Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  The sensation of that bite, followed by his wicked licks, had her curling her head and shoulder together to hold him there. “You liked her? My sister?”

  His head rose, gaze narrowed. “I didn’t fuck her. I kept my promise.”

  She licked her lips, trying to read in his flinty eyes whether his anger was because he’d restrained his desires or because she’d insulted him. “Would you have wanted to, if I hadn’t asked?”

  “No. I didn’t want that between us. However, know this: On my world I am allowed concubines and a wife. If I wanted her or any other woman, ’tis my right.”

  “Wife.” Her lips lifted in a snarl. “Have you one of those you’ve failed to mention?”

  His body stiffened and he grunted. “A betrothed. My brother arranged it. I’ve done my best not to think on it.”

  Surprised, and not a little amused at his disgruntled expression, she asked, “Haven’t you met her?”

  He shuddered. “The wedding night will be soon enough to see her. I have no love for her kind.”

  “But she is Viking, the same as you.”

  “She’s Valkyrja.” His jaw clenched. “Thinks she’s as strong as a man. Battles like one. I prefer a softer frame to bang against.” He frowned, then cleared his throat. “Was I too crude?”

  “Crude? I’m a whore. Why should I be offended?”

  “Stop.” Still frowning, he rested on one elbow, his body angled over hers. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, then cradled it, his touch tender. “You were forced into that life, the same as I was. I don’t hold it against you.”

  Her eyes closed, shutting out the sight of his earnest expression. He said that now, but if he were home, among his own kind, he’d change his mind. “You don’t hold it against me,” she whispered, then opened her eyes. “But you could never forget. Tell me, if your future wife were to be in a similar situation, could you forget that she’d been so well used?”

  Aflush darkened his cheeks. “A wife carries the hope of the future in her womb,” he said, his voice even. “It’s different. A concubine is a man’s companion, the one he chooses as his friend, his lover.”

  Fatin stared, realizing he didn’t even see the insult he’d dealt her. “I thought Helios were despicable. The way the husbands and wives look the other way so they are free to seek their pleasures, but you’re far worse.”

  His jaw tightened. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk.”

  “Agreed.” She swallowed the bitter taste burning at the back of her throat. Then, determined to lighten the mood, because she didn’t really want to waste the time they had together fighting, she arched a brow, giving him a challenging look. “You wanted to do this right, didn’t you? Do you have some sort of process you step through when you fuck a woman?”

  Eirik snorted and moved closer to nudge her hip with his cock. “Nothing so regimented,” he drawled, “but I would know that she has found the ultimate pleasure in my arms.”

  “Why such a high standard?”

  A smile twitched. “Because I am always the best.”

  “My expectations aren’t that high. I would be satisfied if you would just remember to ply that cock that dangles between your legs.”

  “Nothing of mine dangles,” he said, his tone deepening.

  At the hint of humor curving his mouth, the darker emotions swirling inside her retreated. A new flush heated her cheeks and crept slowly down her neck to her chest. “No, it doesn’t dangle. It thumps against my belly like a fist against a drum.”

  His hand glided down her side, then back up to cup a breast. “Does it seem as large as a fist?”

  With a toss of her head, she scoffed. “You’re built like a bull. And you well know it.”

  He leaned over her, covering half her body, crowding ever closer and setting her skin to tingling everywhere he touched.

  “Does it cause you alarm, my size? You’ve felt me inside you—in one particularly tight corner of your body—and I didn’t hear a complaint. Only gasps and moans, and perhaps a tiny squeal.”

  She chuckled. “I never squealed.”

  “But you did scream.” He bent and nuzzled her neck, then her ear. “Would you like to scream again?”

  Fatin’s groan ended in a breathless laugh. “I’ll scream, but only from frustration because you take too long to push that bull’s cock of yours inside me.”

  He tsked and lifted his head, revealing a wicked, boyish grin that set her heart fluttering.

  What would it be like to see that grin each day upon waking? Fatin lifted her head and cupped the back of his neck to hold him there as she pressed a kiss against that smile. “Make me scream,” she whispered. “Prove the first time was no accident.”

  Eirik growled and pushed her down again and shoved both knees between her legs to force them apart. Then he scooted down her body until his mouth was even with her breasts.

  Already tightly beaded, her nipples quivered as her breaths shortened.

  He cupped the tender underside of one breast, plumping her flesh. Then he rubbed the roughened pad of his thumb over the areola. “’Tis like velvet. This tip. And a pretty rosy brown when aroused.”

  “It’s a nipple, and it tingles.” Her heart raced, secretly thrilled at his words. “Do something and end this agony of waiting.”

  He bared his teeth, then glanced up before biting gently on the nub.

  She bit into her bottom lip to still the moan scratching at her throat.

  Torture was clearly on his agenda. He reared back his head, pulling the nipple, then released it. His tongue darted out to lap at the sides and toggle it before giving more lazy swipes around the whole areola.

  Watching him, enjoying the wet heat of his flashing tongue, Fatin felt as though a slender thread, stretching from nipple to womb, was tugged with each wicked flick. He was slow, precise, and so thorough she ground her teeth until her jaws ached. “Eirik, please!”

  An eyebrow arched. He licked across her chest and latched onto that lucky nipple with his lips, and suckled gently . . . at first . . . then harder and harder until her fingernails dug into his shoulders and raked his skin.

  Her belly curled, her pussy pumping against his abdomen, rubbing ineffectually.

  Still, he teased and tormented, nibbling, chewing, raking the turgid nub until she writhed wantonly beneath him.

  Until this moment, she hadn’t known how sensitive her breasts could be. And she wasn’t certain that it was his technique so much as the fact he was hard, aroused, and yet he withheld his own release to pleasure her.

  Something she’d never experienced before.

  But was he driven by pride or by some small affection for her? Part of her wanted badly for it to be the latter. But another shied away, afraid that if she believed he cared about her, she’d be left vulnerable. Her heart couldn’t take any more disappointment.

  Eirik clamped his fingers on her nipples and pinched the bases of the tips hard.

  Her face screwed up with delicious agony. Along, thin whimper broke.

  He held them tight for a long moment, then released them. Blood rushed into the tips. They throbbed with a delicious ache.

  Scooting down her body, Eirik suctioned at the skin of her belly, making loud, lush sounds as he paused each time, before moving along. At the top of her mound, he rubbed his lips over and over her there, the shadow of bristles on his jaw scraping her sensitive skin, driving her crazy.

  Blood pounding, she tried to open her legs, to tempt him lower, but his elbows kept her thighs pinned together. When the tip of his tongue slid into the tight seam of her sex, just at the top, and prodded her hooded clit, she cursed and bit her lip again, her head digging into the pillow as she arched.

  He plucked her labia, pulling apart the top and dropping spit into the well. Then his finger scraped the nub, swirling over and over it.

  Fatin ached to open her legs and tilt her hips. How easy would it be to fly? But he kept her wings clipped, her legs restricted. She pushed his sh
oulders, pinched his skin, then sank her hands into his thick black hair and pulled hard.

  His laughter was muffled, but so sexy she moaned. He gripped her hands and held them away, and then lifted first one elbow, then the other, letting her spread her thighs.

  She panted. The moment the pressure eased, she lifted her knees and let them fall open, but they shook. Never had she felt this way, this desperate for what a man could give her, but she conceded everything at that moment. Her will to fight, to force him to move faster, fled. Her head rolled slowly side to side; her eyelids drifted down.

  When his fingers slid inside her, she couldn’t hold back the lonely sound that escaped her lips.

  “Sweet Fatin,” he groaned, kissing her inner thigh, his fingers plunging deep.

  Rasping thickness filled her. His fingers twisted, screwing into her, building friction. They curled, raking a spot at the front of her channel. Her breath hitched and she gave another helpless moan.

  “Is it there, elskling?”

  “Mmmm? Why are you talking?”

  He pulled away, and she forced her eyes open. When she met his gaze, he inserted his fingers again and found the place, the one that made her toes curl and starved her lungs for air.

  “Did I find it?” he said slowly.

  Her lips opened, but only a whimper escaped.

  “Yes, right there,” he murmured. Then he bent and latched his lips around her clitoris again while circling inside her. He sucked, gently at first, but when her hands gripped her own hair and pulled, he suctioned harder, igniting a firestorm inside her.

  Her orgasm vibrated from her core, radiating outward, causing her to buck and kick. Too much, too fast.

  She was outside her body, falling through darkness, her body shaking so hard, her cries broken. She heard it all, saw it, but she was beyond herself.

  When she returned, she was cradled against his chest, a hand soothing her hair, the other pressing her body close to his.

  The thickness of his own desire pressed against her belly, pulsing with slow ripples.

  Afraid to look up and see his smug smile, she burrowed her face into the corner of his neck. His hot skin pulsed with his heartbeats, dull, insistent throbs that forced hers to echo them.

  The sensation was soothing, but also arousing. Although how she could possibly want more when she felt so limp and sated, she didn’t know. Fatin held still within his embrace, savoring the sensation of the strong arms surrounding her, hot skin, his unique musk. She wasn’t accustomed to lingering in a bed. Didn’t quite know how to act.

  His cock still required attention, but she didn’t want to lose this feeling welling up inside her. Of gratitude and tenderness.

  The emotion wasn’t real. She knew it. And she’d never have considered it something she’d want. This inner warmth was alien, impossibly rare.

  Lips touched her forehead. A low, rumbling growl rattled against her. Tamping down disappointment, she forced a smile and leaned back to look into his face.

  His expression was anything but smug. An earnest worry showed in eyes and turned a storm-cloud gray. “Forgive me now?”

  She wrinkled her forehead, not understanding.

  “For nearly raping you before the assemblage.”

  “You didn’t rape me,” she whispered, unable to hold his gaze. “I know what that feels like.”

  His lips thinned with self-recrimination. “I forced you.”

  “I reveled in it.” The words rushed out before she could stop them.

  “I made you cry,” he said, his voice harsh.

  Fatin drew a deep, jagged breath. “I cried because I don’t understand myself.”

  His thumb traced her lower lip. “I don’t understand myself either. Every time I come near you I forget to hate you.”

  “And you should . . . ?” She quirked an eyebrow.

  “Aye, I should. But I can’t. Something in you draws me closer.”

  To bring his lower body closer, she eased a thigh over his hip. She ground her mons against his thick ridge. “You shouldn’t matter to me either. Not one bit.”

  “But I do.”

  With a nibble on her lower lip, she nodded. “I had a plan. A good one. You’re messing it up.”

  “I can’t be sorry about that,” he growled, his cock stirring.

  Her hand slid down his side and cupped his ass. She dug her nails into his backside and pressed her groin harder against him. “I think I’m recovered now.”

  His head leaned toward hers. Their lips met in a soft, questing kiss. Her tongue slipped between her lips and touched his mouth.

  He opened, inviting her inside. Then he rolled to his back.

  Without breaking the sweet kiss, she slid her knees to either side of his hips and rose.

  His fingers sought her slit, cupped her folds, massaging them. Then a finger thrust inside, causing her inner muscles to clench and loosing a fresh wash of silky fluid.

  With a gasp, she broke away. “Inside me, Eirik. Come inside me . . . now.”

  His smile was tight, desperate. “I think I waited too long. I won’t be able to go slow.”

  “Then don’t. Let me do this for you.” She glanced down between their bodies and watched as he placed himself at her entrance, then braced her hips with his hands.

  She pulsed on his cock, taking him inside with rough, jerking pushes. With each deep thrust, she grunted and dug her fingers into his chest.

  When she was seated on his cock, to the root, she tossed back her hair. “Oh, gods, Eirik. Fuck! ” She rose and slammed back down, rose again and groaned.

  His hands helped her, pushing her faster and faster. His face reddened, sweat glazing his face, his chest.

  Again and again, she slammed into him. Her channel grew hot again, slick with her lust. Breathless, shuddering, she felt another amazing wave of pleasure rising. “Eirik!”

  With a jerk, he flipped them both, causing her to squeak with alarm, but he laid her down, thrust his arms beneath her knees, and raised her ass from the mattress to hammer into her, harder and harder.

  Their gazes locked, and she wondered what he saw. She felt wild, feral in a way she’d never claimed before. Unfettered.

  He set the rhythm; he controlled the depth. And yet he freed her to soar.

  Breath rasping, she flung out her arms and arched her back, opening her lungs and her throat for her sharp, broken cries.

  Had she wings, she could not have felt lighter or risen higher. Her legs straightened in his grasp, toes pointing.

  She tensed her abdomen to hold her hips high to receive his quickening, powerful thrusts, and reveled in his strength. The sounds they made, juicy slaps and glides, were their own music, punctuated by the rasps of their breaths, his harsh grunts, her gusting whimpers.

  They strained against each other. Her face grew hot. Her head felt ready to explode from the pressure, and then she did, sobbing his name as she came.

  At last, he rocked hard and held still inside her.

  The first spurt of his essence heated her channel and she squeezed her inner walls around him, wringing his cock, as he gave her slower, jerking strokes and emptied himself inside her body.

  Like the pouring of his soul into hers, she thought whimsically. Her own heart didn’t feel alone—for one perfect moment.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Fatin froze. A chill making her skin instantly clammy.

  Eirik reached down for the sheet and pulled it over them, then lay over her, bracing himself on his elbows. His gaze locked with hers.

  The door swung open, but neither of them looked toward the intruder. “Adem’s ready for you,” came a grating voice.

  How cruel was it to force them apart when they’d finally found a beautiful accord—if only a physical one. “Tell Adem we’ll be along,” she said, dragging in air to calm her racing heart.

  “Not you, bounty hunter. The Viking.”

  Fifteen

  When Fatin smoothed her hands along Eirik’s
sides, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him against her, but the moment was past. Reality had intruded.

  “Get out,” Eirik rasped, not looking at the guard. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  The door clicked shut. Fatin let her hands fall to the mattress, forcing herself not to reach out. She turned her face.

  Eirik didn’t say a word, but pushed up, letting her thighs slide away. Then he pulled his cock from her body.

  The connection broken, Fatin bit her lip.

  A wet kiss pressed against her bitten lip. “We aren’t through.” His voice was rough and brisk.

  She wasn’t reassured. Another kind of excitement was kindling in his eyes.

  Fatin snorted; the moment was lost. “You’ll know where to find me,” she muttered.

  Eirik sighed. “This isn’t just about you or me.”

  “I know. Your friends are being tortured to death. Fucking themselves stupid.”

  “You think because they’re men, it shouldn’t feel any less like rape?” His fist clenched the sheets. “They didn’t seek that life.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, hating how she’d sounded. Why did she always do that? Strike out with hurtful words? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did.”

  “Well, I do. You become a bitch whenever you think someone will hurt you. It’s the armor you don against pain.”

  Did he think he knew her better than she did herself? “Don’t you have someplace to go?” she said, her tone snide.

  “Look at me.” He pinched her chin and forced her to look.

  Fatin’s breath hitched. Large and fierce, he looked every inch the warrior, even slick with sweat and his cock glistening with their juices. He looked no less than what he was. A Viking prince. Strong and proud.

  “I’m not finished with you.”

  Was this part of his strategy for revenge? To break through every barrier she threw up between them? She was as naked as he was, but she felt . . . less worthy. “I guess we’ll see,” she said quietly. “Neither of us is in control of what happens now.”

  “This Adem. He’s like you? Feral?”

  The last word ground from his mouth. She nodded, feeling sick inside. Did he think they were freaks like most Helios did?