Jerrik

by Felicity Brandon

  Brigid wrung her hands out in front of her. She was nervous, and it showed. “I’m not much of a cook,” she confessed as Jerrik pressed himself up against her. “You’d have been better with one of the other women for that, and I can’t heal either. My skills are rudimentary on so many levels. I wager you wish that you’d—”

  Jerrik cut her off with his mouth, capturing her words when his lips crashed down upon her. Her tiny fists flew to his shoulders at first, beating against his brown leather tunic as though she was trying to fight him off. Ha, the very thought was laughable! Not only was she physically incapable of stopping Jerrik’s pursuit, but he knew very well that she didn’t want to. He had felt the capitulation of her body and tasted the flavour of her kiss. He may not have fucked her—yet—but Brigid was his already.

  That much was obvious.

  This caress was brief, but by the time he’d concluded, her fists had fallen to her sides. He pulled away, and her wide, hazel eyes gazed up at him.

  “I told you already,” he growled. “I have the wife I wanted. Now, stop trying to delay, and take me to your bed. I want to have my wife.”

  She inhaled at his instruction, but there was no protest from her lips. Instead, she reached for his large palm and slipped her hand inside. “This way,” she told him, her feet shuffling towards the half-open door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to prepare much for you here.”

  His gaze fell upon the back of her head as she led him through the entrance to the bedroom chamber, appraising the beautiful mane of dark hair that hung past her shoulders. Brigid truly was a charming woman, and it pleased him. Jerrik was a tall and imposing man, and he’d always envisioned his wife being a much more delicate creature. Brigid fitted the bill perfectly.

  Shadows enveloped him when they stepped inside the bed chamber, the place lit only by a handful of small candles. In the centre of the space was her simple bed, covered with a variety of blankets and furs.

  “I’m sorry it’s so dark,” she said with a plaintive smile. “But the candles are expensive, and we can only afford so many.”

  “Do not apologise,” he admonished her in a light tone.

  This time Jerrik recalled the sleeping boy across the way and did his best not to slam the door as he pushed it closed.

  “We do not need so much light for the acts I have in mind. I assume as you have been married before, and borne a son, that you know to what I speak about, Brigid?”

  He turned, wandering back towards her, and even in the shadows, Jerrik sensed the blush which engulfed her face. Hel, he could practically feel the heat radiating from her pale skin.

  “Yes,” she whispered in response, and all of a sudden, little Brigid sounded close to terrified.

  “And did you used to enjoy being fucked?” he enquired, moving close enough to grasp her hand again. “When your first husband was alive?”

  She shook her head. “Not really,” she conceded in a tiny voice. “I did it for him. I did it because it was my duty.”

  Brigid was trembling now, her chest expanding against his body as he forced himself flush with her diminutive figure, and for the first time in his life, Jerrik felt something close to pity. Usually, he felt nothing. Nothing except those emotions designed for his own needs—desire, hunger, and anger being the three main sentiments. It was curious that it should be this little Pict who stirred more than just the normal passions from him. Jerrik had fucked scores of women before. Some had been consensual unions, born of mutual hedonism, and others had been mere conquests, but while he’d enjoyed the vast majority, he had commonly felt no emotional attachment for them. The women were things to fuck, and soothe, and torment, but they were never anything more. He had never had responsibility for any of them before. He had never taken a wife before.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he practically purred at the woman panting next to his body. “I intend to claim you, but I know how to bring you pleasure, Brigid. I know how to make it good for you.”

  She blinked up at him in the half-light. “Why would you do that?”

  Her question filled up the small chamber.

  “Because I want you to enjoy our union,” he assured her. “Because a smart man knows the truth. The more his wife enjoys the carnality, the more she will consent to it, and I promise you one thing, Brigit. You will always consent.”

  Brigit blew out a breath at his words. “You mean you will never take me by force?” she asked.

  “I mean, I will never have need to,” he clarified. “By the time I am done fucking you, I promise you’ll be begging for my cock.”

  6

  Brigid

  The sheer audacity of the Viking was infuriating, and yet something about Jerrik’s promises made her heady. Brigit wanted to believe in his words—she wanted those things to be true. If she must engage in this second marriage, then she badly wanted it to be better than the first. The burning look of lust in Jerrik’s eyes told her he could make that a reality for her—he had the will and the experience—and that was more than could ever have been said of Bram’s father. Yes, it was only lust for now, but lust she could understand, and if truth be told, lust was a sentiment she shared when she gazed up at the outline of his muscular body. And love could grow from less significant roots than lust. She knew that for sure. Brigit had seen it happen in many other betrothals in the village.

  So, there was hope. If only she could consent to whatever Jerrik wanted next.

  “Strip for me.”

  They were only three words, but the resonance of them vibrated right through her.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Brigid took a step back and reached for the hem of her dress. She pulled the fabric up and over her head in one fell swoop, revealing nothing but her bared femininity underneath it. Reflexively, she reached to cover her bosom and the small thatch of hair between her thighs.

  “No.”

  Jerrik’s command was soft, but Brigid met it with wide eyes, concerned nonetheless.

  “Lower your hands,” he instructed her. “I want to look upon what is mine.”

  She bit her lip at his words. “But it is not right,” she countered. “You do not need to see me to claim me.”

  He laughed at her statement, taking a pace in her direction again. “It is not about need,” he told her flatly. “It is about want, and I want to see you. Now, go and stand by the bed with your hands by your sides.”

  Brigid was almost shaking as she shuffled awkwardly towards the bed. She despised being this exposed to him, but she understood there was little choice. He was her husband now, and whilst her first spouse had never once demanded such humiliation, Brigid knew Jerrik had every right to do so.

  A low, strangled growl escaped his lips, and as she looked up to meet his hungry gaze, a mischievous grin spread over his handsome face.

  “You are indeed fair,” he murmured in an appreciative tone. “Fine breasts and long, strong limbs.”

  She swallowed at his description, having never thought of herself in that manner before. “You’re pleased?” she asked in a small voice.

  Jerrik licked his lips. “More than,” he assured her.

  He moved against her at once, those large palms reaching around her body for the orbs of her arse, which he grabbed and massaged roughly. Brigid gasped at the sudden contact. She couldn’t say that she didn’t like the proximity of the man, but his calloused hands seemed harsh next to her sensitive skin. A waft of his scent washed over her, the smell of leather and ale mingling as Jerrik’s mouth moved to the side of her neck.

  “And what of your experience, wife?” His voice vibrated down Brigid’s nape, inciting a delicious shiver to pass down her spine. “Does my wife know how to satisfy a man’s cock?”

  She turned to meet his eyes, her heart pounding. The feeling of his lips at her delicate flesh had been wonderous, but now his words had sent her into a fresh spin.

  “I fear not,” she mumbled, aware of the hot blush that was already crawling north from
her neck. “He would not let me do anything. He only liked me to lie on my back and concede.”

  She prayed to everything that was good that her admission wouldn’t upset him, but there it was. Brigid’s words were true. Bram’s father had apparently expected very little of her sexually, except her obedience whenever he wanted to spread her legs. Until recently when she’d discussed such matters with other women, she had been unaware that anything else was even a possibility.

  “I am sorry if I have disappointed you.”

  “You have not,” Jerrik replied with a sigh. “But the man sounds like a fool to have not appreciated you.”

  There was silence for a moment, and she absorbed Jerrik’s words. Brigid hadn’t even given any thought to the idea that she could be appreciated. She had always just seen marriage as a practical arrangement. A man to protect her while she bore his young and cared for them—the concept that it could be anything more seemed ridiculous.

  “Onto the bed now,” he growled, his tone raising the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. “And splay yourself. I want to see what’s mine.”

  She complied, heart hammering, moving into position as she had done countless times before for her first husband. She knew this part of the routine and tried not to overthink it when she parted her legs for her new Viking husband. Jerrik looked like a starving man, his gaze suggesting he was ready to devour her.

  “In Odin’s name, you are a beauty.” He was practically snarling, his hot gaze grazing over the curves of Brigid’s body, and a moment later, he was stripping. The leather tunic that had protected his body was whipped from over his head and flung into a dark corner, revealing an expanse of dark-blond hair that covered his enormous chest.

  A small gasp left her lips, and instinctively she lifted her hand to cover her mouth at the noise. Had she really just done that—gasped at the look of him? The answer was inescapable—yes, she had, but when she took in the sheer extent of the man, it wasn’t so hard to see why. Just as she suspected, Jerrik was absolutely huge, and as those large hands shifted to the fastenings of his trousers, her focus fell south expectedly. Brigid knew what men kept inside their trousers, and even though a part of her dreaded the thought of how she would contend with the organ, she was compelled to get a view of it, and she inhaled when he eased the garment down. Throwing his weapons aside, Jerrik kicked the trousers with them and moved towards her.

  Even in the near darkness of the bed chamber there was no mistaking the girth of his semi-erect manhood, and Brigid couldn’t help but gulp at the prospect of having the thing inside her. How in the name of God was she going to be able to cope? Bram’s father had considerably less in the way of assets, and even then she had found the experiences sore and uncomfortable.

  “Don’t fear, little Pict,” the Viking soothed, falling to his knees at the end of the bed. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The sight of him there nearly took her breath away, and while a part of her wanted to retreat from the Viking god that was now crawling towards her outstretched thighs, another, larger part, was utterly enthralled by him. Brigid lowered her head to the woollen cover at his approach and squeezed her eyes shut, expecting Jerrik to do what her first husband had done so many times before. When, after a moment, there was no sign of his shaft being forced into position, she peered up at him, surprised to see his grinning expression.

  “I do not think you are ready for that,” he mused with a low chuckle. “So I choose to explore a little more of what is mine first, wife.”

  The sinful look in those piercing ice-blue eyes was scintillating, and whilst Brigid knew he must have something wicked in mind, she relaxed at his words. If Jerrik had wanted to take her, he could have done so already, so seemingly, he wasn’t just going to force himself on her. The relief that washed over her at that thought was palpable.

  She watched, hypnotised, as the man lowered himself into position between her legs, his face almost level with her sex. Brigid had no idea what Jerrik wanted to do next, but just the concept of having his mouth so close to her intimate areas forced a blush to her cheeks.

  This just wasn’t right! This wasn’t what men did to their wives. This wasn’t how Bram had been conceived. So, why then was her heart pounding with excitement at the sensation of Jerrik’s hot breath against the nest of hair at the apex of her thighs, and why were her knees splaying even wider without a word of command from her husband? His hands wrapped around her legs, drawing her sex even closer to his face and trapping Brigid in place. And at that exact moment, Jerrik locked eyes with her.

  “I am famished, woman,” he declared. “And I am going to devour this sweet cunt.”

  Brigid parted her lips in response, but she found there were no words to respond with. What could she say to such things? The thing he proposed was beyond errant, yet something about the way Jerrik spoke made it seem tantalising. In the end, her head fell back onto the wool in an act of surrender. It was obvious he was going to have his way. Let it just be over with.

  7

  Jerrik

  This was just how he wanted his wife—soft, pliant, and open. Considering she clearly had no idea what was coming next, Brigid had seemed to yield with relative ease, and although he could feel the tension in her limbs, she didn’t do anything to resist him. Jerrik’s gaze fell over the dark thatch of hair in front of his face. Even from this proximity, Brigid smelt divine, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was already excited. That was a promising start, but he needed her good and wet if she was actually going to enjoy the fucking he had in mind, and for some strange reason, Jerrik wanted her to enjoy it.

  He mused on the premise as he planted chaste kisses at the outstretched flesh of her inner thighs, his cock hardening against the rough wool on the bed. Jerrik had never been especially concerned about how much pleasure his partners had received in the past. Sure, he’d enjoyed feasting on a variety of sweet pussies, but their pleasure had been incidental. Now, Brigid’s seemed critical. He was willing to wager that his new wife had never been brought to orgasm before, and for some peculiar reason, that vexed him. She’d been such a good little Pict since he’d finally broken down her defences in the entrance, outmanoeuvring her best arguments for not consummating the union. And now that they were here, in that candlelit chamber, Jerrik realised one thing. He wanted to be the first—the first to bring her pleasure, the first to make her tremble for all the right reasons, the first to really make her a woman. He could achieve it easily, and his aching cock assured him it would definitely be worth the effort.

  Rolling Brigid’s hips backwards with his palms, he blew lightly into her soft, dark hairs. Small, breathy gasps met his attention, and the sounds spurred him on. Brigid may not know what was going to transpire, but evidently, she welcomed his ministrations. Jerrik pushed his lips to her at that moment, pressing past the nest of hair that met his beard until he found the sweet pussy he knew was waiting. Brigid was panting now, but he barely even noticed, so consumed was he by the delicious delicacy that was just beyond his lips. He started small, offering the sensitive area tiny caresses with his lips before he began to lap at her tempting seam. Brigid was indeed already aroused. Jerrik could taste her wonderful flavour as he drew his tongue up towards the place her receptive little nub would be, and the realisation made him heady.

  “Oh God!” Brigid called out from somewhere higher up the bed.

  Her fingers moved into his hair, but there was no complaint in them. Her digits seemed to be merely grasping for something—some part of him perhaps? Or some comprehension of what in Odin’s name her new husband was trying to do to her. Either way, it did not deter him. In fact, the feeling of her hands on him was oddly soothing as he tongued at her tasty little cunt.

  “Jerrik!”

  That was a more desperate gasp, but somehow, the sound of his name on her lips only drove him on. Shifting his mouth to that swollen nub, Jerrik freed his right hand and eased one digit into her wet core. Brigid fought for air, both his mouth and finger sti
rring her passions at the same time.

  “Relax,” he whispered, intentionally ensuring his words vibrated against her delicate skin. “Yield for me, Brigid, and I will show you pleasure you have never known.”

  His lips descended before the poor woman even had time to respond, and Jerrik kissed and then licked at her sweet spot as he pressed another finger into her sweet folds. Jerrik’s cock throbbed with desire now, desperate to join his fingers inside her pussy, but he was prepared to wait. He sensed she was close to reaching the gates of Valhalla, and he intended to enjoy taking her there.

  “Please!” she panted. “I don’t… I can’t…”

  Jerrik wanted to smile at the incomprehensible sentiments coming from above, but there was no time. Evidently, whatever he was doing was being well received, so he doubled his efforts. He concentrated on alternating the pressure at her nub with his lips, as his fingers fucked her into a relentless frenzy. She was perfect. So hot, and wet, and inviting, that he wanted to come right there and then, but Jerrik knew the gods would reward his patience, and he focused his every fibre on toppling his little Pict into a pleasure she’d never known before. The fingers in his hair tightened into fists, and before Jerrik knew it, Brigid was pushing her pussy up to meet his face.

  “Let it go, wife,” he snarled directly into her swollen nub, continuing to drive his fingers in and out of her sex as she gyrated beneath him. Jerrik’s gaze flitted briefly up the length of her fine body, taking in her arched back and the pert mounds of her breasts. She was close—so close—that he would wager only one more lick would topple her. Licking his lips, he sized up the sensitive little bud that would create the magic, and then slowly, he drew his tongue back before he caressed the nub again.