Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  The cramping abruptly disappeared, but in its stead, another sensation caught him off guard. Although still aching, he straightened and aimed a deadly glare at the whore-mistress.

  However, he couldn’t hold her glance for long. The heat of embarrassment filled his cheeks. His cock filled steadily, rising against his belly, thickening even though he fought an internal battle to quell the urge. His linen garment tented obscenely.

  Comprehending at last the vile and devious weapon she meant to use against them, he gave a deep-throated groan. “Bitch! What have you done?”

  Aliyah moved closer, two bright spots of color on her cheeks, eyes flashing angrily. “Do not fight my will. You will fuck when I tell you to fuck, whom I tell you to fuck. And right now, I say that you will take Fatin. Only then will you know relief.”

  Tempted to grip her shoulders and give her a hard shake, instead, he cupped his erection, determined to steal his orgasm for himself. Dignity already in shreds, he pumped his fist twice down his length through the thin linen, but the cramping agony started again. His cock wilted.

  Glaring daggers, he bent and braced his hands on his knees while he ground his teeth against the sudden flaring pain. “Enough!” he roared.

  “Truly? Will you surrender so easily? I’m disappointed.”

  He glanced up. Fatin was backing away, a hint of wild fear in her eyes now, but the whore-mistress caught her, digging her claws into her arm.

  Fatin shook her head, pleading silently with the other woman.

  “Do you refuse my gift?” Aliyah asked, sly humor in her tone.

  Fatin’s mouth opened, but she clamped it shut again and shook her head. “No, Aliyah. I’m not ungrateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “That’s better, dear. He’s yours.” She released Fatin and clapped her hands. Two burly men strode forward, carrying a long chaise, which they placed between Fatin and him.

  The cruel pinch of the device inside him relented, and he breathed in deep, ragged breaths to still the trembling in his body.

  Behind him, he heard the rumbling murmurs of the other men, the nervous slide of their bare feet as they restlessly stirred. Because he was their leader, he steeled himself against the dull ache still throbbing inside his body and straightened again, forcing his face into a neutral mask.

  “I will let your natural paths follow now,” Aliyah said, her tone gentler, even slightly regretful.

  It was an act. He could read the satisfaction in her tight smile.

  “Now that you understand the consequence of defiance. Do not deny us the enjoyment of watching a Viking make love.”

  “Make love?” Eirik muttered. He spared a glance behind him at the rest of the men. Their expressions were set—jaws straining, gazes furious and hot.

  Hakon, his jaw squared and tense, nodded at Eirik to let him know he understood he would do what he must to survive to fight another day.

  Another snippet of Fatin’s advice, given to him days ago aboard her ship, lingered in his mind. If not love, show them the savage ...

  Drawing in more deep breaths to slow his heartbeats, Eirik fisted his hands on his hips. “One of us wears too many clothes,” he said loudly.

  Fatin’s eyes narrowed, and she turned sideways as though readying to flee.

  Fury at the woman who had forced this moment, at his helplessness to halt what was inevitable, had his heart pounding. His fists tightened and he widened his stance.

  “Don’t be shy,” Aliyah said, issuing a challenge with her hard black gaze. “Show us how you would take a captive, Viking—if the situation was reversed.”

  In an instant, he lunged for Fatin, ignoring her shocked gasp. He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her, then lifted a foot to press against the back of a knee and force her to the floor.

  She landed hard on the marble, crying out in her distress, but he couldn’t let himself feel remorse. She’d stolen so much. He’d take his ease of her whether she wanted him or not.

  Then he was on her, straddling her thighs and rucking up her shirt. He raised the hem, bit into it to cause a tear, then grasped it between his hands and ripped it open, baring her chest.

  Fatin wriggled beneath him, freeing her arms and reaching to claw at his face, but he was faster, flipping her to her belly, then slipping his hands under her to work at her belt and the slide at her waist, which he scraped open. Then he came to his knees again and dragged down her trousers, exposing her round, firm ass.

  She braced herself on her hands and bucked beneath him, trying to lift him from where he sat on the backs of her thighs, but he was too heavy. She gave an angry, growling groan and collapsed, her back jerking with her harsh gasps.

  Eirik stilled, sucking in his own jagged breaths. His cock was thick, charged with furious heat. But he’d never taken a woman against her will. And even though she deserved every bit of his enmity, he couldn’t allow himself to complete the act. He levered himself off her knees.

  She scrambled to her own, pulling up her pants to cover herself, and then rolled to face him, drawing up her knees and covering her breasts with an arm.

  The whore-mistress stepped between them, her face red and her eyes glittering. “Finish it.” She dug a finger under his chin to lift his glance. “You really don’t have a choice.”

  Shaking now with fury, he ground out, “I am not an animal.”

  “Don’t pretend you’re anything but what you are. A barbarian. The women you will serve want nothing less than every bit of your strength.”

  “Do they wish to be raped?”

  She gave a feminine snort. “It’s not rape. They want to be overcome. To be forced, yes. But they surrender to your mastery of their own free will. Do not disappoint us. There are far worse things that can befall you if you’re stubborn.”

  Her gaze whipped to Fatin. “You wish an agreement. I won’t even consider it unless you prove the men you brought me are every bit as feral and savage as you promised.”

  Fatin’s gaze held his for a long, tense moment before falling away. With slow moves, she opened the buckle of the belt at her waist, then peeled down the slide to loosen her trousers again.

  Standing, she toed off her boots, pushed down her trousers, and slid her socks off until her lower half was nude. Then she slowly eased down the torn shirt still hanging from her shoulders, baring the rest of her body.

  Arousal crept across his skin. She was every bit as lovely as the day she’d knelt beside the fire pit in the mining camp. Bronze skin. Large brown nipples on her small, rounded breasts. Her nude pussy shone with dampness.

  And this time, Eirik didn’t need a burst of electrical current to cause his cock to swell.

  Fatin took a seat on the chaise and turned, lying lengthwise on the wide, benchlike bed.

  The loin skirt loosened at his side, and he glanced down at a plump Helio woman who gave him a shy grin and swept away the linen garment.

  “Let me serve you, Viking.”

  He grunted, bemused at the woman’s eagerness to assist a slave, but he shook himself and dropped a knee onto the bench, flattened his hands on the mattress on either side of Fatin’s shoulders, and climbed over her.

  The crowd shuffled, whispers sliding around them, but all his attention remained on the woman trapped beneath him.

  He thrust a knee between her legs, and she resisted for a moment, clamping them together tightly, her chin beginning to wobble.

  When her eyes filled, he wondered if she cried from embarrassment or regret. He hoped she regretted every moment and every action that had brought her to this. She deserved to never feel a moment’s peace for her crimes.

  And yet, when he lowered his body over hers, the softness of her skin and her feminine frame eased some of the anger flowing through him. Again, he found himself wanting to go gently. He lowered his face toward hers, focusing on her mouth.

  Fatin’s dark eyes held his gaze. “You can pretend,” she whispered. “Let them think you will woo them. You will e
arn their adoration.”

  “I don’t want your adoration. I don’t want theirs.”

  “Think, Viking.” With shaking fingers, she loosened the band that held his hair and spread it over his shoulders. Low murmurs of appreciation echoed in the chamber. “I know you want your freedom. Do whatever you must to earn it.”

  He didn’t want to hear her advice, didn’t want to think about the way her voice thickened as he gave her more of his weight, the way her soft body yielded. “What acts would interest them?” he asked, pretending to play along while he tried to master the desire raging through him.

  “A man who finds pleasure in tasting every corner of a woman’s body will be coveted above all.”

  Eirik slid his lips over her cheek, inhaling her spicy scent, and then roamed lower, gliding over the delicate collarbone to the tops of her small breasts. “Like this?” he asked, pretense quickly becoming true desire as his tongue stroked her warm skin.

  Her fingers dug into his scalp, and she tried to center his mouth over one straining breast.

  But he nipped the tender underside and nuzzled into the fragrant crease.

  Her nipples were erect, the tips quivering with her ragged breaths. “Don’t be too gentle or tease too long.”

  “Do you want the savage again? Is that what will fire your blood?”

  She yanked his hair and pulled his head closer. As she locked her gaze with his, her eyes narrowed to furious slits. “I did what I had to do,” she whispered harshly. “You don’t understand.”

  He felt her hands soften in his hair, her fingers tunnel through the strands. “Soon you will tell me what drove you to this. But, sweet Fatin, for now, you will serve my pleasure.” He grabbed her hand and forced it between their bodies, pushing it down toward his cock. “I want your mouth on me, working me like a whore.”

  He jerked back and knelt in the center of the chaise, then grabbed her braid and wound it around his fist.

  Her face tightened, her lips lifting in a snarl, but there was no one willing to rush to her aid as he forced her down. “Use your teeth on me, and I will beat you.”

  Knowing the scene he must create, he pushed her face against his cock, pinched her chin to open her mouth, then shoved the tip between her lips.

  Her body quivered; her teeth clamped around him.

  At the sensation, he held his breath, cupped her jaw, and feathered a thumb along her lower lip.

  She was tempted to deliver a bite—he could read her intent in the flare of anger in her dark eyes. Instead, her tongue touched him, then swept over the plush cap. A thin moan vibrated around him.

  He slowly stroked forward, testing her, ready to pull free if she tried to harm him, but her lips wrapped around the sharp edges of her teeth and began to suction, her eyes closing as she pulled and sucked.

  Eirik’s head fell back, his eyes wide open and trained on the ceiling above them. On the gilt-covered plaster, on the whirling wooden blades of the fan.

  She was skilled, the suctioning strong and rhythmic, tugging his arousal into a blazing heat that had him thrusting into her mouth, past her wicked tongue, to butt against the back of her throat.

  Again, he looked down to watch her mouth consume him.

  Her eyes opened, glancing up. Something sparkled, a hint of challenge, and she swallowed around him, the deep, intimate kiss massaging the crown; then her throat eased open for him to slide even deeper.

  A whore’s trick. He’d do well to remember Fatin had secrets. If she pleasured him, the act was to fulfill her own agenda. Nothing more, he reminded himself.

  Watching the billow and hollow of her cheeks as she worked him, his focus narrowed on the sensations, on the tension building in his balls.

  Her teeth strafed him, and he pulled her hair, pushing her off his cock.

  Eyes flashing, she straightened, wiping the back of her hand across her swollen mouth.

  Eirik breathed slowly, taking in the restlessness of the crowd around them, the breathless silence of the women. From the corner of his eye, he saw the faces of the men—hard, savagely tense. They wanted him to punish her.

  And punish her he would, but not in any way that would leave him feeling empty at the end. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her toward him, over his lap.

  “Viking!”

  With one arm anchoring her over his knees, he raised his hand and slapped her bare bottom, the sound loud and shocking in the quiet.

  A giggle erupted, followed by murmurs rising, blending. The sounds of deeper rumbles from the men, hard chuckles at his manner of domination, fueled his anger. He spanked her soft, rounded bottom until his palm burned and her bronze skin grew pink. Realizing how aroused he was becoming as he spanked her, disgust twisted inside and he shoved her off his lap.

  Tumbling onto her knees, she looked upward, glaring, her chest quivering on choked gasps.

  Yet when he reached for her again, she melted against him. He took her down to the chaise, climbing over her, and slid his legs between hers, angling his cock to thrust against her wet folds.

  He slid as smooth as a knife through butter into her body, lost in the wet heat, in the womanly warmth that surrounded him. Wet lips trailed along his cheek, and he turned to rub his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue inside for a deeper taste.

  But she welcomed him there, stroking her tongue over his, then sucking it as she began to undulate beneath him, encouraging him to drive deeper into her body.

  Pushing off the sofa, he braced his weight on his arms and gave her long strokes that exposed the length of his cock to the watchers. Again and again he drove deep, his movements languid but strong. Her channel warmed around him, melting, moisture easing his way through the tight confines.

  Her vagina was a perfect glove. Hot, moist, rippling along his shaft.

  He shifted, bringing in his knees. He thrust a hand beneath her and lifted her as he sat back on his haunches and kept her impaled there, their bodies facing each other.

  Her expression was questioning, her eyes wide and searching. Eirik didn’t know what she saw, but her chin firmed; her fingers dug into his shoulders. She lifted herself, then slammed down his cock, the shock of her violence spurring his own as he pounded upward to meet her rough strokes.

  The crowd around them grew silent, seemed to breathe as one, but Eirik pushed aside the thought of them watching, judging. He didn’t care anymore, couldn’t think beyond the moment of enjoying her sweet body.

  Fucking Fatin with an audience wasn’t any different from the hundreds of other public sessions he’d reveled in at home. All that was missing was the sound of familiar voices calling out lewd suggestions, spurring him on by inciting his competitive nature to be the best, the strongest, last the longest, drive the hardest. Sex was often just another sport, another way for men to prove their prowess.

  He thrust and burrowed, screwed in circles, then thrust hard toward her core again, gauging by her breaths and the convulsions rippling up and down her channel just how far along she was.

  In this circumstance, he shouldn’t care whether she came, but he was hardwired to succeed. Always standing in the shadow of his brother, he’d had a tough standard to meet—in warfare, in governance, and in lovemaking.

  He slammed upward, forcing a hiss from Fatin, which pulled him back to the present.

  Angry color flooded her cheeks. “Just finish it,” she whispered.

  At her words, he remembered how she’d finished him, taking his sperm into her mouth, then spitting it into a vial. Stealing his semen to prove his worth to his captors.

  His and the other captives’ sperm could breed a legion of warriors to storm his world. One day, his brother, Dagr, might raise a sword against his own nephew. The thought pierced Eirik with a blinding pain, and he shoved her off his cock, flipped her, and forced her to bend low. He pushed his tip against her small, furled hole, and without benefit of lubrication or care for the pain he might cause, he drove deep into her arse.

  Her strangle
d cry drew a roar of approval from the Vikings, who then fell silent again. The crowd around them murmured, stirring as they shifted on their feet, trading whispers.

  Let them whisper about his savagery. Let them tremble at the thought of him turning his unleashed wrath loose upon their bodies. They should be warned that crossing a Northman didn’t come without consequences.

  Fatin mewled, her fingers gripping the upholstery so hard, her knuckles whitened.

  Something inside him cringed at his violence. No matter how deserved, he’d never been so careless with a woman. He thrust back his head and closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her trembling body, and thought only of losing himself again, forgetting where he was. The tightness of the ring clamped around his cock built a burning friction. His fingers dug into her buttocks, forcing her forward and back. His groin slapped her ass with each deep, hard thrust, the sounds accompanied by her helpless gasps and his own breathless grunts.

  Orgasm slammed through him, sucking away his breath. His whole body tightened, his balls near to bursting as cum jetted through his cock in rapid spurts, emptying his balls, emptying his anger...

  When at last he stopped, he glanced down. Sweat dripped from his chin, landing on her dusky skin to slide away like a tear.

  Fatin’s bottom quivered against his groin; her back shook with the force of her rasping breaths.

  Sickened again, and angry with himself, with her, with the Helborn whore-mistress who’d orchestrated this “demonstration,” he pulled slowly from Fatin’s body.

  Attendants rushed forward to bathe Fatin with cloths and ointment.

  Another group approached him, but hung back, wide-eyed when he speared them with a warning glare.

  He steeled his expression and stood beside the chaise, glancing over the heads of those who’d come to be entertained to meet the gazes of the warriors who were his brothers in this test.

  Each of their expressions seemed carved in granite; their eyes glittered with triumph.

  He strode toward them, not glancing back at Fatin or Aliyah, but focused on his men, his contingent when the time came to battle for their freedom.