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

by Ashley Spector

  Finally, I came, shuddering all over with the force of the pleasure that ripped through me after such a long time without. Brynjulf lapped at me until I finally finished, panting and gasping for breath, my whole body almost boneless from the orgasm he had given me. My husband pulled away then, licking his lips clean of any trace of my fluids, and he cradled me in his arms as I trembled, recovering. “I’m not through with you yet, lover,” he murmured into my hair, and he pushed my hand down to his hard cock, reminding me of my duty. I stroked him with shaky hands, gradually building up my control, tightening my grip as I caught my breath.

  Brynjulf’s hips began to move as he became more and more aroused, and with my cheek pressed to his chest I both felt and heard him moaning in pleasure. Just as he came close to climax, he pushed my hand away again, laying back on the bed and pulling me onto him. “I want to feel you, little wife,” he told me, moving me around on top of him until I straddled his hips. I could feel his hard cock rubbing against my wet pussy, soaking wet from the pleasure he had given me, and I had to concede that I was just as needy to feel him inside of me as he was to have me. I reached down and lined him up with my slit before slowly sinking down onto him, moaning out as he filled me up.

  “Oh, husband,” I whispered, arching my back and twisting my hips slightly as I took him in, feeling every inch of his hot, thick cock. I began to ride him slowly, moving my hips and feeling my breasts begin to shake. Brynjulf reached up and cupped my breasts, his thumbs rubbing my nipples as I rocked my body, tingles of pleasure working through me as Brynjulf’s cock pushed deeper and deeper into me.

  “My beautiful wife,” Brynjulf replied, sitting up and beginning to thrust his hips, one of his hands falling to my waist and holding me tightly as we moved together. I was nearly delirious with desire and sensation, running my fingers through my husband’s hair. Brynjulf pulled my face close and kissed me deeply, thrusting deeper and deeper into my pussy. After months of not feeling his cock, I cried out at the heat and thickness of Brynjulf inside of me, filling me and brushing up against my tight walls. It was both like and unlike our first night together, I was so unused to him.

  “Oh, oh husband, my love,” I moaned, riding him harder, quickly coming close to my second climax of the night as Brynjulf filled me over and over again. He slowly pressed me back until I was laying on my back, my legs wrapped around him. The change in position made his cock push even deeper inside me, and I gasped, crying out in pleasure as he found the deep spot inside of me that made my legs feel boneless.

  “Tell me how much you desired me,” Brynjulf told me, his cock pounding into me as he picked up his pace. I struggled to find words, panting and gripping my husband tightly.

  “Oh I missed this so much,” I managed to say, delighting in the friction of his body against mine. “I have wanted you so much, needed to feel you, it was driving me distracted.” Brynjulf reached down between us and his fingertips found my clit again. I almost screamed, muffling the sound against my husband’s mouth, as another climax ripped through me, my muscles tightening and releasing around his cock erratically. The orgasm kept building as Brynjulf continued to thrust into me, his hips slamming into mine, the satisfying feeling of his body tensing as he came close to his own orgasm making me tremble. I could not believe how much I had missed the sensation of my husband’s body, the feeling of his cock inside of me. No matter how tired I was, I thought, I could never deny him—or myself—this pleasure for very long. I held him tightly against me, and just as I was finished with my orgasm, Brynjulf came, filling me with wave after wave of heat as his cock twitched, releasing his come. He moaned out loud, collapsing against me as he finished, brushing his lips all over my face and neck, his hands roaming my body.

  “My beautiful little wife,” he murmured, panting to catch his breath. “I can’t wait to have you again.” He pulled away from my neck, looking at me with a bright smile and kissing me softly on the lips.

  Chapter Six

  Our life, while a little strange in some respects, was as perfect as could be expected. None of my husband’s companions fought with him, and the small settlement we had built flourished in the warm weather, with servants, wives, and concubines alike tending vegetables and foraging for the produce of the woods. The land was rich with food and even as we all feasted the summer, we were putting away the excess of our goods away for the winter that would surely come. I became acquainted with the other wives, but our households gave us too much work to become true friends. Brandt grew big and strong, nursing constantly. If I had made the marriage that my parents had intended, I would probably have given my child over to a wet nurse by now, but among the Vikings—and by my own preference—I nursed him myself, with Brynjulf insisting that I eat to keep up my strength.

  After our first night together since the baby’s birth, my husband was on me whenever he could have me, and in the privacy of our home, even in the daytime he sometimes pulled me into the bedroom, teasing me and pleasuring me until I had to muffle my cries against the pillows or his broad chest. When we weren’t hosting his companions at feast, he would sometimes secretly touch me underneath the table, starting up my desire and fanning the flames with teasing little touches until we could be alone together in our bed. I knew from what little I could gather from my fellow wives that not all of the men were such ardent lovers; I had been fortunate to seal my fate with a man who proved to be as wise and knowledgeable as he was assertive and masculine—a man who genuinely enjoyed my moans of pleasure, who loved to hear me orgasm like the most shameless whore as he touched me.

  One night, as we were dozing in bed after another intense orgasm together, Brynjulf told me that one of the other men had noticed some haggard ruffians deep in the woods while hunting. “I want to make sure that you’re still able to wield that sword you took,” he told me, running his fingers through my hair slowly. “I wasn’t aware that this area had any people, but it’s not far from a place where we used to raid. It’s possible that some villagers made their way slowly, living in the woods.”

  The thought of intruders chilled me. And when Brynjulf called for me to practice using the sword I’d brought to our marriage, some of the other men laughed, but my husband said that he would rather have a Valkyrie than a fainting matron for his wife. I had learned a little about using a sword when I was young, before my brothers had been of an age to learn manly skills and I was still my father’s undisputed favorite, but the style of sword that the Vikings used was much heavier than what I had been used to. I practiced daily, setting aside a little time for my husband to instruct me in between the ongoing efforts at loom and hearth and garden. He praised me, promising me pleasures in bed in heated whispers—and I was rewarded at night for my growing expertise with orgasm after orgasm.

  For weeks there was no sign of the roughly-garbed people that had been seen in the woods before. The Viking men who had discussed the issue at length decided that the ruffians had gotten spooked and had fled the area, but Brynjulf told me privately that he would rather be ready than not. He kept training me to use the sword, and even taught some of the servants basic skills in turning their tools into weapons, though we didn’t have weapons to spare, and the handful of Viking men would have taken exception to sharing their weapons. I even learned a little bit of how to handle the immense Viking bow, though I wasn’t strong enough to be very good at it. Alder, the boy servant I met when I first came to marry Brynjulf, took to the bow and arrows well, and Brynjulf gave him his own weapons discretely. I heard my husband say to Alder, “If it comes down to it, you will do everything you can to protect my wife and my son.” Brynjulf went around carefully arming our servants, his hard-won wisdom telling him that he would prefer to be ready for a raid than assume that one would never happen. Besides—unlike the other servants, ours were not slaves. Ours were with us voluntarily, and Brynjulf had never treated them poorly. The other servants in our settlement might have killed their masters; that was the price they paid, Brynjulf told
me, for their cruelty to their vassals. Brynjulf never believed in using his power unnecessarily.

  I was waiting for my husband to come back from hunting when I heard the approach. I stood outside, Brandt in a sling cuddled close to my bosom, gathering herbs from the garden to season preserves we were making. Instead of a few ruffians, I looked up and saw an entire host of men and women, the men leading with sickles and roughly made weapons. I felt my heart leap into my throat and ran towards the door of the house, clutching Brandt tightly to me. These people were not even hiding their arrival in the slightest—they had crashed through the woods, and their faces were screwed up with rage. I found my sword and stepped back out onto the dooryard of my home.

  Just as the people arranged themselves, my husband and the other Viking men approached, laden with game from the woods. “Who are you?” my husband called out to them, quickly making his way towards his home and taking his sword out of its sheath.

  “I recognize you,” the man at the front of the column said, scowling at my husband. “You’re the leader of the raid that destroyed our village.” My husband shrugged; he had raided enough villages in his youth that there was no way for him to know the truth of falsehood of the accusation.

  “I am not in your village.” The other Vikings moved towards my husband, taking up a position to defend our settlement against the intruders. I thought that these haggard people would see that though they outnumbered us, the men were strong, armored warriors. I handed Brandt to one of the servants and stood just behind my husband.

  “We knew your men for Vikings when we encountered them in the woods. Ever since you destroyed our village and took your slaves from our people, we have wandered, trying to stay away from your kind lest you came again.” The man looked at the host of people arrayed behind him. “Let’s do to them what they did to us!” he cried out, raising a rough sword as a command.

  I scarcely had time to draw a breath before the column of people rushed forward, weapons raised, shouting and screaming defiance. I raised my sword like Brynjulf had taught me and moved to cover his side, not sparing him a glance. If these villagers were bent on revenge, I would defend my son, my friends, and my husband. Brynjulf had told me the stories of the Valkyries, the mythical females who chose among the slain warriors who would go to Valhalla and who would go to the feasting hall of Freyja. The Valkyries were unafraid of battle, followed the Vikings and wielded swords of their own. If I needed to be a Valkyrie to protect my home, I would act as one.

  The host of angry villagers descended upon us, and I swung my sword, my muscles remembering the training I received without my even thinking of what was needed. Brynjulf let out a call and the Viking men engaged the angry hoard. I heard cries and shouts, and I remembered the day of the Viking raid on my own village, the chaos that had made my heart pound with fear. Instead of fear I felt anger; why would these people not just stay away, if they disliked us? Why did they absolutely need to have their vengeance? If my own village discovered a settlement of a few Vikings, years hence, would they lead a battle against them as well?

  I could smell the blood, the dust in the air as the battle wore on. It was little more than a skirmish, but the stakes were high. I tripped over something—the body of one of the Viking men—and almost fell, catching myself at the last moment. I gasped, realizing that this was one of our friends—that he had been killed in spite of his armor. I had no armor at all on me. My heart started pounding and I felt a rush of fear work through me, ice-cold like the wind of my husband’s homeland. I pushed the feeling aside. I could not give in to fear, not while my family was at stake. I stabbed at a man who came for my husband’s blood, and felt the slick blood from his chest spray me across the face. I wiped my eyes clear and leaped aside as the man fell. I looked for my husband and found him, knocking down and killing every man who came near—even a woman who tried to attack with a scythe.

  “We have to get away,” Brynjulf told me as I came near. “Get our son from the servant and we’ll move out.” I shook my head—he was a Viking, his companions were seasoned warriors. How could it be that these worn-down former villagers, after years of living in the woods, were able to hold their own? Even if they outnumbered us? I looked around and saw, amid the chaos, the bodies of so many of my husband’s cohort. Like a spooked horse, I lurched back, almost dropping my sword in my shock.

  I saw the servant holding Brandt, surrounded by a few other servants who were wielding knives, cudgels, whatever they could to protect my son. I darted through their protective cordon and grabbed for my son, clutching him closely. “Husband!” I called out. Brynjulf dispatched another villager and spotted me. He raised his sword and let out a roar, commanding those of our settlement who remained to rush the villagers with a gesture. As they engaged the haggard people who had attacked us, my husband dodged back to where I stood and we fought our way out of the melee, making for the woods. “The servants will know what to do if they can get away,” Brynjulf told me as we ran. “We’ll come back when these have departed. We have to keep our son safe.”

  Chapter Seven

  How we got away, I will truly never know. We worked our way through the woods, wary of more villagers seeking vengeance for their destroyed homes. I nursed Brandt at the run; we could not even stop for me to sit while he fed. We found our way out of the woods eventually and Brynjulf finally let us rest, taking the opportunity to find some food for us. I was exhausted. Even though I still had my sword, I had no hope of being able to effectively use it if we were found again—not for a while. My body ached all over, and I reeked of blood and dirt. Brynjulf kissed me sweetly when he came back from his scavenging, giving me a grin. “You look like a true Viking bride now,” he murmured, smoothing my hair back from my face. “A true Valkyrie, unafraid of the battlefield. How many did you kill?” I heard myself chuckling at the question, at my husband’s boyish excitement.

  “I think four or five. I can’t remember for sure.” Brynjulf laughed out loud, embracing me with our son between our bodies.

  “Fearsome little Hilda,” he whispered, his hands roaming over me in spite of the presence of our child. “We’ll fashion our son a place to sleep, and then ourselves a travel bed.” His lips moved down to my neck, brushing against the sensitive skin there. “I think we should stay away from our home for a day or two, until those fools have taken what they think they deserve.” He scowled in the direction we’d come in.

  I entertained no illusions about my husband. He was a good man, but he was a Viking still. While he had no taste for beating slaves—or women—he had happily raided villages in his youth, leading his men in and taking what he wanted, whether it was riches, goods, or slaves. In order to become a Jarl, he had been one of the best leaders, commanding the greatest riches and taking the best spoils. He had, of course, scouted as well, finding new places for his own chieftain, but that had come later. When he had been my age, even when he had been younger, he had served his time killing villagers; he hadn’t been interested in raping women, but he told me that he had taken serving girls home to his father, to his own Jarl, and had taken his share of the spoils. His ability to give me so much pleasure was based on his practice on those women.

  Brynjulf built a rough, basket-like cradle for our son, and after nursing again, I laid Brandt down, settling to work on the food my husband had found. We didn’t have any cooking vessels of course, but we were able to roast some roots we found, along with a fowl that Brynjulf brought down. As I tended the fire and cooked the food, my husband was arranging boughs from the nearby trees, softening the branches with leaves and throwing his cloak over the whole.

  There was no mead, of course, but it still felt like a feast when Brynjulf and I tore into the roots and the fowl, eating our fill quickly and washing it down with water. When my stomach was full, I started to wonder about our settlement. Had anyone survived? Was the angry mob gone? Would we have a home to return to? I stared at the fire, warm enough in the slight chill of the approaching nigh
t. Brynjulf wrapped his arms around me and held me close, stroking my hair. “We have to keep our son safe,” my husband said to me. He glanced back toward the woods. “If when we go back tomorrow, the villagers are still there, we will see what it is they want from me. But I want to keep you and Brandt safe, no matter the cost.” I looked up at my husband’s face. He was dirty, bloody from the fight, but he still looked so desirable to me that I let my hands wander over him. There was still some of the fear and anger in my veins, tired as I was, and I found that suddenly, with my belly full and my son safe, I wanted nothing more than to lie with my husband and let him have me. Brynjulf grinned down at me. “I’ve made you a Viking wife after all,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss my forehead and brushing his lips down to mine. “Only a true Viking wife would be so desirous after fighting.” His hands began to roam over my body, caressing me through my clothes, and I leaned into his touches, my pulse racing, feeling my desire for him down into my bones. I almost wanted to defy him, to make him spank me again as he had the night we had come back together as man and wife, when I had healed. I wanted the sensation of him taking me, body and soul.