His Captive Bride

by Shelly Thacker

  She brushed her fingertips over the whiskers that darkened his strong jaw, slid her hands downward to explore the rapid pulse at his throat, the expanse of his chest, the hard shape of his arms, the muscled ridges of his abdomen.

  God in Heaven, how she wanted this. Wanted to touch and be touched. But it was so much more than that. She wanted him. Hauk, strong and passionate, gentle and protective. She needed him, in ways that had naught to do with reason and everything to do with the unsteady beat of her heart.

  The air around them seemed to shimmer with warmth, with that uncommon heat that always burned between them when they were close to one another. The feeling was almost familiar now, dazzling as it unfurled within her.

  Her hands continued moving down his body, coming to rest just above the waist of his leggings. He flinched, lifted his mouth from hers. Their eyes met and held, their harsh breathing the only sound in the fragile light of dawn. His hand rested on her hip.

  She did not move when he slid the covers down past her legs, one inch at a time, baring her completely. The touch of the cool morning air against her nakedness made her breath catch. She could feel his flat belly rising and falling rapidly beneath her palms, his muscles taut.

  If she wanted to stop this, she knew, now was the time. Now.

  But she did not want to stop.

  Whispering his name, she kissed him. He groaned, tugging his leggings off, tossing them aside—and then he drew her close again and there were no more barriers between them. No more distance. Naught but bare skin and sultry kisses and the sound of their voices blending in groans and sighs.

  She could feel the rigid length of his arousal, hard as steel against her thigh, and gasped at the size of him.

  When she reached to touch him there, he caught her wrist.

  “Slowly, my bold lady,” he choked out, pressing his cheek against hers. “There is something I want first.”

  He released her wrist, allowing her to explore and caress wherever else she might wish. She ran her fingertips over his dark nipples, testing how sensitive they might be, and earned a whispered oath from him—then another when she nibbled at his earlobe.

  With a growl, he lifted her knee, bending her leg so that it rested along his hip, opening her to him. Her pulse racing, she pressed her face against his muscled neck, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. She felt intimately aware of every inch of her naked skin while his hand stroked from her knee to her hip, so slowly. He followed the curve inward. Traced a tantalizing path to the dark triangle that concealed her most feminine secrets.

  And then he paused, his strong, blunt fingers resting just... there.

  He remained still, not moving a muscle, until Avril felt herself strung tight with anticipation, trembling. “Hauk.”

  He slid his fingers into her damp folds.

  Her lips parted on an aching sound of pleasure, echoed by his deep voice. Her head tilted up and their gazes met and held while he explored her intimately, his fingertips parting her. A muscle flexed in his jaw and he muttered something under his breath in Norse, mayhap shocked at the obvious evidence of how aroused she was. She ducked her head, shutting her eyes, her cheeks aflame.

  “Nay, look at me.” He underscored the husky command with a stroke of his thumb across the sensitive bud concealed within her dark curls.

  Startled by the bolt of pleasure that shot through her, she raised her chin, lifted her lashes.

  “Sweet wife.” A slow, sensual smile revealed the dimples in his stubbled cheeks. “I am pleased that I make you so... very... wet.” His eyes had darkened to midnight blue. “And I want to watch you burn.”

  She did not look away again, returning his searing gaze as he touched her—pleasuring her with the gentlest pressure, light flicks, slow circles that made her shudder and bite her lip to hold back a wanton cry.

  “Nay,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to her ear. “Let me hear you as well.” His thumb settled on that small bud, urging it to fullness. “Tell me how it feels when I touch you.”

  The tendrils of fire in her belly whirled together, tightening and unraveling at every brush of his thumb, sending showers of sparks from her toes to her fingertips. And he wanted her to speak?

  “So... so...” She could manage naught more than that one word.

  “So very good?” he murmured. “When I do this?” He repeated the lightest, feathering touch, over and over, until a long, low sound issued from her throat.

  He stopped.

  “Again,” she pleaded.

  He complied at once, stroking her so lightly, again... and again. Until she was lost in the sensations, moaning in abandon, the most shameless sounds tumbling from her lips.

  Then he suddenly took the swollen bud more roughly between his thumb and finger, rubbing with the most perfect pressure.

  A wordless cry tore from her, the entire room spinning as the flames whirled tight inside her. She grasped his biceps, her nails marking his skin.

  He nuzzled her ear again, chuckling wickedly. “You like that even more.”

  Her head tossed helplessly on the pillow. She could not even nod.

  “Tell me,” he whispered.

  She moved her hips against his hand, seeking... needing... “More.” She hardly recognized her own voice, so filled with husky, sensual demand.

  He repeated that delicious touch, exactly as before, and it was... God in Heaven, it was so...

  She had no words for it, could only give herself over to the feelings, to him, moving her hips to match the demanding rhythm of his fingers. The intensity built so quickly, almost too quickly. She felt the first stirrings of release beginning, her inner muscles drawing tight.

  Then he lifted his fingers, making her groan in protest.

  Until he touched her mouth, brushing her glistening wetness over her lips, sharing the musky taste of her desire in a deep kiss.

  She kissed him back, fiercely, every inch of her on fire. She had never felt so flooded with pure need. All of her fevered and wild—her body, her heart, her soul. All that she was trembled and ached with it. She opened to his kiss, licked at his fingers when he slipped them into her mouth. Was rewarded with a tremor that went through his whole body.

  He suddenly withdrew his hand, skimmed a quick, damp path down her curves.

  And slipped two fingers inside her, a slow penetration that matched the movement of his tongue in her mouth.

  She moaned, arching into him. White-hot flames seared her as he repeated the erotic motions—gentle and slow, then sudden and deep. Her inner muscles tightened, a tremor beginning at her very center.

  In the next instant, his thumb and finger reclaimed that sensitive nubbin with the ungentle touch that was so unspeakably... perfect.

  The flames inside her all knotted together—and snapped.

  She shattered in his arms, crying out as wave after wave of heat cascaded through her, a flood of pleasure that claimed her breath, her body. The stunning force of it left her shaking.

  The dizzying rush had scarcely begun to ebb when Hauk rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him, her long hair falling around them in a glossy curtain.

  Avril inhaled sharply, aware of the naked steel of his arousal against her belly. Moaning, she shifted her hips—but he stopped her.

  “Not yet,” he ordered huskily, though his muscled body beneath her felt fevered with his own need. He found the silky wetness that flowed from her, dampened his fingers again—then reached up and stroked them across her nipples.

  His hands lifted her, urging her upward, and she complied shamelessly, arching her back, raising herself above him so that he could suckle her.

  He licked the dampness away with a groan. Circled her nipple with his tongue. Then he drew her soft fullness deeply into his mouth. She cried out, the exquisite sensation like having that sensitive, feminine part of her held captive in hot silk.

  She had to brace her hands against the mattress, panting as he laved the hard pearl with his tongue, nibbling, press
ing it against his teeth. The flames within her ignited again, leaping higher this time, racing through her blood until she was burning.

  He shuddered with strain beneath her, his breathing ragged. But still he sought no pleasure for himself, only for her, teasing her nipples with kisses, with his fingers, brushing his stubbled cheek against them, dragging sharp sounds of wanting from her.

  When she tried again to move, he wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her fast, lavishing attention on her breasts until the taut, wet crowns felt as aroused, as sensitive as the throbbing flesh between her thighs.

  Then he caught one peak in his mouth and drew it in hard and fast, the suction intense and startling. Her hands gripped the sheets as fierce, stabbing pleasure went through her.

  He released it slowly, using his tongue to drag her nipple against his teeth.

  Her eyes widened in astonishment as the whirls of fire knotted within her, so tight.

  “Hold your breath,” he ordered hoarsely.

  She obeyed his command, gulping air as he continued the sweet, intense torment, until she could not bear it any more. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to stroke her again, quickly this time—once, twice. Fire consumed her at every touch of his fingers, every touch of his tongue. She held her breath and felt her whole body rising. Reaching. Felt the tremors begin inside her, at the very depths of her being.

  He caught her nipple between the edges of his teeth and bit her gently.

  A blinding burst of ecstasy exploded within her, shattered the whole world and sent shards of it blazing through her, inside her. With a shouted exclamation, she lost herself in the waves of heat that broke over her, again and again, until she was beyond thought, burned to cinders. Falling.

  When she finally returned to awareness, she was draped over him like a blanket, limp. Spent. Still trembling from tiny sparks of sensation that rippled from her tender, aching breasts, from all her most secret, feminine places. Never had she experienced such a forceful release, not one after another, not so... intense.

  Dear God, never.

  Hauk nuzzled her ear. “Good morning,” he murmured wickedly.

  She could only utter a wordless groan in reply, felt as if her very bones had melted.

  He chuckled, a low sound of male satisfaction. “Now...” He circled her with one arm and rolled her beneath him. “Now, sweet wife—”

  A sharp knock at the door interrupted him.

  He cursed. Vividly.

  Avril pulled away from him as he sat up. She clutched the blankets to her throat, feeling scarlet warmth in her cheeks as the world suddenly collided with the dreamy, erotic haze of passion he had woven around them.

  “It might be Marta,” she whispered, “here to visit Floyel.”

  The knock sounded again, louder.

  Hauk took a deep breath. “Not unless she has grown larger and stronger since yesterday.”

  Muttering a string of curses, he grabbed his leggings from where they had fallen beside the bed, yanked them on and stalked toward the door. He looked ready to pound senseless whoever had dared intrude on them at this hour.

  Avril could not think of who it might be, too overwhelmed, too mortified to think at all.

  What had she done? Only yesterday she had looked with dismay at the women who had allowed themselves to become enchanted by their captors. And now she had done exactly the same. Thrown all sense and all reason to the winds. Acted as wanton, as hopelessly in love as they had.

  God’s breath, she did not even know herself anymore.

  She heard a male voice at the entrance, babbling in Norse—then she barely had time to gather the covers around her as Keldan rushed in, lowering the hood of his cloak, Hauk right at his heels. Looking disheveled and wild-eyed, Keldan took one quick glance around the room and his expression became even more alarmed.

  Avril got up from the bed, clutching the blankets around her. “What is it? What has happened?”

  Hauk managed to silence Keldan long enough to translate for her, his eyes full of concern as they met hers. “Josette is missing.”

  Chapter 15

  “Stille! Quiet!” Hauk held up both hands, unable to think with both Keldan and Avril filling the air with frantic questions in two different languages. “Tell me what happened,” he ordered Keldan in Norse. “Calmly.”

  “I woke up and she was gone!” The younger man raked his fingers through his hair, his dark eyes wide, his words tumbling out. “She was not in the town. I thought she might be here. I thought—”

  “Kel, I told you to keep watch over her. I told you Thorolf might come seeking vengeance for his punishment by the eldrer—”

  “Ja, and I did keep watch over her! I never left her alone for a moment yesterday. I made certain she was safe.”

  “When did you see her last?” Hauk dared to hope that Thorolf did not have her.

  “When we left the celebration last night, not long after you did. She looked distraught after you talked to her, and I was exhausted from the wrestling matches, so I took her home. And I...” He paced away and back like a caged animal. “By Tyr’s blade, I should not have taken on so many opponents. But you have no idea what it was like, being with her all day without being with her—”

  “Ja, Kel, no idea at all.” Hauk glanced at Avril, his body still afire from their interrupted lovemaking.

  She was clothed only in the blankets, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair falling about her bare shoulders in waves that clung to her perspiration-sheened skin.

  Never, in all the years of his life, had he seen any sight so beautiful. Or experienced anything to match what they had just shared. She was pure fire and sweet boldness, and just looking at her brought an ache to his chest.

  She kept glancing from one of them to the other, her green eyes dark with worry. “What is he saying?” she demanded in French.

  Hauk held up a hand to delay her question—just as Keldan’s gaze skipped from Avril in the blankets to the mussed bed, to her gown discarded on the floor.

  “By great Thor’s bearded goats,” he choked out, giving Hauk a curious, disbelieving look. “Have I—”

  “Interrupted a most pleasant morning, ja. But never mind that now. What happened after you and Josette returned to your vaningshus?”

  “I fell asleep,” he confessed. “I was so accursedly tired, I fell asleep—”

  “What is he saying?” Avril repeated.

  “Mayhap she left me.” Keldan sank into a chair, holding his head in both hands. “I may have frightened her in the meadow yesterday. It may have been too soon for her. Mayhap she is hiding from me. If only I—”

  “What has happened to Josette?” Avril all but shouted.

  Hauk turned toward her and translated what Keldan had told him.

  Her expression troubled, she shook her head. “She has not left him. Not of her own will.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because she... we had... I had...” She stopped herself, then whispered an oath and said the rest all at once, her gaze on the floor. “We had an escape plan. I was going to take your ship and lead the other captives in an escape, except that all the other captives decided they did not wish to escape—”

  “My ship?” Hauk stared at her, stunned and angry. “And who told you where to find my ship? The same person who helped you try to escape last night?”

  “It is not important now! What I am trying to tell you is that Josette did not want to leave. No matter how I tried to reason with her, she would not come with me. She...” Avril glanced at Keldan. “She refused to leave him. I think she is in love with him.”

  Hauk took a deep breath before he turned to translate that quietly for Keldan—who came out of his chair with a start, looking even more agitated and fearful. “If that is true, then Thorolf must have taken her.”

  “But you said she was safely in your vaningshus last night when you fell asleep. Why would she have left?”

  “I d
o not know. It makes no sense. Unless... she looked worried after you spoke with her at the celebration. After you asked her where Avril had gone.”

  “Ja, and she told me that Avril had probably come back here.” He turned to Avril, shifting to French. “Was Josette to help with your escape last night?”

  “Nay, she did not know that I meant to escape last night.” Eyes widening, Avril sank down on the edge of the mattress. “But she had pledged to help me,” she said unsteadily. “And she felt so guilty for not coming with me, she may have come looking for me—”

  “And run into Thorolf instead.”

  Avril looked stricken. “It is my fault! God’s blood, would he hurt her? Would he—”

  “I do not know.” Hauk kept his back to Keldan, did not want to translate what they were saying.

  “Hauk, we have to find her!” Avril rose from the bed, her fingers white on the blankets clutched around her shoulders. “Where would he—” She gasped. “His boat. Hauk, it was Thorolf’s boat I took last night!”

  “What?” Hauk exclaimed in disbelief. “What would Thorolf be doing with—”

  “What is it?” Keldan demanded,

  Avril rushed on. “The boat was his, loaded with supplies. I threw them over the side and took it.” She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. “God’s breath, if only I had told you everything last night—”

  “That does not matter now.” Hauk clenched his jaw, glancing worriedly at Keldan and trying to think of what in the name of Loki’s black heart Thorolf was planning. “If Thorolf intends to take Josette and leave Asgard—”

  “And his ship is in pieces washing up on shore,” Avril said hollowly. “Where would he get another?”

  “Mine. He would take mine.” Hauk was already moving, hunting for his weapons and traveling pack. “It is the only ship left on Asgard, unless he has another I do not know about.”

  “Hauk, we have to stop him! We cannot let him—”