by James, Elle
The girl before him.
He wanted to tell her his men wouldn’t bother her, not after her father had made her a gift.
Her expression was stony, as if she didn’t understand the treaty that bound her to him. Not in marriage. That was made clear. She was not his wife, merely his chattel.
He had never owned a woman, though he had been once wed only to watch his wife die struggling to bring his son into the world.
This woman’s copper skin fascinated him. He wanted to stroke it, but something in her closed expression stopped him. She hadn’t met his gaze since her father presented her. Perhaps direct eye contact was against her people’s custom.
To test his theory, he looked around the fire. Several women met and held his gaze, some with inviting smiles that transcended the language barrier.
So the avoidance was her.
He shifted his attention to her people. He understood when she was given to him that she wasn’t highly valued, but he accepted the insult because her beauty and his curiosity overruled his good sense. In his years as a warrior, he had learned it best to let the enemy think they knew something he didn’t. But now, as he watched her with her people, he witnessed the disdain they held and worse, saw them laughing behind their hands. She didn’t acknowledge any of this, but he had had enough. Any woman associated with him would have respect.
He tried her name silently, Odina, then aloud, “Odina.”
But she didn’t respond.
He tried again, louder, his tone commanding, and several women tittered.
Reluctantly, Odina raised her gaze.
He expected to see fear, but what he saw instead was defiance. The idea that she would be defiant toward him angered him. She was his property.
He rose and reached for her. She looked at his hand for a long moment, and again, he wondered how different their customs were. Did she understand she was to take his hand? He bent to demonstrate what he wanted her to do when she placed her slim fingers in his.
She was almost as tall as he, towering over the others in her tribe. He was used to tall women—his wife had been only two fingers’ width shorter. But the way Odina slouched made him wonder if her height was one of the things for which her people rebuked her.
The village chief had shown him to his lodgings on the edge of town—a pleasant little hut with a fire pit in the center and a hole in the roof to vent the smoke, a place of honor, he understood, for the leader of the warriors. If not for Odina, Calder would have slept outside with his men in the forest with a view of their ships, which bobbed in the inlet. But he had been too long without a woman, and his curiosity about this woman was overwhelming.
Odina kept her gaze on the pile of furs, wolf, and caribou, as Calder closed the flap behind them. She stiffened as he walked behind her and ran a rough hand down her glossy hair and frustration rose in his chest. He wished he knew how to communicate with her. Was she afraid of him? Angry with the chief for making a gift of her? In love with someone else?
He turned her to him and tucked his finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. This time, he didn’t see defiance in her eyes. This time, he saw something he didn’t recognize. Not fear, exactly, not caution. He couldn’t put a name to it, adding another frustration. He hadn’t expected a language barrier within himself.
“Odina,” he said her name again, and then, wanting to hear her voice, pressed his hand to his own chest. “Calder.”
She frowned, and he smoothed away the furrows with his thumb. The gesture caught her off guard, and her lips parted, that expression he couldn’t identify disappearing.
He repeated the act. Her name then his.
“Calder,” she finally echoed.
Her voice with a rough edge that sent lust, already simmering, rolling to a heat he had trouble reining in. He touched her cheek and that lovely smooth copper skin. “Beautiful.”
The furrow reappeared, and again, he smoothed it. “Beautiful,” he said again, tracing her face with his finger, then pointing to her heart. “Beautiful. Pleasing.”
Of course, she didn’t understand. He leaned forward, his hands on her shoulders, and with his lips, followed the same path. She quivered beneath his hands, but didn’t move. When he reached the curve of her cheek, she gave a little gasp that might have been pleasure. He circled his thumbs on her shoulders, pushing aside the fur to find flesh, firm and smooth. He wanted his mouth on it, on her, everywhere. Never had he seen a woman so striking, so compelling. He wanted her naked, now, beneath him.
He wanted her to want him, as well. So he would take his time.
He removed the fur from her shoulders and tossed it in the direction of the bedding. Her shivering increased. He wanted to pull her closer, into the heat of his body, but she was too anxious. He angled his mouth over hers, let his breath wash over her lips, and touched his to hers, very lightly.
She snapped back her head, eyes wide, but he didn’t hesitate. He slid his hand through her hair, holding her still as he repeated the caress and tasted the softness of her mouth. He touched his tongue to her lower lip, and she tried to pull away again, but he held her fast. He flicked his tongue against her upper lip, and she made a funny little strangled noise. This time, she closed her fingers around his upper arms and angled a little closer, her lips parting against his.
Her acceptance sent his blood, hot and thick, to his groin, and he stopped himself from grinding his hips into hers. No, he wanted to savor her like a fine feast, savor the differences between them. He wanted her to respond, wanted to feel her go taut beneath him, wanted to feel her body clasp his as he moved inside her.
She released his arms and softly, so softly, touched his beard. She made a humming sound in her throat that he felt against his lips as she stroked her fingers over the hair on his face.
Of course. None of the men he’d seen in her village had beards.
“Wo’gwet,” she murmured.
“Beard,” he said, scrubbing his own fingers through it.
She nodded. “Beard.” She eased back a little, to look as she combed her fingers through it. Then she nodded again, and her mouth eased into what he might almost call a smile before she stroked her fingertips over his lips.
He captured her hand and kissed her fingers before moving aside her hand and bending to capture her mouth again. This time, she came in closer, her mouth parted, her tongue imitating his strokes. Her breathing was faster, heavier. Encouraged, he slid his hands down her back, stopping above the curve of her buttocks, and pulled her fully against him. He wanted to touch her skin, and the way she was squirming against him, trying to get closer, made him think she wanted that, too.
Her garment had lacings between her breasts, something he’d noticed during the meal. He reached between them now to untie them, to push the soft leather apart and off her shoulders. She held her breath, but didn’t stop him as he trailed his fingers along the line of her shoulder. She shivered, but he wasn’t sure if it was arousal or a chill, so he edged her closer to the fire as he pushed down the garment, baring firm high breasts, her nipples tight. His mouth watered, eager to take them deep, to savor the sensation of her nipple between his lips, between his teeth.
Calder was not used to denying himself, yet he found himself intrigued by his own desire to wait. His cock throbbed with need, but he took a strange delight in denying it. Instead, his fingers descended the slopes of her breasts. He captured her nipples in tandem, first dragging his callused touch across the tender flesh, which tightened further.
She gave a soft moan and her head rocked back on her neck.
He pinched her nipples lightly, and then leaned forward to kiss the curve of her shoulder, down the curve of her breast, before he bent and took her nipple into his mouth. He teased the hardened tip with his tongue, and then drew it deeper until she pressed against him, wordlessly asking for more.
He moved his mouth to her other breast, tugging harder, and she responded by threading her fingers through his hair, hol
ding him to her.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He tugged the garment down her slim hips, hearing a rend but not caring. Kneeling, he pushed away the gown and stared up at her.
She was breathtaking—all that dark skin, and curly black hair between her thighs. He could smell her arousal, and trailed his fingers up her thighs, intending to push her legs apart to get to her cunt, but she parted her legs without his urging, inviting his touch. When he stroked his fingers along her swollen lips, he found her already wet. The discovery delighted him. He slipped his fingers through the crisp hair and into her channel, one finger entering her first, then two, pumping gently.
An odd sound emerged from her throat, and then she gripped his shoulders and pushed against him, fucking his hand. Her abandon took him aback for a moment then he added his thumb, sweeping it back and forth across the bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft.
She cried out, which made him smile as her body grew wetter around his fingers, as the scent of her arousal filled the small hut.
He could no longer wait to be inside her. He withdrew his hand to untie his breeks, freeing his erection. At the same time, she knelt before him and reached for his tunic. As his cock sprang free, she pushed the fabric of his tunic up his body and patiently waited for him to raise his arms to remove it the rest of the way. Her gaze focused on his chest, and she placed both hands there, fingers spread.
As eager as he was to be inside her body, her fascination with his body intrigued him. She slid her fingers through the curling hair and folded her fingers against his chest, as though she was savoring the sensation.
“Wo’gwet,” she said again.
He frowned. He’d thought she’d meant “beard” before, but maybe her people didn’t have a word for beard, since the men didn’t grow them. “Hair,” he said, reasoning the word addressed those same qualities.
She gave him that half-smile again, this time looking up through her lashes as she trailed her fingertips over his stomach and closed her hand around his cock. He jolted at her directness then gritted his teeth to hold onto control as she explored him with her nimble fingers. He folded his hand over hers and showed her how to stroke him, up and down, which seemed to delight her, but tortured him.
Impatient now, he pushed her onto her back on the furs, and that half-smile brightened. Needing to deny himself just a moment more, he levered himself over her and kissed her mouth then her throat, and then an upthrust nipple before parting her legs and sliding deep.
She went stiff beneath him, her nails digging into his upper arms, but he was beyond reason. Her cunt was tight and hot around him, and it had been so long since he’d been inside a woman. He wanted nothing more than to stay inside her, to experience this pleasure forever.
But she wriggled beneath him and pushed at his chest. When he gathered enough control to focus on her, he saw real distress in her face. But by Odin, he didn’t want to leave her body. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her mouth, but she turned away her head. He rubbed his beard down the line of her throat, since she had seemed to like that before, but she continued to push at his shoulders.
Gripping her hips, holding her tightly against him, he rolled onto his back so she was over him. Her mouth was stretched tight over her teeth as she rose, her hands braced on his ribs, like she would push away. He lifted his hips into her, the rhythm harder as he dug his heels into the furs for leverage. He gripped the tops of her thighs, marveling at the differences in their skin, hers so soft and smooth, that beautiful color against his paler flesh. He fucked her, guiding her to match his rhythm, but she wasn’t as eager as she had been. Her cunt was no longer as slick with desire. Had he frightened her? Hurt her?
With his thumb, he parted her cleft and slid his touch over her soft petals. No, she was no longer slick for him, so he licked his thumb and returned it to the little nub, circling it as he pumped his hips. He watched her face as her lips parted and her eyelids drifted shut, and at last, she began to match her body’s movements to his.
Gods, she was beautiful, her long hair falling forward over her shoulders, swinging with her movements, her breasts peeking through the black strands. Her face was awash with pure pleasure—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chin angled down. She moved into his hand, rolling her hips more and more forcefully, seeking her climax.
He should have made her come before, so he could watch her face. But her frantic movements sparked the beginning of his own orgasm. Her erratic rhythm, her wet cunt, her clasping channel drove him into a frenzy. He dug his heels into the ground and thrust upward, his fingers between her legs stilling as his orgasm swept over him, pulling from the base of his spine and shooting through his extremities. He was aware, vaguely, of her swollen flesh rubbing against his hand as his seed pumped into her, aware that she didn’t climax, that her movements had moved from frantic to frustrated.
For a moment, as the energy drained away, he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. But when he slid free of her body, he sensed the tension in hers. When he tried to turn her onto her back beside him, she shoved at him again. Gone was the expression of arousal. Instead, the furrow had returned.
He pushed her with more force this time, coming over her, parting her legs with his body. She used her strong slim thighs to try to rid herself of him, but he was determined to show her pleasure.
He captured her nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over the tip, and felt some of the tension leave her legs. He hadn’t become leader of his village by being lulled into a sense of security, however, so when she pushed again, he was ready.
And he sucked harder on her nipple. Her cunt grew slick against his bare belly, but she refused to let him closer. He released her nipple and slid down her body, dragging his beard over her skin. She gasped and arched toward his mouth. He smiled his satisfaction as he continued down the length of her body, parting her legs wider, using his thumbs to open her cunt to him. He blew a soft breath over her petals, and she cried out, letting her legs fall apart, making room.
He settled her legs over his shoulders, held her nether lips open with his fingers and teased his tongue over the tender flesh. The flavor of her filled his mouth as he lapped at her, feeling her tense, but this time in a good way. She moved against him, and he flattened his tongue against her petals, letting her rub, her moans filling the hut. Easing back, he flicked his tongue against the sensitive nub until she was absolutely still.
Then she softened against him, the pearl pulsing against his tongue, her body moving in long, undulating movements. He drew the essence of her scent into him and stretched out beside her on the furs. She turned her head and grinned. He grinned back and pulled her close against his side.
*
The next morning, Odina lay in the dying light of the fire and rubbed her hand over the soft fur on the stranger’s chest. Not a stranger any longer, not the way he now knew her body, every part of it. She shivered with delight at the memory of his head between her legs, the way his light eyes, the color of the cold blue sky, glinted at her, like the wicked pleasure he’d given her was a secret they shared.
She had known a man before, had a man between her legs when she was young, and had shamed her father, which was why he now gave her to an enemy.
An enemy. That wasn’t the word for him, either.
Calder. He’d said that was his name. At least, she thought that was what he meant when he repeated the word over and over. And he’d said her name in a way that made her warm throughout.
She liked the way he looked at her, liked the way he was covered with light-colored fur that didn’t hide the scars marking him as a warrior. The fur was at once soft and scratchy against her, making her skin feel tight and tingly. Just thinking about it made her want to feel him against her again. She traced a puckered scar that ran from the top of his shoulder almost to his nipple, and he grunted but his eyes remained closed. Keeping her touch light, she followed another scar across his ribs. What kind of man survived wounds like these?
/> After he’d brought her to pleasure, he’d talked to her last night. She hadn’t understood most of what he’d said, but she understood that with his ships, he’d been to many lands. She couldn’t imagine the freedom, the adventures he’d had, though his scars proved how dangerous a life he led.
She shifted her weight, pressing her breasts to his chest, sliding her hand down the soft hair of his stomach to the coarser hair of his groin. She found him already hard, and the shift of his breathing told her he was awake and waiting.
She slid her leg along his, up over his hip, and rose over him, taking him into her in the same motion. He grunted, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she bent over him, sliding her body against his furred chest, rubbing her tender cleft against the heat of his body. She wished he would touch her as he had before.
Instead, he folded his arms behind his head and watched. The glint returned to his eyes as she moved over him, seeking a rhythm that would please them both.
When she struggled, he smiled the same smile he’d given her after he brought her to pleasure, and then sat up and looped his hands around her back, pushing up into her, until she found a way for them to move together. She hooked her hands around his neck and matched his rhythm, then took one of his hands and pushed it down her body.
He chuckled and acquiesced, just as the door to the hut swung open and two women stepped inside.
Before Odina could process what was happening, Calder had his sword—which she hadn’t even noticed—in his hand. He relaxed a little when the women addressed Odina.
“You must come now. Make breakfast,” Odina’s younger sister ordered.
As the youngest, she was always ordering. She was too indulged by their father.
Odina shook her head, tightening her hold on Calder’s shoulders.
