by Koko Brown
“You are a fast learner,” he breathed against her neck. Reese shivered. Even his breath caused her senses to riot. “Before the night is through, you will be a scholar.”
He moved in for another kiss, which she met eagerly with parted lips. A natural-born marauder,
his tongue marched in like a battering ram, thoroughly defeating her resistance and stealing her common sense. Not just his mouth, but every placement of his hands and body seemed methodical—-to drive her out her mind with lust, so all she could think about was fucking.
Not one to indulge in casual sex or sleeping with a man so soon, Reese was almost frightened
by her raw response to him. She couldn’t seem to get enough of his big, hard body. With an urgency she’d never known, her hands glided over him, absorbing his heat, his energy. She grabbed his shoulders and held on tight, holding him still as she met him with an equal passion.
Her breathing was harsh to her own ears and her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage. Yet despite her need for oxygen, she cried out in protest when he tore his lips from hers once again and sat back on his haunches. Hating the distance he’d created, she reached for him. He caught both of her wrists and held them.
“It is time for the second part of your lesson.” His voice was deep and guttural, with a distinct rasp that made her want to spread her legs even wider.
“What do they call you?”
Embarrassed, Reese’s face exploded with heat. She was about to give up him goods, and he didn’t even know her name.
Just call me slut. “I’m ReeseReese Johnson and you?” A southern girl through and through, it only seemed right to ask his name as well even though she already had it imprinted on her brain.
“Eirik Sigurdsson, the son of Sigurd ‘The Fierce’,” he reciprocated with a proud expansion of his chest.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Without thinking, Reese held out her hand. This time he didn’t reciprocate, and a frown marred the space between his arrogantly slashed brows.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you give me your hand?”
“Where I come from, it’s a sign of greeting.”
“Nothing more?” He asked warily.
“Nothing more.”
Still hesitant, he placed his hand in hers, engulfing it and making her pulse leap. Reese inhaled shakily. His touch was electric, sending a charge up her arm and making her ache all over.
“I’m very pleased to meet you as well, Reese.” He smiled and it transformed his features, softening them, making him appear much younger than she first assumed. Dazzled, Reese couldn’t find the will to look away. She’d never seen hair that blond, bordering on white. The stark absence of color contrasted beautifully with his tanned skin and amazing blue eyes.
Riveted, Reese wondered what the long strands felt like. Her hand must have given an involuntary squeeze because he glanced down at it and then back at her. Reese sucked in a deep breath. His gaze was like free-falling off a cliff. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she lost her equilibrium to the point she felt lightheaded and had to use her free hand for support.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why couldn’t she shake this inexplicable pull, this instinctual urge
to have him inside her?
Loki! His mischief could be the only reason for this restless, sexual energy. Her hormones had
never been so out of control. If he could hurtle her back in time, surely he could heighten her attraction to a man she’d just met. Awash with guilt, Reese pulled her hand from his and tucked it in her lap.
“About that second lesson...” she prompted.
“Ah yes, the second lesson.” He reached out and ran his finger over her shoulder and down her arm, causing an involuntary shiver. “Whenever we are in my bedchamber, you will help me to undress.”
Reese’s gaze drifted downward to the snug, suede trouser held up by contrasting rawhide laces. She eyed the sizable bulge threatening to split the supple material and she unconsciously licked her lips. She hadn’t known what she’d done until she heard him chuckle.
“Patience. That is a lesson for another day.” Eirik moved to his knees, placing said bulge at eye level. Hands behind his back, he swiveled his hips.
His antics were corny, but Reese couldn’t deny her excitement. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears and her mouth could give the Sahara desert a run for its money. Hot and bothered, she clawed at the laces. She rolled the waistband over his narrow hips, and his scent assailed her. She breathed him in and became slightly intoxicated. Before she toppled over she paused to steady herself.
“What is wrong?” he asked, cupping her face.
Raw and somewhat vulnerable, Reese rubbed her cheek in his hand. “You drive me crazy.” She peered up at him to gauge his reaction and was met with another frown. They spoke the same language, but the semantics were obviously miles apart.
“Is that a good thing? To be crazy about me.”
“To be crazy about someone is to be wild about them, hot for them.”
He tunneled his hands into her braids and pulled her to her knees. “You are in heat for me?”
“Burning up.” Hoping the third lesson involved sex, Reese rolled his pants over his rock, hard ass and muscular thighs.
“Neither fickle nor coy. I’ve never met a wench quite like you.” He leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and a shudder jogged down her spine. “You have no problem baring your body to me,” he said, while raining kisses along her throat and then her jaw. “And you are free with your feelings. You are a prize beyond compare.”
Eirik gathered her in his arms and kissed her with such a ferocity, she sagged into him. Skin to skin, his cock pressed into her belly, burning her like hot, throbbing steel. Unable to resist, Reese rubbed against him, circled her hips and he grew exponentially, reaching past her belly button.
Reese glanced down and was gifted with her first good glimpse of his full erection. She should have expected him to be large, he practically towered over her. Still, his sheer size gave her pause.
“He drives you crazy, no?” He took his thick cock in hand and stroked it from root to tip, and she gasped as the size surged.
“Just the opposite,” she countered. She broke out of his embrace and put some distance between them.
“Shhhh, tiny Hamarr,” he cooed, taking his cock in hand. “Our beautiful prize does not mean what she says. She is scared of you now, but she will want you day and night.”
Reese ignored the humorous exchange between him and his dick. There was nothing funny about a ten-inch cock. “You can crack as many jokes as you want, buddy, but I don’t thin—!”
He moved so fast, she didn’t know what hit her. Blinking up at the wooding beams overhead, Reese lay flat on her back, legs wide open and draped over his shoulders.
“Hmm, this is strange...but very nice.” He laid his open palm against her sex and a breathless cry escaped her lips. “I like how you’ve shorn your woman hairs. It makes this so much easier.”
Holy Thor! She had no idea they did this back in the day. Reese moaned as he feathered hot kisses
down her slit, only pausing when he reached the crack of her ass.
He licked her clit, the wetness cool for the briefest moment until he clasped his lips around the aching bud. Just like his kisses, his mouth invaded her, subdued her, broke her down and made her his.
He was devouring her, eating her alive like a wild animal. And she whimpered in his hold like some female mating out of instinct. There was no conscious thought, no intellect, no free will, only lust and desire.
“Please,” she begged, the flood of emotions infusing her system, causing her to quiver helplessly, and spew incoherent ramblings about the delicious tenacity of his tongue. She clawed at his shoulders, tugged at his hair shameless in her need for him, hungry for all his lessons and more.
“Is this lesson three?” she breathed, rocking her hips upward, to the thrusts of his insistent tong
ue.
His head lifted and he gazed at her with stormy blue eyes. Seeing him crouched between her thighs was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. “This is only a precursor of what is to come.”
Like his cock. No virgin, Reese knew exactly the consequences of this lesson. He was simply getting her so hot for him, she’d take every hard inch of him.
He dived in again, latching onto her clit and drawing her into his mouth. He was...good! Reese tried to maintain a valiant front, but she knew she was down for the count when her legs started to shake.
Her world now spinning out of control, she grabbed onto a healthy shock of his hair and held on tight. She tensed when one of his fingers touched the rim of her ass. Used to vanilla sex, no one had ever touched her there. The sensation was exquisite.
“You are so responsive!” he flicked her clit and Reese’s breathing hitched. “Do you want all of
me?”
Despite her reservations, she whispered, “yes.”
“Will you moan for me or scream at the top of your lungs when I plunder your hot channel?”
Reese answered him with the former as two long fingers slid inside her. He teased her clit and
thrust in tandem.
In and out...in and out until a ball of indescribable pressure coiled in her belly. Her stomach muscles tightened, and her clit jumped spasmodically.
“I’m going to co—”
“Eirikkkkkk!”
The war cry kicked the bottom out of Reese’s orgasm.
“Eirikkkkkk!”
“He. Would. Not. Dare!” Eirik released her, dropping her hips back onto the bedding. He rolled off the bed, pants already in his hand. Mumbling angrily, he shoved his legs into the garment then laced them closed.
“What’s going on?” she asked in alarm. “Are we under attack?”
His head came up, a smile playing on his lips. He walked over to the bed, grabbed her by the back of the neck, and pulled her toward him, crushing her lips with his own.
Death could be on the other side of his chamber door, but her desire for him kicked back in as if on autopilot. While their tongues dueled, her hands crept over his bare chest and around his muscular neck.
He pulled away from her and she reached for him. Chuckling at her response, he placated her by nibbling at her lips. “You must do something for me.”
“Anything.” How could she refuse him anything when his mouth wreaked havoc on her common sense?
“Promise to pray to your gods for me.”
Frightened, she pulled away from him. “Why should I pray for you?”
“Bjarni stands on the other side of that door. And if I am right, he is calling for a holmgang. If I lose, you will have a new protector.”
* * * * *
Eirik leaned against one of several support beams that ran the entire length of his chieftain’s hall. He took great pride in his home because he’d personally chosen each of the eighteen-foot oak beams for their sturdiness and had driven all sixteen into the soil himself. With the help of his men, he’d built the hall in less than six months in preparation for his marriage to Oona Sigurðardóttir, one of the most coveted maidens in all of Rigerike.
Eirik gritted his teeth in anger.
He’d been such a fool to think a woman as beautiful as Oona, with her hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes the color of wild heather, would want a bastard who'd fought for everything he owned. He should have known a fool’s welcome awaited him when he went to collect her, and been enlightened by her father that she’d caught the eye of a wealthy nobleman of proper birth and married him.
From that day forward, he’d never allowed his guard to slip with another woman again. For the right price, their hearts would easily swing to another.
“Why are you in such a sulk, Bjarni? You’re ruining my fine wooden floors with your virulent pacing.” Eirik had never seen his childhood friend in such a state of angst except before battle.
Bjarni stopped his pacing, did an abrupt about-face, and stalked up to him. Taller than most men, including Eirik, Bjarni always performed this tactic as a means of intimidation. Considering they’d known each other for more than twenty-five summers, it didn’t have the same effect.
Sensing this, Bjarni hesitated before he spoke. Both knew the better warrior, despite the half-a-head difference in height.
“I want the woman, Eirik. If you do not give her back to me, then ready yourself for holmgang.”
Eirik remained his cool. Inside, his life’s essence pounded through his veins, preparing him for battle. “But you refused.”
“I did not!” Bjarni countered. “You did not give me a chance to accept or refuse before you kidnapped her and took her to your private chambers. Do you know how you made me look in front of my men?”
So, this was all about how he looked in front of his men? Eirik straightened to his full height. “You had ample time to answer my challenge before I carried her back to my hall, Bjarni. If this is about your reputation, I don’t give a fuck. But if you want the woman, choose your weapon.”
“B-but we must observe at least a three-day waiting period!” Bjarni protested.
“Nay, I have already tasted her and am eager to bed her. So I will not wait three days to do so. We either do this now or never.”
A myriad of emotions crossed Bjarni’s face as he warred with himself. And then...he raised his chin stubbornly.
“There is no turning back. You issued the holmgang and I accept.”
Chapter Six
Eirik dispatched several servants to prepare the dueling area. As they scurried off to do his bidding, he led Bjarni out of the hall to the training field, located directly behind the keep.
“Here’s your sword and shield.” Eirik accepted the weapons Thoren held out to him. “I’ll hold the other two shields in ready for you, but I don’t think you will need them. Bjarni knows he’s bitten off more than he can chew. He’ll be flat on his arse before you lose a shield.” Eirik grunted, but didn’t refute his brother’s vote of confidence.
Several thralls bustled about, staking a piece of ox hide, fifteen feet long on either side, to the ground. A series of three lines, each a foot apart, were drawn around the exterior of the hide, followed by four hazel posts, which were driven into the ground to mark the outermost border.
Once this was completed, Eirik stepped onto the hide to address the crowd, which —upon seeing him —ceased their excited chattering. “The challenged shall strike first, followed by the challenger, and then each in turn. The holmgang is over with the first draw of blood, or if one of us steps outside the boundary. We each are allowed three shields and one weapon. To the winner goes the spoils. Do you accept the conditions, Bjarni Torkensson?”
A sliver of fear passed over Bjarni's face, before it was quickly blanketed.
Eirik chuckled to himself. Bjarni had a reason to fear him since, for several summers following Oona’s betrayal, he had lived the life of a berserker, wandering wherever his boat took him —looting, plundering, and killing indiscriminately. His last voyage had led him into Germanic lands where he’d come into possession of a mine that produced precious stones. The discovery had proved so fruitful he’d hadn’t gone a-viking in three seasons.
Finally, Bjarni nodded his head in agreement.
“Good, then let the holmgang begin!”
A deafening roar erupted from the spectators, startling a flock of roosting seagulls. Eirik shut out the ruckus as he waited for Bjarni to advance. After a moment’s hesitation, his adversary finally stepped onto the ox hide.
Eirik gripped the hilt of his sword, bracing himself for the first blow.
Despite his earlier hesitation, Bjarni quickly closed the distance between them. Erik was somewhat taken aback by his full on assault. For a seasoned warrior he engaged carefully, which allowed him to read his opponent’s first move.
Perplexed by Bjarni’s strategy, yet maintaining his composure, Eirik lifted his right arm to shield himself from
his opponent’s sword. At the point of contact, he pivoted to his left, so as not to take on the full brunt of Bjarni’s downward thrust. As he stumbled past him, Eirik used the flat edge of his sword to swat his friend’s buttocks.
“You’re playing with me!” Bjarni roared, swinging around to face him. His even features were now blotchy and red.
“We have to at least make this entertaining! Plus, I haven’t enjoyed a holmgang in three summers, and I want to savor it.”
With a battle cry reminiscent of a wounded bear, Bjarni advanced on him. This time Eirik’s opponent kept his sword low and close to his body. When they were only a couple of feet from each other, Bjarni feinted to the right. Thinking he was going to strike his right flank, Eirik over-corrected himself as Bjarni suddenly pivoted and lunged forward, aiming to gut him.
Caught by surprise, Eirik staggered backward as he parried Bjarni’s thrust with his sword, but it became entangled and then twisted out of his grip by the momentum of the other’s counterstrike.
Eirik watched his only weapon spiral through the air to land outside the boundary of the ring. Yet, despite his predicament, he shook his head at Thoren, who had moved to pick up his sword. The rules allowed for three shields’ defense; they did not allow for more than one sword. The rules had been declared at the beginning —there could be no deviation.
“Play is for children, Eirik the Fair,” Bjarni crowed with satisfaction, temporarily giving up his guard.
That proved to be his folly.
Eirik slipped his forearm from his shield straps. He grasped the solid wood by both hands, twisted his body around, and smashed the converted weapon into the other man’s jaw.
Eirik almost took pity on Bjarni as he staggered back in surprise and stepped off the ox hide, stopping just short of the first drawn line. When he finally righted himself, he touched his hand to his jaw, his dark eyes boring into Eirik’s. For several moments, they stared at each other, and then he threw his sword and shield aside in disgust.
