made her feel. The man looked hungry at the sight of her—famished even—and it appeared her senses were responding to his carnality. Brigid had become increasingly hot and agitated at his insistence, and she was ashamed to find the way his gaze speared her actually seemed to liquefy her core in some new and unfamiliar way. It was downright mortifying that her body was betraying her, but her shame made it no less true.
Jerrik’s penetrating stare pinioned her now as he waited for her to clarify. Oh God, he looked so fierce in the rising moonlight.
“I was just wondering; will you be silent when you…claim me?”
Brigid despised how small her voice sounded, but somehow, she was compelled to hear the man’s answer. The thought of Bram walking in on them together made her nauseous and panicky.
He laughed again, that dark sound provoking the same treacherous betrayal from Brigid’s body. “It is not a question of whether I will be silent, little Pict,” he told her wit
h a chuckle. “But more a query for you yourself, wife.”
She gulped at his answer, though she wasn’t sure why. Brigid just sensed that somehow, the man was mocking her.
“Wh…what do you mean?” she stammered.
Jerrik lowered his face so his mouth was now only a few inches from her own.
So close, and yet so far away, and Brigid didn’t even know how she felt about his sudden proximity.
Did she want to push the giant away and risk his wrath, or did Brigid want him to close those extra few inches and graze those Viking lips over her mouth? The question hammered in her ears like the sound of her raging heart, silenced only by the words which came from those masculine lips next.
“I mean,” he purred, “the question is this—are you going to keep silent while I fuck you, Brigid?”
4
Jerrik
His cock leapt at her gasp. That sound was unmistakable. Brigid wasn’t shocked or scared, Jerrik knew that for certain now. Brigid was curious. Hel, if he didn’t know better, she was interested.
Aroused.
“Aren’t you going to show me into my new home, wife? I am to depart early, it seems. Our jarl is leading us to battle against the Nechtain.”
He threw her one of his most devastating smiles, grinning at the way her lip caught between her teeth.
“Of course.”
Brigid was practically panting now. He wasn’t sure if she had already known about his early departure the next morning, but her expression gave nothing away, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. They just stood motionless, each taking in the look of the other.
What was she waiting for? Jerrik pondered the question as he gazed down at the Pict who was now his wife.
His wife—his to fuck—his responsibility.
Was she an intentionally wilful woman, perhaps? One who would need a good dose of discipline to flourish as his wife? His erection strained at the idea. Jerrik had always enjoyed delivering a sound spanking to the bared bottom of an overzealous woman, and although he didn’t know Brigid properly, there was no reason to think it should be any different with her. She gazed up at him, her eyes large and imploring. She obviously wanted to tell him something, or, alternatively, she was waiting for him to say something more to her.
But what?
He watched her lips part, and it was then that the answer struck him in the face like the hammer of his foe. It wasn’t words his wife wanted now. It was his touch. The caress of his lips—his kiss. Jerrik smiled, leaning down to comply. He was all about male authority in marriage, but he wasn’t a monster. If the little Pict wanted the touch of his lips, then he was more than happy to give her what she desired.
Brigid:
It was like the whole thing happened in slow motion. Brigid was still aware of the chill of the wind and the distant sound of merriment, or at least some part of her brain was conscious of those noises, but now all of her attention was on her Viking and the approach of his lips.
Their flesh connected, and her eyes fluttered shut out of instinct. Brigid had rarely been kissed by Bram’s father, and most of those exchanges had been rather chaste in nature, so she had limited experience in what to expect when Jerrik’s mouth grazed her lips. But God, the sensation was enthralling! She could barely pull in another breath of the cool evening air, and as his hand settled into the back of her free-flowing hair and held her in position, Brigid swore she could sense the moisture collecting at the apex of her thighs.
He broke the sweet sensuality of the spell his lips had cast, his mouth drawing away so only about an inch separated their faces, and she groaned in disappointment.
“Is that what you need, little Pict?”
Jerrik’s voice vibrated over her like a low, insistent thrum, the resonance compelling her body closer towards him in the most unsettling way. Was it Norse magic he was using to stir her, or was Brigid’s body truly responding to his Viking demeanour?
“My name is Brigid,” she murmured in reply, but he only smiled at her words.
“Your name is Wife of Jerrik,” he corrected her. “Or just wife, kvan, or whatever I choose to call you, little Pict. Have you got it?”
Her core furled at his words, but fury at Jerrik’s sentiment resounded around her even as her arousal seemed to pool. Why should she find his arrogance so alluring? There was no logic to that. She was Brigid. Mother of Bram, and had been happy to remain so, yet now this Viking—this intruder—had come, and he meant not only to claim her, but apparently also to capture her under his spell as well.
“I asked you a question.”
Jerrik’s voice was barely a whisper, yet she felt its resonance from deep inside.
“Yes,” she replied in an excruciatingly breathless tone. “Yes, I understand.”
But she didn’t understand. Brigid didn’t understand one iota.
“And?” he demanded. “Is it what you needed?”
Brigid licked her lips at his question, her mind replaying the gentle caress of his mouth. Yes, it was what she wanted—but she wanted more of it. A lot more.
“Yes, Jerrik.” Her answer was out there between them before she even consciously decided to respond.
He smiled again, the hard lines of his face softening at her admission. “Good,” he whispered. “Then let me do it some more.”
Jerrik captured her mouth in an instant, his passion magnified exponentially as his strong hand held Brigid in place and his tongue began to explore. She was vaguely aware of the moans which escaped her lips when his snaking tongue intruded, but the noises didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not the injustice of the marriage nor the possibility of Bram catching them in the act of consummation. The only thing that filled Brigid’s focus now was Jerrik and the exquisite way his mouth possessed her. His possession built the heat inside her until it became an unbearable ache. An ache that reminded her how empty she was—how empty her life had been up until this point. Brigid knew instinctively what she needed to take that ache away.
Jerrik.
She needed Jerrik to fill her. She needed Jerrik to devour her.
5
Jerrik
Jerrik actually felt the moment his little Pict surrendered—it was a real and discernible instant when her body relaxed, and she seemed to mould herself around him. His cock throbbed hungrily at the symbolism of that sensation. Soon, she would be moulded around him entirely, her snug cunt enveloping his relentless shaft as he finally got to take what belonged to him.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, glowering down at Brigid in the darkness. They’d been out there for too long, in the doorway to the house. The night had now come entirely, the evidence of a hundred twinkling stars laid out overhead.
“Show me inside.”
He gave her an order this time, his prior question seemingly insufficient to command her attention. Brigid swallowed at his words, but she nodded before she pushed the small wooden door backwards and retreated over the threshold. Jerrik followed after her, throwing the door back with his usual force. She winced at it connecting with the wall, her features screwing into a ball, the sound echoing around them.
“Bram,” she whispered with imploring eyes.
Right, Bram. Jerrik had forgotten all about the boy already. Having a child around was going to take some getting used to.
“My apologies,” he replied in as hushed a tone as he could muster. “I am not experienced at fatherhood.”
Brigid’s lips curled into a smile at his admission. “I’d assumed that much,” she whispered with a chuckle. “But he’s a good boy really.”
“Hmmm,” he responded, his attention already shifting to the insides of the dwelling. The place wasn’t the largest or the grandest he’d ever seen, but the structure looked solid, and the fire had been well-built. Had Brigid managed that alone, he wondered? If it turned out to be true, then she seemed to have done a good job. His gaze fell to the two small doorways branching off from the main chamber. The door to the l
eft was closed, whilst the one on the right-hand side was ajar.
“Which is ours?”
He took a pace towards his bride, who gulped at his approach. Jerrik wasn’t sure what the basis for her trepidation was. She was clearly amenable to the idea of their mating—her body had shown him that much already—and if there was one thing his years of sexual experience had endowed him with, it was the skills to please and pleasure a woman. Jerrik had no concept of what Brigid’s previous sexual experiences had been, but he could make it good for her. Actually, he could do better than that. Jerrik could take her as close to Valhalla as she could get without passing to the other side.
She gestured with her head to the left, indicating that the door to his right was the place he sought. “That one,” she told him in barely a whisper. “But would you like something to eat before we…”
Brigid paused, apparently unable to say the word.
“Fuck?” he added helpfully.
She flinched at his language, but he just laughed at her response. Viking women were used to their men’s crude vocabulary, yet it seemed his little Pictish wife wasn’t so keen.
Shame.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “If you must put it that way?”
“I must,” he confirmed, inching closer towards her. “And no, thank you, wife. I ate and drank my fill at the feast, so there is no immediate need on that score.”
He let his words hang in the air, edging in her direction. “So, I suggest this. First, we consummate this marriage. It is what the gods expect. And then we can rest. Tomorrow, when I return from battle, you can woo me with your cooking skills.”
There was never any doubt in Jerrik’s mind about whether he would return. He had absolute faith in his jarl and the other men he fought with, and was certain they could overpower the ferocity of any of the local tribes.
Jerrik Page 2