When he was near enough, the crowd fell away between them. He dropped his glance to the linen shrouding Hakon’s loins.
When he raised his head, Hakon’s lips curved in a wicked smile. Sparing only a short look over his shoulder, his second-incommand gripped the fabric. Every other man did the same.
At the downward tilt of Hakon’s chin, they ripped away their short slaves’ skirts.
Let the games begin.
Four
Birget, daughter of King Sigmund of the Berserkir clan, rubbed the black amulet hanging on a cord around her neck. Her thumb smoothed over the runes carved into the cold stone. A gift from the Ulfhednar king, Dagr, when he’d given her command of the mission to free his brother—her betrothed, a man she’d never met.
She stood behind Cyrus Tahir, the Outlander who’d piloted the first ship they’d taken when Dagr and his wolves had left New Iceland to begin their quest. Cyrus had transferred, along with her and the contingent of Wolfskins she now led, to the Daedalus, the pirate ship they’d commandeered when Dagr came up with his bold plan to let the Consortium retake their original ship to give the Vikings fulfilling the mission a chance to escape.
Thus far, their mission had gone off without a hitch. No Consortium warships followed in their wake as they made their way to the Helios’s world.
“Have you heard anything on the comm channels?” she asked, hating to repeat her question a second time in the span of an hour. Does the man enjoy forcing me to betray my bout of nerves?
Cyrus glanced over his shoulder. “Only that the Proteus has been captured.”
His address was so casual that she ground her teeth in irritation. Did he have no respect for her rank?
“The official channel’s been silent ever since,” Cyrus continued. “Strange, really, how quiet it’s been.”
His expression remained neutral, unnatural behavior for the Consortium traitor. He’d been close to the Wolfskin king and hadn’t been happy to leave him and the other volunteers to their fate. That Cyrus resented her role in this mission was impossible to mistake.
“Dagr’s a strong man,” she said, meeting his gaze with the same stoic resolve. “And a resolute warrior. I can’t imagine them holding him for long. If not for the fact he’s a Wolf, I’d admire him.”
Cyrus gave her a stiff smile. “You’ll be a Wolf soon yourself, Princess.”
Birget grunted. Dagr had already accepted her as a sister, but the thought of taking her place among the Wolfskins still felt foreign. She was proud of her own Berserkir heritage.
She glanced up to lock gazes with her Outlander lover. Other than a fleeting glint of humor in his black eyes, Baraq Ata’s expression was every bit as remote as Cyrus’s, but for very different reasons.
Did he regret taking her virginity? Yes, she’d goaded him into it, but he hadn’t seemed to mind so much after the initial shock. When it became apparent Dagr wasn’t going to seek retribution, they’d entered into a discreet arrangement that continued even after they’d left the Proteus.
Outside of the berth they’d claimed aboard this ship, they treated each other as though they’d never lain with their limbs tangled, with their bodies locked in passionate embrace. The memory of all the wicked things they’d done caused a flare of heat to curl deep in her woman’s core.
She wondered how quickly she could convince Baraq to make another round of systems checks.
“We’ll make port in a few hours, Princess,” Cyrus said. “Do you have a plan yet for how you’ll find your betrothed?”
Her lusty thoughts interrupted, Birget studied Cyrus, wondering not for the first time where the Helio traitor’s true allegiance lay. Lord Dagr might have full confidence in the man, but she didn’t like his arrogance. Didn’t like how he eyed her as though she was a very poor substitute for his beloved Viking king.
So maybe she had acted the brat, sneaking aboard the Consortium transport ship Proteus, defying Dagr to the point he’d threatened her with a woman’s punishment. However, in the end, Dagr seemed to see her inner strength and resolve. He’d finally realized she was stubborn and willful enough to follow through on her mission to free Eirik and exact appropriate revenge against his abductors.
The golden breastplate she wore embossed with the figure of Freya standing in her feline-drawn chariot was more than just a symbol. Like the warrior-goddess she emulated, Birget would allow no man other than Odin himself to stand in the way of victory.
Firming her jaw, she gave Cyrus a glare. “Since there are so many contingencies to consider, I will wait until we can reconnoiter on the ground. Just get us there.”
Cyrus lifted his chin, pointing toward the viewing screen at the front of their borrowed pirate ship’s bridge. “We’ve passed the outer planets. Helios is straight ahead.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said, her tone dry.
Behind her a throat cleared. She glanced over her shoulder to find that Baraq had moved and was standing at a respectful distance, his black gaze shuttered.
“Cyrus, get us into the port. You will not be a part of the raiding party, seeing as how you are a convicted criminal and might be recognized.” She leaned closer to issue a warning for his ears only. “Don’t underestimate me or question my authority in front of others. Dagr may have given you free rein to speak your mind, but I am much less impressed with you.”
Cyrus’s face flushed an angry red, but he gave her a curt nod. “My apologies, milady.”
Birget left the bridge with Baraq on her heels as she climbed the stairs to the gangway that traversed the length of the Daedalus. With tighter quarters than even the Proteus, the ship they’d bartered for with a fortune in Viking “pure light” ore made her claustrophobic. She couldn’t wait to debark, even if onto a Hel-lish planet.
“Hold up, Princess,” Baraq said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
They were alone, and thus she didn’t mind the intimacy of his gesture. She turned, let him slide his arm around her back and pull her against his torso.
Birget sighed and returned the embrace. “I wish there were more time . . .”
His smooth cheek rubbed against hers. “This might be our last opportunity to be together.”
She loved the way he talked. His deep voice with its lilting Helio accent soothed her rough edges. And Odin knew she had many of those. “I’m glad you were my first,” she whispered.
His arms tightened around her back.
Tall and ruggedly built for an Utlending, her people’s term for Otherworlders, she enjoyed the comfort he offered. He was her first lover, chosen precisely because he was such an inappropriate partner. A childish revenge goaded by her unhappiness at being pushed into a political marriage she didn’t want and her anger with Dagr, who’d done his best to exclude her from this adventure. But she’d grown fond of the dark-skinned former Consortium officer despite his unfortunate birth.
Only with Baraq was she free to voice her doubts. “Baraq, do you think we can do this? Is it possible we will prevail?”
“The plan’s so outlandish, infiltrating the Helio capital, that it just might work. Who would imagine that a band of barbarians would have the intellect to accomplish such a feat?”
She pinched his sides. “Do you think me lacking in intelligence?”
“Taste, perhaps,” he said, his voice laced with humor. “You did choose me, milady, a lowly soldier, to breach your maidenhead. Arrogant, yes. Courageous, of a certainty. Who else could have stood toe-to-toe with the leader of the Wolfskins and shouted him down?”
She pulled back to stare into his face. A wide grin curved her lips. He’d known exactly what to say to bolster her confidence. “Yes, who else would have dared? But I would dare so much more.” Almost his height, she liked that she didn’t have to tilt her head much to meet his lips. “You say such pretty things to me.”
Baraq’s laughter rumbled through his chest. “What woman would want those qualities extolled above her beauty?”
She cocked her
head to give him one of those flirting gazes she’d been practicing. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
His grunt was fully masculine and reflected the amusement gleaming in his eyes. “I think that’s a pale, tepid word for what you are, Princess.”
She smoothed her hand down the front of his deep-space suit and cupped his sex, which was stirring, filling with heat—for her. “We have a little time before we dock . . .”
He gave her a wicked grin. “Shall I add ‘insatiable’ to this list of your many admirable qualities?”
She kissed him, full on the lips—an openmouthed caress given to a man who was every bit her match in strength and fighting capability. A worthy partner for any Valkyrja—but only if she wasn’t of royal lineage.
Baraq’s hand closed around her long braid and pulled. She arched her back, pressing her chest against his and growling because she wore too many layers of cloth, fur, and breastplate to feel his hard muscles press her nipples. “Find a cabin,” she whispered against his mouth. “Quickly.”
A wicked, devilish brow arched. “We won’t have time to do more than open our clothing.”
“It will be enough. I burn, Utlending.”
“The pretty names you call me.”
“Should I call you elskling? Would you move faster if I did?”
“Call me nothing if you don’t mean it.”
Caught by the sudden somberness of his expression, she paused. Had he come to care for her as more than just a sexual partner? However thrilling the thought, part of her was dismayed. They had no future. Nothing beyond this last encounter. Her destiny was to rule a kingdom. He was far, far beneath the handsome warriorprince her father had bargained for.
“Don’t look so dismayed, Birget,” he said, his tone cooling. “I’m not in love with you. Most of the time, I don’t even like you.”
His words stung, but she understood his intent. “Then we are in accord. I want this.” She ran her palm up and down his length.
“Anything her highness commands . . .”
They didn’t wait to find that cabin.
Baraq thrust his hands beneath her clothing, found the drawstring to her trousers, unlaced it, and pushed the wool fabric down her thighs to bunch at the tops of leather boots, which she toed off with zeal.
With even more efficiency, his suit was opened, his thick, straight manhood exposed. Then he lifted her and stepped forward to trap her against the ship’s metal bulkhead.
Birget reveled in his roughness. He’d been gentle after discovering her inexperience, but he gradually accepted that she didn’t need a light touch, didn’t fear a little savagery from a lover. Not that she’d ever dreamed she could be this way with a man.
Her only disappointment was the fact she’d never found her peak while he moved inside her. Always, he found his first, and then patiently, with tongue and fingers, coaxed her toward climax.
Baraq lifted her higher, and then turned and slammed her against the opposite bulkhead. “You think too much.”
“And you try my patience, Utlending.”
His grunt this time sounded closer to a laugh, and she smiled over his shoulder as he nudged his cock between her legs. When he rubbed her folds, she felt the thrill of arousal, the dampening he coaxed as he circled inside her entrance. She turned her head and bit his neck. “Enough teasing.”
“You should let me take my time. I’m not usually this ham-fisted with other women, and they seem to enjoy what I do.”
“I am not other women,” she ground out, not liking that he thought of other lovers when he held her in his arms. “Fuck me, Baraq. I do find pleasure in this act, and you will be diligent afterward.”
He groaned and his hands slid down to cup her bared buttocks. With a rough squeeze, he pushed her down on his cock. As he forced himself into her tender opening, he asked, “Am I hurting you?”
“I’ve felt no pain since our first joining. And even then, I only screamed loudly because I was surprised.”
Again, he grunted, but his breathing quickened, and she knew he would soon be past arguing. Her thighs clutched him tighter. “Fuck me hard, Utlending.”
“Baraq. My name is Baraq.” He dipped his knees, pulled most of the way out, and then powered upward again, thrusting deep.
Air hissed between her teeth. No longer raw, but still so new to lovemaking that every nerve inside her fired, exciting tension in her womb, she rewrapped her legs around his hips and clutched his shoulders, matching his movements. They banged against the bulkhead, their faces heating, their movements growing more frenzied.
Tension coiled inside her womb. She bit her lip, hoping it would wind tighter and tighter, but he was already rutting wildly, his thrusts sharper, shorter, and less rhythmic toward the end. She stifled a sigh as he groaned and shuddered, semen spurting in scalding jets inside her channel.
His arms enclosed her, and he hugged her close. Then he moved away from the wall, carrying her with his hands clutching her rump. At the first oval door, he gestured with his chin.
She reached to the side and opened the latch.
He stepped through the door, headed straight to the shelflike bed against the far wall, and lowered her.
When his cock slid from inside her, she moaned in protest.
He knelt between her legs, lowering his head toward her sex. She opened her legs.
The sight was one she’d never get used to. A man bending in intimate supplication as he selflessly pleasured her. His large hands caressed her buttocks and thighs as his lips smoothed over her folds. His tongue lapped to steal the moisture coating them.
At the first tug of his lips on her clitoris, her hips bucked.
He glanced up into her eyes. “Too much?”
She was still so sensitive, the sensations all so new she hadn’t developed any defense to hide how overwhelmed she felt. Her lips trembled. “More, Baraq,” she whispered.
“So sweet,” he said, tonguing the slick knot. “So pretty.”
She came up on her elbows. “Cunts aren’t pretty,” she ground out, fighting the urge to moan and writhe as he suckled harder.
“You aren’t a man. Look at me.”
She cracked open her eyes, not realizing she’d been squeezing them shut since he’d begun his seductive offensive.
His features were tight, the skin pulled over his sharp-bladed cheekbones and powerful jaw. His gaze narrowed in challenge, and he stuck out his tongue to flutter it over her hooded clit.
Her lips parted as she watched, enraptured by his darkening expression.
“You are beautiful.” His fingers swirled around her entrance.
All she saw was a blond ruff, swollen lips, and a reddened nub that was slick with his saliva. “Why does it matter what I think?”
“Because I want to pleasure you, and I want you to understand what I feel when I fuck you.”
Even his breath as he talked caused trembling sensations. “And you think flattery will help?”
“It isn’t flattery. But I would have you watch and learn. Maybe if you see yourself through my eyes, you’ll relax and know that everything about you is feminine and attractive. That letting yourself go with me won’t leave you vulnerable or any less a princess.”
“It isn’t your fault that I haven’t come with you inside me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
“I shouldn’t have been so rough that first time,” he said softly.
“Do you think I’m afraid?” No one had to go easy on her. “That your cock was so big you wounded me forever? Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Now you’re just being nasty because you’re embarrassed.”
“You don’t know me. I’m only getting angry because you’re talking when my legs are splayed. How attractive do I feel now when you’d rather argue than make me come?”
His gaze sharpened. “I won’t be goaded into finishing you so quickly.”
She flopped back on the mattress and groaned. “Why didn’t I seduce Cyrus? He wouldn’t have g
iven a damn about why I have difficulty coming. He’d have happily rutted away—”
His thumb and forefinger pinched her turgid knot.
A strangled scream escaped, and she jerked her head up to give him a glare. “What was that for?”
“For mentioning another man when I’m the one with my face between your legs.”
Could he be jealous? The thought appealed. Since she’d never allowed men of her own clan to approach her, they’d learned never to tease her as a woman, or they’d find their teeth shattered on the stone floors of the keep. Baraq didn’t fear her reputation, nor was he impressed by the fact she was a noble.
Arousal seeped from inside her.
His gaze darted down to the fingers stroking her labia. He tunneled one long digit inside. “Sweetheart, you’re wet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. I’m filled with your seed.”
“This is you. It’s warm, thin.” He bent and licked between her folds. “Delicious.”
She snorted. “Again, you take flattery too far.”
“But I’m thirsty for your essence.” One eyebrow arched, and he gave her a wicked smile. “Parched.” His fingers parted her and his mouth rubbed over her slippery inner folds. His tongue darted out to lap lazily, then paused to sink inside.
Her thighs tightened around his head, and he chuckled, the sound muffled by her slick flesh.
He thrust two fingers inside her, and began to pump them in and out. His mouth smoothed upward, then rubbed over and over the distended nub that seemed to grow more sensitive with each caress.
A ripple of pleasure slid sinuously down her channel. Her belly trembled. “Baraq!”
“Yes, Princess?”
“Oh, gods!” Her head thrashed side to side as the onset of an orgasm tightened her core.
“Are you close?”
“Yes!”
He halted, heaved upward, and gripped his shaft.
Birget’s face crumpled. “Please, I was so close.”
“Trust me.” With his hand stroking his hardening erection, he sought her clit again with the other and rubbed his thumb over and over it. “Press your knees higher, toward your chest. Now spread them wider.”
Enslaved by a Viking Page 5
