The thing he wondered about most was how they’d fare in the marriage bed. Something he was eager now to test.
The pleasant smell of woodsmoke from the central hearth followed him as he strode down the high-beamed corridor to the door leading into Hahn’s private quarters. Just as he pushed through it, Inga sailed out, her eyes wide with fright. “She threatened to toss me from the chamber. I left water, but she refused my help.”
Torvald stood aside to let her flee then suppressed the smile threatening to widen as he stalked down the narrow hallway to Hahn’s alcove. A curtain enclosed the end of the hall, providing privacy from curious gazes from sleeping berths built into the corridor walls on either side. He slipped behind the curtain and halted, his breath catching as his gaze raked his bride’s long, muscled frame.
She was lean, legs like a racehorse, wide hips, lush round bottom. Turned away, she waved a hand behind her. “I told you I don’t need any help. I’ve bathed myself since I was a babe.” She stood on a towel before a basin, a cloth in one hand as she bent and washed her feet, one at a time.
The view of her glorious arse stirred his arousal. “Would you so deny your husband?”
Solvi straightened and her head swung toward him.
But she showed no maidenly modesty, never attempted to shield her form from his interested gaze. Instead, she turned to face him, offering him a view of her full breasts and toned belly. His gaze snagged on her pale ruff, and his cock slowly hardened.
“I am done. Sorry you missed it.” She bent sideways to retrieve a garment hanging over the back of a chair, something Inga must have provided because it was embroidered at the neck.
He waved his hand. “Don’t bother to dress.”
Her breasts rose on a sharp breath.
The nipples were tight, the tips beaded—but from the chill air or his perusal?
“You would take me now? Without ceremony? Don’t I deserve better? Don’t you?”
“What I deserve was what I bargained for—a wife.”
The way she stood, still as a granite statue, bothered him. He wanted the heat he’d seen earlier, even if it was only anger, but something he could stoke into passion. He wanted no cold union. Taking a deep breath, he glanced away, staring at the log wall. “We are bound, Solvi. The deed is already done. If you resist, you will lose. Would it not be better to concede this battle graciously? We could begin as you wish to continue our alliance—the choice of whether we will war or love is yours?”
“Love?” She shook her head. “I am not what you wanted, and you would settle for less than you bargained for?”
Torvald met her gaze, locked with it, determined she would see he spoke the truth. This once, he would treat her with the respect he’d show any valiant adversary and explain himself. “I have come to realize you are a greater prize than the sister I was promised.”
Her ice blue gaze narrowed. “I have no wifely skills. My mother gave up long ago teaching me to cook and sew.”
“I have wealth enough to pay servants to do those things.” He studied her expression, noted the way her gaze fell away, and her mouth softened. Did she fear marriage because she thought she would disappoint a husband? Knowing this was the most important negotiation he might ever enter, and sensing she was giving way, he pushed forward. “I have ambitions higher than my own jarldom. One day, I will challenge for the king’s high seat. I will need a strong wife. Someone I can trust as a partner. I have heard your sister thrives on intrigue. Is that true? I would have truth spoken between us always.”
Solvi’s chin lifted, but she gave him a quick nod.
“She would never have suited me.” He tipped his chin, indicating her body. “Your sister is slim, yes?”
Again, she nodded.
“I am a warrior, not given to gentleness,” he said softly, waiting until he saw a hint of curiosity in her glinting stare. “And yet, I think you could bear my rough attentions.”
Her tongue snuck out to slick her bottom lip. “Rough attentions…do you intend to beat me?”
Her voice was tight, but there was a gleam in her eyes. Was it interest? Could he hope it was lust? He raised his arms at his sides. “I am not a small man. And I am strong. I would never beat you, but my hands might leave bruises along the way if I loose my passion.”
She swallowed hard and blinked before glancing away. Her breaths came faster, her nipples quivered. “I am not a waif. Not…delicate,” she said, glancing up from beneath a lock of thick moonlit hair.
She was like a wild creature, poised to take flight. But he sensed she was intrigued, that she could be seduced, and the challenge she embodied set fire to his loins as no other woman had ever managed before. His doubts over her suitability as his mate were gone, perhaps from his first sight of her brawling in the taproom. She was his match in every way. ’Twas no doubt why he hadn’t fled the moment he’d realized he’d been duped.
Her mouth pursed around her quickened breaths. “These rough attentions…”
He nearly smiled, but knew she might think he was only playing her for a fool. Instead, he moved closer and held out his hand.
She stared for a moment, and then slid hers atop his open palm.
“Are you a maiden?”
An instant frown drew together her light brows. “Of course, I am. I’m not yet married.”
“I’m not impugning your virtue, Solvi. But a husband should know.”
Her frown lessened, and she nodded. “Does that mean I will have to wait for your rough attentions?”
He closed his hand around hers and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against her tanned skin. “It means I will be gentle taking your virtue, but there are other acts, things I can do which will bring you pleasure, if Hahn’s bed is large enough and the ropes sturdy.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth snapped close. “You mean to do this tonight?”
“Yes.”
Her chin nudged higher. “Then for the sake of my father’s bargain, I guess I should concede.”
If it helped her to think she was bending to save her father repercussions, he’d let her. And now that the negotiation was over, he let go his lust, full-fledged. Solveig was his.
SOLVI HAD WONDERED all through the long ride how she would find a way to gracefully concede the battle. The longer she’d leaned against his strong frame and let his scent surround her, the more excited she’d grown. This battle of wills they’d begun at the taproom was better than any seagoing adventure, although she wasn’t giving up on that dream altogether. She’d watched how women used their wiles to get what they wanted. She’d just figured her lack of flirting skills would make that task impossible, but she was here, wasn’t she? About to bedded by this ruggedly handsome man. She’d seduced him into forgetting about her lack of wifely skills and believing he had the better bargain in her.
She’d known it was him watching her bathe. She’d bent over, even though her cheeks were flaming, just to incite his lust. He’d seen her only in mannish clothing, but she’d planned to make him see there was nothing mannish about her desires.
And although he’d kept blathering on about the concessions he’d give her, the power she’d wield, she knew he’d had to keep a tight rein on his growing lust. His cock had stirred and hardened, visible even through the layers of his leather breeches and long tunic.
How she’d managed to stand nude for so long beneath his hot gaze… Well, perhaps she had learned a thing or two from watching Runa attract lovers. Men loved breasts. And hers were generous and round.
She had thought she’d give him a glimpse of her body, and then beg for time to know him first, but the mention of rough attentions, that hint of unrestrained lust, intrigued her. She stepped closer, until her bare nipples rubbed against his woolen kyrtill. “I would see all of you,” she whispered.
His pupils flared, and he lowered his head. She rose on tiptoe. Their mouths met in a kiss. Her first. And not the least gentle—something she was fiercely glad of. Their mout
hs supped, teeth nipped. When his tongue thrust inside, she pressed her thighs together to stem the rush of liquid that slid from inside.
When they broke away, they both panted. He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back, then toed off boots, raked up his tunic and the linen undershirt. While she ogled his massive chest, he thrust down his breeches.
When he straightened, there was challenge in his eyes. Her gaze dropped to his cock, thick and long, and lifting from his groin. She’d seen cocks before, laughed at them when her father’s men ran naked from the sauna to plunge into cold pools, but nothing was funny about Torvald’s.
Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around him, stroked him, marveling at the smooth texture of the skin that cloaked his iron rod. His hand closed around hers and forced it up and down his length, gripping harder and twisting as they approached the bulbous tip. When his hand fell away, she continued the motion he’d shown her while his breaths deepened, and his shaft lengthened.
When she glanced up, she caught his half-smile and grinned. “This pleases you, but what of my pleasure?”
His smile stretched wider. And before she could gasp, his hands closed on her waist and lifted her, turning to set her on the edge of the down-filled mattress. With a hand pressing against her chest to force her to lie sideways, he knelt between her spread thighs.
Out of reflex, Solvi covered her mound.
He shook his head, tsking, and pulled away her hand. Then he bent toward her.
Never had she imagined what he did next. His thumbs parted her folds, and his tongue stroked her center, delving into her, lapping upward, touching on the hard knot at the top, and then drawing away.
She drew a deep breath, thinking he was done, but he dove again and again, licking her sex until she arched, breasts lifting. She groaned and gripped his hair, pulling hard. “Stop. Stop.”
His tongue flirted again with the hard knot. “You don’t like this?” he murmured.
“I like it too much. But I can’t breathe.”
“You need breath?” he teased, wagging his head, his whiskered cheeks raking her open inner folds.
“Oh,” she gasped. “But there’s more. I want more.” Oh, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his weight atop her, wanted to know the feel of his cock entering her. Innocent, but not ignorant, she knew greater pleasure was yet to come.
“I’ll give you more, Solvi. Let me do this first, little shieldmaiden.” His finger swept inside her and swirled around her opening, calluses catching on the membrane guarding her entrance. The pain she’d heard of was negligible, over in a moment and forgotten when he rose and pushed her fully onto the mattress. He climbed into the alcove bed, parting her legs with brusque impatience, and then settled between them, raised on his arms and knees, his cock poised at her entrance.
“Solvi, this is it,” he whispered. “From this moment, you are mine.”
The gruff texture of his deep voice filled the shadowed space. “Do you think I still resist? Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
She grinned, loving the hiss of his word. Reaching up, she raked her fingernails across the bristles at the sides of his shaved head and pulled on his braid. “If you want a battle, I will bring one. Every night, Viking.” Then she lifted her hips and pushed against his cock, forcing it inside her.
He tensed for a moment, holding still as she shoved. And then he groaned and came down on her, his chest crushing her, his cock sinking deeper. Trapped, beneath him, she couldn’t move, but resisted the only way she could, tightening her entrance around him, trying to reject his intrusion, but only in play, because the deeper he stroked, the more intense was the pleasure.
Heat from friction drew more moisture from inside. Her inner walls were stretched and raked with each deep push and pull. Her hips followed his withdrawals, trying to capture him, fighting to hold him now. Her hands roamed his back, nails digging into his skin.
When he rose again, he thrust his arms beneath her knees and lifted her bottom, and then thrust unimpeded into her, the slick glides ending in snapping motions pounded against her center.
A keening cry tore from her throat. “Torvald!”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Gods, yes!”
Pleasure exploded, causing her body to arch and hold. He hammered several times more then paused. Hot liquid flooded her, and she knew he’d spent his seed. When the spasms slowed inside her, she opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, his hands cupping her bottom and gently kneading, while he rocked back and forth, their flesh still connected, the pleasure receding, more comforting now.
She couldn’t believe she was there. Beneath him. His wife. It had happened so fast. But the attraction hadn’t palled. Solvi had no regrets.
Slowly, he lowered her bottom, his cock sliding from inside her. He settled beside her in the narrow bed and turned her to face him. His hand cupped her breast, a finger tracing the circumference of her nipple. “I neglected these.”
“A slight I won’t forgive.” She slid her hand between them, blocking his touch, and then gave him a narrow-eyed glare, letting him know she was holding to her promise. Their war had just begun.
*
THE NEXT MORNING, Inga held up a wrapped bundle of food. “For your journey.”
Torvald took the package and set it his wife’s hands. “My wife thanks you.”
“Yes, thank you, Inga,” Solvi said, adding a dig of her elbow against his ribs.
Torvald grinned at Hahn, careful not to let Solvi see, and then pulled the reins. Lothar, whose eyes were almost swollen shut, still managed a smile as he stared at Torvald who’d refused a second horse although it forced his wife to once more share his saddle. He didn’t understand that Torvald planned to enjoy her discomfort. No matter which way she leaned, she couldn’t escape the ache between her legs. He’d done that. Likely every person in the longhouse had heard her keening cries each time he’d sent her flying toward Asgard.
He whistled as they headed back down the mountain they’d climbed the previous evening.
“Um, Torvald?”
His smile deepened at the husky sound of her voice when she said his name. “Yes, wife.”
“Are we not heading toward my father’s lands?”
“No.”
“So, we aren’t returning for the celebration?”
“No.”
She stayed silent for a moment, shifted again, and then let out a breath. “Are we going to your home?”
“No.”
She leaned away and turned her head to give him a hot glare. “If not to my father’s or to your holdings, then where are we going?”
Torvald couldn’t help himself. He grinned like a boy. His pleasure in his wife had been there for everyone to see that morning. Thor’s balls, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands from her shapely arse throughout their morning feast. “We are taking a journey. Consider it my wedding gift.”
Her frown lessened, and her gaze dipped to his smile then back to his eyes. “Where are we going?”
“Do you fancy Iceland for the summer?”
Her jaw dropped and before he knew it, she climbed awkwardly around until her legs wrapped around his hips and her arms hugged his neck in a surprisingly strong grip. Her kiss was hard and not well-placed, landing on his chin, then his nose, and cheeks, but finally, finding his mouth.
When she drew away, tears filled her eyes. “You would do this for me?”
“I would do this for us,” he said softly. “Soon enough, we will have to face our responsibilities. But first, we will get to know one another doing something we will both enjoy.”
Her radiant smile was beautiful, her ice blue eyes melting with tears. “Thank you.”
Torvald gave her a smug smile. Training a Skjaldmær to be a wife was a pleasurable task indeed.
Johnny Blaze
‡
I HELD MY iPhone in front of me as far as my arm could reach and took a picture then quickly sent the selfie to my Facebook page. Yes! I don’t know h
ow Syl managed to talk me into it, but I’m at HardCox!!! Happy birthday, me!
I posted the photo, then slipped my phone back into my purse, which I’d placed beneath the small round table where Sylvia, Heather, and I sat next to the raised stage.
“You took a picture of yourself?” Sylvia giggled and held out her hand. “Give me that phone!”
“No way, you’ll just post pictures of the dancers’ asses.”
“And their hoses!”
My eyes bugged. “Don’t you even think about it! My mama would be horrified!”
I was already beyond mortified at being here—a male strip club, of all places. Syl didn’t have to add kerosene to the fire burning in my cheeks. Although convincing me to come hadn’t been all that hard. She’d had me at one name: Johnny Blaze.
So I had a thing for firefighters. Or, at least, one in particular—who didn’t even know I existed. The picture on the sandwich board outside the club—of a fireman wearing suspenders attached to the hose covering his privates—had been the deciding factor after I’d dug my heels into the concrete sidewalk when I’d realized where she was leading me. His body reminded me of my secret crush. And Syl knew all about my private infatuation. She’d pointed to the board, then, while my jaw slackened, whipped me through the entrance.
Now, she laughed and lifted her Mai Tai, eyes shining with devilment. “See anyone you’d like to take home?”
I eyed the dancer currently on the stage now—“Davy Crockett”—who wore a coonskin hat and a striped, bushy tail covering his parts while he did the helicopter, much to the delight of the audience whooping and hollering all around us.
“Nope,” I said tightlipped. My own gaze followed that twirling tail, hypnotized. It had been forever since I’d seen a cock. To see one with a bushy tail was just bizarre. I raised my voice to be heard over the loud rock music. “How long do we have to stay?”
Syl shook her head and raised a finger in the air to hail a beer-bitch with a tray of Jell-O shots. A blue cup landed on the table in front of me. Rather than fight Syl, I raised the drink and threw it back, gagging a little before gulping it down.
Strokes, Vol. 3 Page 9
