Stolen Fruits: The Complete Collection (A Historical Viking Erotic Romance Novella)

by Ashley Spector

  “I will be in the morning, I’m sure,” I said, giggling. “But for right now, I can’t even think of being in pain.” Brynjulf chuckled again. He pulled his cock all the way out of my body and stroked it a few times, quickly getting hard again. My eyes widened at how quickly he was aroused again. “You are resilient,” I said in amazement. Brynjulf kissed me again and thrust into me quickly. I moaned out at the pleasure of his cock filling me completely.

  “All Vikings must learn to rearm quickly,” he replied, moving his hips. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him deeply, muffling the sounds of my pleasure in our kiss.

  I gradually became accustomed to my new role as Brynjulf’s wife, learning more of the Viking language over the weeks following the wedding. My duties as a Viking wife turned out to be not very different from what they would have been otherwise; I was responsible for managing Brynjulf’s home and hearth, ensuring that everything was running smoothly. At night, Brynjulf pulled me into his arms and taught me about the stories of his people, the fierce poetry of battles and fire and clans and the gods they worshipped. I discovered that my husband was learned, that he could recite all of the laws and myths of his people. He told me that his own father had had a distaste for taking women against their will; that was where he had discovered his own conviction in giving pleasure as much as he took it. “It is so much better to feel you coming underneath me,” he had murmured in my ear, even as he thrust into me. “To know you’re hot and ready for me, my little Hilda.”

  There was disquiet in the village; some of Brynjulf’s men began to blame me for the fact that he held them out of raiding trips, telling them that it was senseless with the condition of the seas. They were restless in the autumn storms, though even their fearless captains could attest to the fact that they were as likely to end up in the wilds as they were to land somewhere with people to raid and slaves to take. “Don’t worry, my little one,” he told me as we prepared for bed. “They’ll settle into the winter and then come spring they’ll be ready to go out again.” He sighed.

  The old woman taught me massage and I used it to pay my own kind of lustful worship to my husband, using some of my precious rose oil and kneading the tension from his shoulders. I was an obedient, proper wife, taking care of my husband’s lands and people. I couldn’t bring myself to cuff or beat the slaves; I was used to paid service, to servants who were almost family. When one of the slaves made a mistake, I scolded, but didn’t raise my hand. Brynjulf was no more interested in having too heavy a hand with the slaves either—and never had been. He confided in me that he had found that cowed slaves were as apt to drop their tools when he walked past as accomplish their work well. “I prefer my food without dirt,” he said.

  After one particularly long day, I went into Brynjulf’s sleeping quarters to find him already in bed, stripped down for sleep. He was still awake, and smiled at my entrance. “Poor tired wife,” he said, sitting up and letting the furs fall to his legs. I took in the sight of his bare chest, the suggestion of his hips and what lay in wait for me with my mouth almost watering. I remembered the way Brynjulf had of teasing me to higher and higher arousal, kissing my pussy and tasting my clit until I cried out and moaned for his cock. He had made me so desirous of him that I hadn’t even bled on the night of our first bedding; when I had expressed my fear to him that his village would think that I hadn’t come to him as a maid, he had laughed and took up a knife, cutting his hand and dripping blood where I would have lain. I gaped at his lack of concern for injuring himself and he had laughed again. “My little wife,” he had purred, kissing me quickly, “I will have no one questioning our marriage. I knew you wouldn’t bleed, even though you were a virgin—as delightfully wet as you were, there was no break.”

  “I am very tired, my husband,” I said, letting a note of teasing creep into my voice. I had lost my fear of my husband after his passionate, gentle treatment on our wedding night, and he had only made himself more and more dear to me in the time since then. “I beg you; please let me sleep this night.” He laughed, reaching out to me and pulling me into the bed with him. He quickly stripped me out of my dress, exposing me to his hungry gaze. He was already hard, his cock pressing into me as he crushed my body into his. I loved the feeling of Brynjulf’s cock inside of me, filling me up with his heat and his come. I knew well enough that part of my duty as his wife was to provide him with heirs. It was still early days, my course was not due, but I had already begun to worry—what if I was barren? Would Brynjulf stay with me if I could not provide him with children?

  “You are a liar, little wife,” Brynjulf told me, his hand cupping my pussy and his fingers beginning to quickly probe and stroke me. “You’re already wet for me.” I laughed, kissing my husband’s lips and tasting the flavor of mead and spices that clung to his tongue. “Touch me, too,” he murmured, and I eagerly reached out to wrap my hand around his stiff cock and begin stroking it. Brynjulf moaned as I tightened my grip, rubbing my thumb over the head and spreading the slick fluids there all over his shaft. I gasped as Brynjulf’s fingers slipped deeper inside of me, his free arm wrapping around me to cradle my body close to his. I could feel the sweat starting to form on my body, mingling with his, and smiled lazily, kissing him all over as I stroked him. I might be cold in the wintry wastes of his land, but in bed with Brynjulf was as good as standing next to a roaring blaze.

  He pushed my hand off of him suddenly, and I made a little disappointed face. Brynjulf laughed. “If I had let you keep up with your witch’s hands, you’d have finished me off before I could really enjoy you,” he told me, nuzzling into my neck. He kissed and nipped at my sensitive skin, making me writhe on his fingers and moan out loud in pleasure. I could feel my lust rising, my need for him.

  “Husband,” I managed to murmur, lost in the sensation of his hands and his mouth. “I want to taste you,” I said, feeling shy suddenly. Brynjulf answered me with a wide smile and withdrew his fingers, licking them clean.

  “By all means,” he said, “I would never deny my fearsome little wife any pleasure.” I giggled, climbing down his body to find his cock. I looked up at him and licked my lips, feeling daring and incredibly aroused.

  “Oh no, my husband,” I whispered, taking him in hand and stroking him a few more times. “I am not concerned with my pleasure, but yours.” I giggled again. “I am an obedient wife, after all.” Brynjulf laughed, the sound becoming a moan as I took him into my mouth, closing my eyes to focus on the sharp taste of him. I licked at his head, sucking on his shaft slowly as I moved my mouth downward along his length. I found to my surprise that I enjoyed having him in my mouth, as his hand went to my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. I had been disturbed but intrigued when one of the women who served me—little more than a girl, from another village that had been raided—told me about this way of pleasing a man. I sucked on Brynjulf as if he were candy; he wasn’t as sweet, but the flavor of him was strangely wonderful as he coated my mouth with his precum. I moaned with him in my mouth, looking up at him and playing with my breasts, trailing my hand down to my pussy.

  Brynjulf shuddered, closing his eyes and leaning back among the pillows at the head of the bed, his fingers working through my hair slowly as I moved my lips up and down his shaft, running my tongue all over him. I found he was so large that I could not take all of his cock, though I tried until my throat rebelled, threatening to make me choke. I backed off slightly and wrapped my fingers around the base of his dick, rubbing slowly up and down to mirror my mouth. His sharp-tasting precum came faster and faster, filling my mouth with the taste of him even as I thrilled at the feel of his velvety flesh between my lips. I moved faster, sucking harder and licking him as well as I could, and let out a little moan when his fingers tightened in my hair, pulling close to my scalp. It hurt but it also, somehow, felt good—to know that I was giving him pleasure; that I was giving him the same feelings he had given me. Brynjulf moaned loud and long, and I felt his cock twitching in my mouth just before
he reached orgasm. He shot into my mouth, sending wave after wave of his cum past my lips as he thrust into my mouth almost mindlessly, forcing me to pay attention to what I was doing to avoid his cock touching the top of my throat again.

  Brynjulf shuddered, relaxing bonelessly against the bed as he caught his breath. I smiled to myself, swallowing the last of his cum and crawling along his long, muscled body to his arms. I wondered if he was going to fall asleep, but after several moments, his hands began to wander over me, finding my breasts and teasing my nipples. His bright blue eyes opened and he grinned, rolling my nipples between his fingers and sending sharp waves of pleasure through me, straight to my pussy, making me even wetter. “Oh, husband,” I moaned, arching into his touch. “Did I please you well?” Brynjulf laughed, pulling me around so that I came to rest straddling his hips.

  “Silly little wife,” he whispered, kissing me on the lips. We had gotten into the habit of this little game of “obedient wife” after a few nights of our marriage, when I had started to become comfortable in his presence. We had begun teaching each other our languages, and it made Brynjulf laugh to hear me speaking to him in the obsequious words of a good Viking wife. He comforted my loneliness by learning more of my language and speaking it to me when we were alone together, though he could not be seen by the community to be so kindly to a foreign wife. He brought one of my breasts up to his mouth and claimed my nipple, making me cry out with pleasure as he sucked and licked it, letting his teeth just graze me. “I don’t believe I shall ever need a concubine,” he told me, murmuring into my skin as he switched from one breast to another. “It’s all I can do to keep up with your desire.” He looked up from by breasts with his brilliant blue eyes and smiled, taking my other nipple. I was moaning aloud, rocking my hips into his like a whore. I wanted his cock inside of me again. Even the pleasure of his mouth was nothing to that.

  I felt Brynjulf beginning to get hard again after a few moments, and began rubbing up against him, letting him feel how wet and ready I was. “Mm, Hilda,” he purred, letting his hands fall to my hips. He adjusted me on top of him and I could feel his cock, completely hard in a matter of moments, pressing against my pussy. He reached down and took himself in hand, teasing me with the head of his cock by rubbing me all over slowly until it was torture. He guided himself right up against my slit and pushed down on my hips as he thrust up, filling me in a quick movement. I was panting, and Brynjulf sat up, holding me close as he began to push deeper and deeper into me. “Ride me,” he told me, kissing me hungrily. “Like a good Viking wife.” I smiled and began to move my hips, riding him almost as I would a horse, unable to help myself as I cried out and moaned in pleasure with each of his thrusts.

  I could feel the strain in my thighs as I held myself up, balancing with my hands on his shoulders. Brynjulf held me so that I could balance, watching as my breasts moved, shaking and trembling as I rode him. He began to nuzzle my neck, kissing and nipping at every sensitive spot he could find, driving me even deeper into lust.

  “Oh, Oh Brynjulf,” I gasped, rocking my hips back and forth as I rode him. He crushed my body against his and our limbs slipped and slid, sweat glistening on us both. Brynjulf’s hands moved all over me, teasing and caressing, until he slipped one down between the two of us, finding my clit and rubbing it in little circles. I nearly screamed from the jolts of pleasure racing through me at his touch, at the feeling of his hot, hard cock pounding up into me. I let my head fall back to my shoulders, my whole body shaking as I neared orgasm. Brynjulf’s fingers rubbed up against my clit more quickly; I was panting, and in moments I was crying out, almost sobbing from the pleasure of the incredible climax that rocked through my body.

  Just as I finished, I felt Brynjulf’s cock twitching inside of me as he began thrusting faster and faster into me. His whole body tensed and he moaned out my name, climaxing again and filling me up with his cum as I collapsed against his strong, hard body, resting my head against his shoulder. Brynjulf brushed his lips over my face as he caught his breath, kissing me from my temples to my nose to my mouth. “My delicious little wife,” he murmured, holding me close and letting his hands roam all over me. I smiled, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep with his cock still inside of me.

  Chapter Four

  I could hear the shouting, the arguing from the kitchen area, where I was supervising the preparation of a feast. Brynjulf had told me not to worry, but for weeks now, his men, his community, had been restless. My first course since our marriage had passed, and I sometimes smiled to myself, thinking of how we had passed it. The Viking people did not put women aside during the end of their monthly cycle, and Brynjulf had been gentle with me, playing with my breasts and kissing me. “I am not afraid of a little blood,” he had whispered in his ear, his fingers playing with my pussy. I was disappointed that I was not yet pregnant—and a little worried—but Brynjulf had smiled when I had confessed that I was afraid; what if I was barren? He had kissed me. “You aren’t barren, little wife,” he told me, moving inside of me slowly and holding me close. “It just isn’t your time to be a mother yet. And anyway, if you do turn out to be barren, we’ll think of something. I’m not giving this up.”

  I tried to focus on my duties but the bitter argument drew me in. I only caught snippets of it, but it was enough to chill me to the bone. “The foreigner has made you weak” I heard, along with, “That highborn whore distracts you from your work, Jarl.” The bickering had been going on ever since Brynjulf had decided to cease raiding for a few months. The men wanted to accumulate wealth and the prestige of owning many servants—they didn’t want to be told to wait.

  “We’ve raided enough for the season—there is nothing in the near countries left to take,” my husband said calmly, but he was drowned out by shouts and objections to his appraisal. The feasts he had hosted since our marriage and the counsels rarely ended without some of the men coming to blows. Brynjulf tried to allay my fears in bed at night, but these men—they weren’t reasonable. I could feel the tension mounting as more time passed without a voyage going out.

  “I think it’s time for another Jarl,” said one of the men, drowning out the others by dint of his booming voice. “Einar brought back riches from his last raid, and even brought the Jarl a bride. Why shouldn’t he be elevated?” I shuddered. Einar I had few problems with, but the man who was speaking now, a gloomy, one-eyed man they called Alraic, scared me to my bones.

  “I am in no hurry to become a Jarl,” Einar said, his voice oddly measured. “I owe allegiance to Brynjulf; he saved me in a raid when we were younger. He has also proved wise. If he says that there is little to be gained from raiding right now, I believe we should wait until there are greater riches.” Some men shouted agreements, but an alarming number of them drowned out the support with calls to expel Brynjulf from the village, along with his whore—me—and I was shaking even as I picked up a skin of mead.

  When the servants entered the front hall with food, some of the talking died away as men grabbed for their meat and mead. I handed the wineskin I held to one of the slaves and sat down next to the cooking fire, trying to get warm even as I shivered with fear. It wasn’t going right, no matter what my husband said; there were men who wanted his position, who wanted him out of the village. Even the men that weren’t ambitious wanted to raid and pillage for greater riches of their own. I knew some of the loud men who were calling my husband weak—they were young men, whose reputations weren’t established and who hadn’t had as many opportunities to accumulate wealth.

  We were lying in each other’s arms, sweat still shining on our limbs as we caught our breath. Brynjulf had soothed me again, telling me that as soon as the winter storms set in, nobody would argue about raiding. “I’ve fought this fight a number of times before,” he told me, kissing a path down my body to my pussy. “They’ll settle in for the storms and be ready and willing to go from their wives when spring comes.” I chuckled, moaning as he reached my sex and began kissing and licki
ng me.

  “Will you be ready and willing to leave me?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair. Brynjulf pulled back, flashing a bright smile up at me.

  “I am Jarl, I do not leave often.”

  I was beginning to doze when I heard the commotion. From the front of the hall, I heard shouts and the sound of weapons and armor clashing. “What is it?” I asked Brynjulf. The voices were those of men, calling out for the Jarl to face justice.

  “Some of the men of the village,” Brynjulf said, looking startled—but not scared. He got out of the bed and began pulling his clothes on.

  “What are they doing here?” He glanced at me and gave me a half-smile, reaching out to tousle my hair.

  “That depends on how many of them there are. Be brave, my fearsome little wife, I may have to fight to keep you.” I was confused by this; what did he mean? He took in my confusion and licked his lips, grabbing his sword from next to the bed. “There is an old tradition that wives are sometimes taken by the men of the Jarl on their wedding night. Particularly foreign wives, who are not born into our world. I refused to let the bedding be public, and I refused to let any of the other men have you after I had taken your maidenhead. Some of the men have been suggesting that you are not properly my wife but just my concubine." I felt the blood rush into my face as my heart leapt into my throat. The idea of all of Brynjulf’s men taking me was too much to bear. “Don’t worry, little wife, I won’t let them have you.”