Of course, he knew exactly what she needed, but there was something absolutely exhilarating about hearing the words from a woman’s lips. Few things made him harder.
“You.” She was panting now, responding to the way his fingers curled inside her pussy. “I need you, Jerrik.”
“You need me to do what?” he goaded, ensuring he immobilised her with the full weight of his stare as he posed the question.
Her pretty face erupted in a fierce blush. “Jerrik, please,” she gasped. “Do not make me say such things.”
He grinned at her desperate expression, loving the way her sex clenched around his fingers while her embarrassment swelled. “But I shall,” he insisted. “I like to hear crude things from a woman’s mouth when I claim her.”
Brigid’s lips parted, as though she was going to protest, but something about the look in his eyes seemed to silence her. Jerrik leant closer, grazing a kiss against her mouth.
“Tell me, wife.”
That was an order, and he hoped she knew it.
There was a moment of palpable silence when he thought she was going to resist and deny him, but just as he was about to admonish her, the words he longed to hear rolled from those delectable lips.
“Please,” she gasped. “Jerrik, I want you to fuck me.”
She seemed shocked at the admission, and he wondered if it was the first time she’d ever used the word. That possibility alone made him resolute. His cock had to be back inside her. Now.
19
Brigid
Jerrik’s fingers withdrew, leaving her bereft, and all the while, she stared up into his eyes. Sometimes those eyes could be so cold and demanding, but at this moment, Brigid didn’t think she’d ever seen more passion in them—not even when he’d claimed her last night.
He rolled onto his side, fisting his now swollen cock. “Onto your belly,” he instructed in a gravelly tone.
Brigid bit her lip at the command, but she didn’t hesitate, flipping herself onto her front as he’d requested. Jerrik was between her legs in a moment, his strong arms planted either side of her face while he lowered himself gently over her. Brigid’s eyes fluttered shut as his kisses found her nape.
That sensation was just too good for words.
“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered into her right ear. “And arch your back. I need your arse in the air.”
Unthinkingly, Brigid found herself obeying. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have queries about what Jerrik intended, but she had to be honest, she no longer cared. She was his wife now, and she wanted him. Let him take any part of her that he desired.
“Are you ready for me to fuck you, beautiful Brigid?”
His words seemed to vibrate in the air around her head.
“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, Jerrik. Take what’s yours.”
As the crown of his shaft nudged at her sodden entrance, she wondered how she had ever done without this intimacy in her life. How had she accepted the dull monotony of her old marriage, with its ungratifying encounters and emotional distance? It frightened her to think that if Jerrik’s convoy hadn’t stopped at their shores, then she might never have had this at all.
The sensation of her husband sliding into her pussy dissolved all other thoughts, and by God, was his intrusion deep from this angle. Another Brigid with another man at another time would have almost certainly said this was too much, too intense and rendering her far too vulnerable, but not this Brigid. Not now. Now there was only the sweet animalistic power of his possession, and she could think of nothing better. Jerrik slammed into her again, his shaft filling her until his testicles banged against the underside of her body. Brigid tried to hold her weight, pushing first to her palms and then down to her elbows, but the force behind each of his thrusts was so great that she soon ceded, ending up flat on her belly again as he took what he wanted.
What they both wanted.
Jerrik lowered his body, though he continued to carry the brunt of his significant weight. Brigid loved the proximity, her back arched severely and her arse pushed high to accept his conquering cock. He was in charge, just as he’d promised—there was no denying that—yet he seemed so close to her this way. It was almost as though there was a tenderness in each savage lunge and a comfort to each caress of his lips. They had only known one another a matter of days, and it didn’t seem possible that there could be any real attachment between them, but that was certainly how it felt to Brigid.
His thrusts shifted to short, insistent lunges, and Brigid sensed his climax was near. The way he claimed her was so divine that she didn’t think to query her own lack of climax. She had grown well used to the idea with her first husband, of course—the man had never granted her any real hedonism—but he had never made her feel this way during the act. Even though Brigid was yet to find her own crescendo on this occasion, just the sensation of being possessed this way was enough. Being this close to Jerrik was enough, and knowing he was going to gain satisfaction from her was gratifying in its own right.
He buried himself deep inside her with one hard thrust, grunting as he finally collapsed over Brigid’s body. “Thank the gods for you, little Pict,” he growled into her ear, his hips riding his wave of pleasure with jerky movements that had her gasping.
Brigid twisted her head to meet his mouth, leaning for his lips to claim a kiss for herself. Jerrik seemed stunned by her audacity but accepted her mouth, devouring it hungrily, his cock making more gentle strokes into her pussy. She was hot and practically flattened by his massive frame, yet Brigid wondered if she’d ever felt happier than that moment. Her mind was free. Bram was safe, and she had a husband again—one that cared for her and who lifted her to heights she had never even contemplated before.
Jerrik’s arms straightened again, pushing his body free of her back, and he eased from her channel.
“It seems there is no end to my passion for you, Brigid,” he said with a soft chuckle.
She rolled to her side to catch the look in his eyes, but he gestured south, encouraging her gaze to land over his still erect manhood. Brigid pulled in a shocked breath. She had always thought a man capable of only one climax at a time, and yet here was Jerrik, rock-hard after only just spilling his seed within her.
“Again?” she murmured in disbelief.
“Oh yes,” he purred, leaning down to plant a soft kiss at her shoulder. “But this time you shall ride me, wife, and I shall ensure you reach the gods again.”
Jerrik:
Some time had passed since his wife had splintered in front of his eyes, her pussy spasming wonderfully around his cock, whilst he massaged her tempting breasts with his eager palms. The soft form of Brigid sighed beside him. She was sleeping soundly, the day apparently catching up with her soon after her orgasm had subsided. Jerrik could sympathise. It had been something of an intense few hours, what with her defiance, her first spanking, and then the drama with Bram, but all in all, Jerrik was surprised at how contented he felt. He hadn’t come here looking for a wife, having committed to nothing but his jarl and his gods. It was true, he had only accepted Brigid as his wife because Brandr had commanded it, and Jerrik had been less than keen even while they’d feasted after the wedding rituals, but much had changed since then.
In fact, everything seemed changed.
Jerrik had responsibilities now, and whilst he had never sought them, he had found a peculiar satisfaction in disciplining Brigid, much greater than anything he’d ever felt when he’d spanked other women in the past. And then there had been Bram. He recalled the panic in his chest as he’d flung himself into the waves earlier, desperately searching for the boy in the salty water. Recovering Brigid’s son alive had been nothing short of momentous, the rush of triumph he’d experienced in those moments far greater than any that had washed through him during conquests.
He pulled in a deep breath at the memory, resting his palms beneath his head, blinking into the shadows of the chamber.
War was another thing that was d
ifferent now, and he snorted quietly at how his wife had even managed to change the thrill that battle had always produced in him. Yesterday’s clash had been as exhilarating as ever, but Jerrik’s head hadn’t fully been in the fight. A part of him had remained in this dwelling, watching over his new family and contemplating how to pleasure the little nymph snuggling against his chest. Jerrik smiled at the thought. It was true, the passion between them was nothing short of astonishing. He had always had an enormous sexual appetite and had rarely met a woman who was receptive to his regular demands for carnality. That was why Jerrik had taken so many lovers in the past; finding the best way to ease his fervour was by taking multiple partners—a woman in every port, Thorolf had called it. And it had suited him.
Until now.
As he gazed back to the peaceful face of Brigid, he struggled to imagine fucking another woman again. Perhaps that would change once the wave of lust he felt for her had passed, but Jerrik had reason to doubt that logic. His wife seemed to satisfy him on many more levels than those old lovers. Perhaps there was some reason to be hopeful about the sanctity of their union after all?
“Mother?”
Bram’s tiny voice floated in from the entrance, and Jerrik lifted his head to see the boy’s face peering around the door.
“Bram.” Jerrik slid from the bed, keeping his voice quiet while he found his trousers. “What troubles you?”
His eyes widened at Jerrik’s approach, as though Bram had forgotten just how big his mother’s new husband was. “I need my mother.”
“She is sleeping,” Jerrik told him in a soft tone. “It was a busy day for her, too.”
He took a deep breath, still barely even believing what he was about to say. “What has happened? Is there anything I can do?”
Bram blinked at him, his trembling evident even though the fire had all but burnt out. “I had a dream,” he murmured as Jerrik settled on his haunches in front of him. “That the waves had come to take me.”
Jerrik sighed. The boy was clearly troubled by the events of the previous day—hardly surprising when he recalled just how close Bram had come to joining the gods. “Hush now,” he told him as soothingly as he knew how. Jerrik knew nothing about children, but he was still a man with a soul, and he could imagine the anxieties of a boy who had stared his own mortality in the face. Jerrik, after all, had seen the face of death many times in his years. “There are no waves here, Bram. You’re safe.”
The boy pulled in a shaky breath, and even in the shadows created by the remaining candles, Jerrik marvelled at the way he shared his mother’s amazing bone structure. He would grow to be a handsome man in a few years.
“It was you.” Bram’s voice was full of awe. “You saved me.”
Jerrik smiled at him fondly. “Aye, little man,” he replied. “I saved you, Bram, and you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I will always be right here—ready to save you—until you are strong enough to save yourself.”
Bram swallowed, clearly absorbing Jerrik’s words, and a moment of silence fell over them. “I had thought I didn’t miss having a father,” he admitted at length. “But now I think that I might have done.”
“Not anymore,” Jerrik told him, rising to his feet to capture the boy in his strong arms.
Bram came without resistance, though a small gasp left his lips as Jerrik carried him back towards his own bedchamber.
“You have a father now,” he murmured, placing the boy gently back on his covers. “And you need never be without one again.”
The boy smiled. “Will you sing to me?” he asked, snuggling down into his furs.
“Sing?” Did the boy seriously expect him to be tuneful at this time of the night?
“Aye,” Bram murmured. “It is how my mother helps me to go to sleep.”
“Oh, is it now?” Jerrik replied, making a mental note to speak to his wife about her bedtime techniques. “Well, I’m not so sure I can help you there.”
“Please,” whimpered Bram. “If you sing to me, I swear not to disturb you and Mother again.”
Jerrik laughed. “Are you bargaining with me, boy?” he quipped, and to his amusement, Bram nodded proudly.
“Well then, I shall do my best,” he agreed, settling down next to Bram’s bed.
It seemed like an age since he had thought of such simple notions, but if truth be told, Jerrik enjoyed singing and telling stories as much as the next Viking, and this was the perfect opportunity to pass some of those traditions to his new son.
“Close your eyes then,” he told Bram softly. “Let my words lull you into the sweetest of dreams.”
Epilogue
Brigid wandered toward the shore, the weight of her emotions waking her before the dawn. Inhaling the cool air, she pulled her shawl tighter while she took in the breath-taking sunrise. Almost nine summers had passed since Jerrik had swept into her life like a storm sent from God, and in that time, much had changed. Bram had grown into a fine young man under the watchful eye of his new father, and Brigid’s heart swelled with pride at the thought of their son. And Bram was their son now—he was every inch as much Jerrik’s as he was hers—there was no doubt about that.
For her part, Brigid had settled into married life. Jerrik was a good husband. He provided for her and Bram, he kept her warm during the long, cold evenings and over the years, she thought they might even have grown to share a real affection for each other. Yet Jerrik was a stark contrast to her first husband. In those early days Brigid had assumed her initial introduction to discipline over his knee had been a one-off—a display of Jerrik’s masculinity—his way of reinforcing his expectations to the wide-eyed Pict he’d been given. She’d had no way of knowing that this was the way Jerrik intended to manage their marriage. That he would rule not only her heart, but her household, and all of the ramifications that entailed. Jerrik was in command. He set the rules, and whilst he listened to the things his wife had to say, ultimately, he would correct any misdemeanours he deemed she had made.
She blushed as that concept resonated, a tingle of anticipation running up the length of her spine as she admired the waves rushing to the shore. Over the years, Brigid had both despised and relished the way he’d tanned her backside. She found pleasure in the act, and yet she never failed to be humbled by his giant palm. And yet, there was no denying Brigid missed his attention when she was denied it, and recently, it had been some weeks since Jerrik last spanked her.
“There you are!”
Brigid turned at the sound of Jerrik’s voice on the sea breeze and found him strolling in her direction.
“I awoke to find my wife gone and with no word of explanation.” His brow furrowed. “Do you need a turn over my lap again, little Pict?”
Brigid caught her lip between her teeth at his thinly veiled threat. In all the years since Jerrik and the other north men had landed here, Jerrik had continued to call Brigid by that awful name, and these days the way he said it almost conveyed endearment.
“Forgive me.” She closed the remaining distance between them and pushed herself up against his enormous frame. “I just needed some time to think and I thought I could take in the fresh ocean air before you both woke.”
Jerrik arched a brow at her, the gesture eliciting the usual response at the apex of Brigid’s thighs. “You are still fretting about our son?”
She smiled at Jerrik’s choice of words, happy that he also so clearly saw Bram as his own and yet weary with the reality of his appraisal of the situation. “Yes, husband,” she concurred, craning her neck to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I know you think there is no reason to concern myself, and yet I cannot help the way I feel.”
He shook his head with a smile. “Little Pict, you are most vexing.”
Jerrik pulled Brigid into a hard embrace. “After all of the reassurance I have offered on this point, still you struggle with it.”
Her brows knitted at his response. “I am sorry, Jerrik.”
He laughed, a hearty sound that warmed he
r heart. “Do not be,” he assured her. “For there is no offence. I just wish I could go some way to comfort you on this point. Bram is a man now, and it is right that he has his own adventure. It is for the best.”
The hot tears Brigid had fought to contain since she woke burned in her eyes. In her heart, she knew her husband was right. It was Bram’s time to leave the village and make a life of his own. Several of his friends had already done so, and she knew it troubled him to be left behind, yet when Jerrik had suggested Bram set sail for Jerrik’s Viking homelands, Brigid’s hopes had plummeted. Settling down roots in a neighbouring village was one thing, but a journey to another land—where likely she would never set eyes on her son again—was quite another. The prospect opened a gaping wound in Brigid that she feared would never be filled.
“I know.” The emotion was clear to hear in her voice. “I know it is, yet the destination seems so far away and Bram’s fate so uncertain.”
Jerrik chuckled. “Bram shall be fine, little Pict. Better than fine actually. He’ll flourish in the north.”
Brigid blinked away tears. “But what if he does not enjoy it there?” she countered, rising to her tiptoes to make her plea. “Bram has never been to your homeland before, Jerrik. He will know no-one. He will not survive.”
“Brigid.” Jerrik’s voice was stern and she gasped at the sound of it. “Stop this. You are only going to distress yourself, and for no good reason.”
His arm tightened at her middle. “It is true Bram has never visited my homelands before, but not that he is ill-prepared or uncertain. He has grown up understanding the ways of my people. He has learned the stories and the rituals and he speaks our tongue as well as any native I have known. Plus my kin shall be there to greet him. I sent word of his plans with the last ship. They will not disappoint me.”
Brigid swallowed down the points Jerrik made, lowering her face into his chest. Jerrik was right. Bram was well accustomed to both his father’s culture and language, yet still, it was such a wrench to think about him setting sail later that day. Brigid had dedicated herself to Bram’s well-being for so many years, how would she cope without her son? What would her life be now, with only her Viking husband to entertain her?
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