Her focus on him never wavered. She tilted her head and gave him a slight nod. “The sirens have a collection of dildos in their pleasure chambers. I had ne’er seen such afore.” Color suffused her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She rolled her eyes. “The sirens laughed so hard they cried, when I plucked one from a pile and informed them that all their hammers were bent.”
Konáll chuckled. “We must tell Dráddør of your bent hammers. ’Twill irk him to no end.”
Her forehead creased. “I understand this not. Do not shame me by telling your brother of my ignorance.”
“Ah, wife, not ignorance—innocence. The Jomsvikings call Dráddør, Hefnd Hamarr. ’Tis Norse for Vengeance Hammer. Dráddør is famed for wielding only a hammer in battle.”
A wide grin spread across her face. “He will be most chagrined, methinks. Though I only spoke with him briefly and have not spent much time in his company, I am convinced your brother has much conceit of both his hammers.”
“Once again, wife, you have the right of it.” He twirled one of her short tresses around his forefinger. “Odin has indeed favored me. I have taken to wife a woman of not only beauty but one with a quick wit.”
“Handfast wife,” she whispered, dropped her focus to the middle of his throat, and tried to wriggle out from under him.
Loathe to leave the heat of her puss, he caught her chin and forced eye contact. “Why does the handfast wife gain naught?”
She averted her gaze. “Because she is no longer a maid and can be cast aside.”
“You are mine. I will not cast you aside.” He flexed inside her, and she glanced to him.
Her lips trembled, and she shook her head. “I will not hold you to those words.”
Why did she hold herself in such low esteem? She was a puzzle, his wife. In one moment a proud warrior princess, in another ashamed and uncert. He would woo her, court her, let her see he valued more than her lands. For when she had cried like a babe in his arms, something had moved in his heart, and he had known then, she was his.
But ’twas not the time for pondering, this eve he intended to cleave her to him, to form a bond to tie them together forever more. This eve he would put a babe inside her.
Konáll lowered to his elbows, kissed her full on the mouth, and licked the seam of her lips. “You wrung me dry, mìlseachd. And now, I, too, am famished.”
Repressing a sigh, he withdrew from her warmth, rolled over, and stood. “Move not a muscle.”
Her hands once again covered her breasts. Konáll stifled the urge to worship her pretty tits and suckle the pouty nipples until she begged mercy. He walked over to the fire, retrieved a basin half-filled with warm water from the stone put there for such a purpose, and picked up two cloths. Grelod had assured him earlier that he would find all at ready for after the consummation. He needs thank her in the morn.
Turning around, he found Nyssa staring at him, eyes wide, one lip tugged between two teeth, and head angled to one side. She had drawn the linen over her torso. Rosy color suffused the skin left exposed. Lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings, she ducked her chin.
What a strange mixture of shyness and boldness. She had not hesitated in exploring his cock, but his nudity now bothered her. Konáll’s lips twitched. In time she would lose her insecurity and strut for him wearing not a stitch of clothing.
He knelt at the pallet and plucked the linen from her body. Her brows gathered, and she hissed. “I am cold.”
“And sticky with my seed.” He wrung the cloth he’d dipped in the water and draped the smooth linen over her pubes. Working quickly he cleansed her pale curls and soft, swollen folds. “Your puss is beauty incarnate. Ne’er have I seen such lemon-kissed curls and rosy lips.”
“I have heard traders speak of lemons, but they say they are golden like the sun.” A deep blush stole o’er every inch of her flesh, including her belly and thighs. “My hair there… ’Tis not gold.”
Her sweet shyness and deep curiosity clutched at his heart. “Lemons are prevalent in the east and along the coasts where we Vikings trade. They are egg-shaped but twice as large and have a color akin to pale daffodil. When my friend and ally, the trader Ali H’malik, visits us later in the year, I will bid him bring us the fruit and a small tree for us to plant.”
“You have seen so many lands and have such a wealth of knowledge. Pray tell, what do lemons taste like?” The expression of yearning in her wide eyes hitched his breathing. He vowed to take his wife a-Viking, to shower her with lemons, oranges, and all the exotic fruits he had tasted.
“Sour and tart.” He pursed his lips and trailed a finger through her pubic curls. “Whilst your woman’s fleece is the same hue as a lemon, your taste is of clover honey and spice.”
Nyssa’s loud gasp made him peek at her.
“Taste?” Eyes wider than an owl’s, brows scraping her hair, mouth turned down, she looked horrified.
“Aye. Has Mús told you of the coming war ’tween the Vanir and Æsir?”
She shook her head. “What has that to do with my taste?”
Konáll could not help it, he chortled.
Her color deepened. “Nay. I did not say that aloud.”
“You did, mìlseachd—”
“Why call you me, mìlseachd?” She had forgotten about her lack of clothing, Konáll realized.
“’Twas the first thing I thought when I saw you. That you were a delicate light in the dark of the cave.” He handed her the linen square and sidled onto the pallet.
She glanced at the damp cloth and then to him.
“Your turn.” He waved at his flaccid, sticky cock.
Her lips thinned, but she dabbed at his sex. Ignoring his thickening organ, he reiterated Mús’s tale of the threatening war between the two sets of gods.
“Will you stop jerking? I cannot clean it if it twitches and changes size constantly.” She pursed her mouth and glared at him.
Konáll laughed until his sides ached. “My cock is well pleased at your compliments.”
“Complimen—”
He hauled her into his embrace and kissed her lustily. She stiffened, but when he lapped at her pressed lips, she sighed and opened for him. E’en her mouth tasted of clover honey and spice. The heat of her, the sweetness, went to his head. What started as a quick kiss lengthened into a thorough exploration. He discovered she melted into his chest when he tickled the roof of her mouth, that she mewled when he tangled their tongues, and that her nails dug into his ribs if he nipped her bottom lip.
“Lord Konáll.” The deep male voice came from the far end of the tent.
She dragged her mouth from his and looked over her shoulder. “Who calls?”
He flicked her chin. “’Tis the platter from the feast.”
“Oh.” She reached for the sheet.
He stayed her hand and called out, “Leave it there and depart. My thanks.”
Konáll rose, made his way to the tent’s entrance, and opened the flap enough to gather the tray. The wrapped platter was still warm and mouth-watering aromas wafted to his nose. He turned around to find her sitting up and sniffing.
“Venison.” Nyssa’s eyes lit up, and she licked her lips. “I have had naught but cockles and seaweed since escaping from the sirens. How I have longed for meat.”
“Would that you reacted to my cock the way you do to venison,” Konáll declared as his ever hopeful pecker engorged. He carried the platter to the pallet and sat. “However, though I am starved for more of your sweet puss, the food is warm, and my stomach, empty. Come, handfast wife, sit on my lap, and let us both feast.”
She rolled her eyes. “’Tis not necessary for me to be in your lap to eat.”
“’Tis an absolute necessity if you want a morsel of this hot and tasty venison.”
For a long moment their stares met. Then she said, “I vow you are e’en more of a trial than Mús.”
When he had her arranged sideways across his thighs, the sheet draped to warm her back, Konáll relaxed against the tent pole. “Feed us, while I tell you more of Mús’s tale.”
“I did not believe any other than me could speak with Mús. Have the others seen him?”
“Nay. He wants none to know of his presence or his relationship to you. He bid me refer to him only as Mús or cat. And though he told me much on our journey here, he would not answer all my questions.”
She shrugged. “Mús has always been one to guard his secrets. He was fostered with Da’s brother and we saw him little over the years. When I sent a messenger to tell him Da and Mama had vanished, he came with Godspeed to Castle Caerleah. But Ánáton had already claimed Da’s high seat.”
“Mús arrived without escort?”
She unwrapped the towels covering the food and picked up one of the eating knives next to two large plates. “Aye. He said his men would follow. But on the same day he arrived, so did King Kenneth’s messenger with orders for me to set out immediately to the sirens. We left the following morn. What did Mús tell you?”
“Four seasons ago, Aegir learned of Rán’s tryst with your Da and of your birth.”
She popped a chunk of venison into his mouth and studied him while he chewed. “A little o’er two seasons ago, my Da and Mama vanished on their way home from King Kenneth’s court.”
“Four seasons ago, the birthmark you inherited from Rán appeared on your breast.” Konáll pushed the fabric away and traced the tiny serpent on the underside of her mound.
She flinched. “’Tis not part of the curse?”
“Nay. One who fostered at your keep knew of the mark.”
“I do not understand, Konáll. How could any know of it, if I had ne’er seen it afore four seasons ago?” She stabbed a piece of meat and offered it to him.
“Nay. Your turn.” He guided the knife to her mouth. “All females born of Rán bear the mark. Rán knew Aegir would be enraged and vengeful if he knew of you, so she cast a spell to make the mark invisible to all mortals. Eldar the Learned, who fostered with your Da, was born of an elfish mother. He saw the mark.”
“None of this makes sense.” She carved another slice and wiggled it in a puddle of thick gravy. “But I do recall Eldar. Albeit he was called Eldar the Eager when he fostered here. He taught me how to swim.”
“He spoke of you being more fish than girl in the water.” He flashed her a grin. “Did you not wonder how I knew of the mark?”
“All know of it now. After Da and Mama vanished, King Kenneth made Ánáton and Maura, my aunt and uncle, my new guardians. Maura discovered the serpent. She told Ánáton of it, and he and the new priest decided ’twas the mark of Satan.” Her voice wavered.
He covered her hand with his. “Look to me, wife. ’Tis enticing, your erotic snake. And proves your half-immortal lineage. I am proud of it. And so should you be.”
She shook her head. “I want only to be like other females. Instead I am tall and ungainly and bear a serpent on my breast.”
“Nay. You are slender and delicate and mine. I would have no other. Will have no other.” He brushed his lips to her temple. “Tell me of your uncle and aunt.”
“They would have allowed the priest to burn me at the stake. Instead they waved a joyful farewell when Mús and I left for the sirens.” She sliced a chunk of meat, cupped her hand under the dripping venison, and brought the morsel to his mouth.
He slurped the succulent chunk, chewed, and examined her strained expression. “Eldar the Learned’s holding is located in the same fjord as my brother’s. Four seasons ago, when King Harald and King Kenneth arranged our marriage, I spoke with him about you. ’Twas when he told me of the mark.”
She dropped the knife and held his gaze. “Two seasons ago, when Ciárrán and I journeyed to the sirens, a Saracen captain invaded our ship and took me prisoner. He intended to sell me at the slave markets in Miklagard. A storm arose, the ship capsized, and I washed ashore on the siren’s isle. ’Twas the last time I saw my half brother as a man.”
“I cannot believe a chance storm saved you from slavery and another chance storm brought me to you.” He outlined her mouth with his thumb.
She shivered. “Too much happenstance. What evil plagues us?”
He framed her face. “I know not, Nyssa, but I will allow none to hurt what is mine. We cannot afford any to foster mistrust ’tween us. I know not your reasons for this handfasting, but I vow to you on my honor, you are my wife and I will ne’er cast you aside. Will you give me back this vow?”
Her lips trembled. She pressed a fist to her mouth, and her eyes brimmed. She shook her head.
A band tightened around his chest, he dropped his hands, and searched for the words to persuade her to his side.
“You will not want me as a true wife.” She spoke to the space between their torsos. “I am tall and ungainly. I have no womanly curves. Until four seasons ago, I had not even these meager titties, and I have seen eight and ten summers. ’Tis true what Monette says, I should have been born a warrior and not a woman.”
Rage bubbled through his veins setting his blood to boiling. He cupped her cheeks. “To me wife.”
Tears coursed down her cheeks wetting his fingers. “You are bewitching and beautiful beyond comparison. Ne’er have I seen a woman find her pleasure with such passion and abandon. Aye, you are slim, but strong, and I have no use for jugs of breasts. Yours are perfection, small, firm, with rosy nipples and after this night—you will ne’er doubt what you are in my eyes.”
He tore the sheet away, laid her down on the pallet, and cupped her breasts. “Perfection. Rounded, firm, with nipples that beg for a hearty suckling. You are beautiful, Nyssa.”
She blinked, long lashes now dampened to a deep brown. “I cannot be beautiful. My hair is shorn.”
“Mìlseachd, mìlseachd. You are more beautiful with shorn locks than any woman with tresses to her knees.”
“Grelod’s hair reaches well past her knees.”
“Stubborn woman. Worry not of the length of your hair, Nyssa. Worry that you will have the strength to stand after my loving of you this eve.”
Chapter Six
A night of loving?
Could Konáll really think her beautiful?
A tiny bud of hope sprouted deep in Nyssa’s chest. Mayhap the rest of the curse, too, could be broken.
Konáll had moved the pallet to the middle of the tent and surrounded the soft linen-covered straw mattress with a mixture of candles and oil lamps. He had also stoked the fire in the rock pit near the entrance to a low blaze. Whilst he did all this, she surreptitiously covered herself with the sheet and concentrated on quieting her pounding heart.
Why could she not recall him taking her maidenhood?
The fire, the candles, and the lamps chased any hint of chill from the tent. ’Twas warm and the air seemed to grow heavy and dense with each breath she took. Nyssa glanced up when she no longer heard him moving around.
He stood above her, a warrior in all his glory. The sun had kissed every part of him. E’en his cock’s foreskin glowed in bronzed magnificence. And ’twas of a size to frighten the most stalwart, experienced siren, yet it scared her not. Nay. In truth, the thick rod jutting from his groin fascinated her.
All of him transfixed her, the heavy testicles, the Saracen’s ring embedded in his flesh, his broad shoulders, the runes etched around one bicep, the dark gold curls nestling his enormous erection. Aye, she liked the power of him, the massive muscles of his thighs, but ’twas his pecker, his stones, and that ring that had her mesmerized. Why had he called the ring his weakness?
When he had been in his nigh death trance, she had had to force herself not to touch him, not to learn his body with her hands. Had she known of the Saracen’s ring, her resolve would have shattered.
“What e’er your thoughts are right now, cleave to them, Nyssa. For you are eyeing me the way you did the venison earlier.” He knelt down, tugged the sheet she clasped away, and stayed her protests with a hand. “Nay. First I will have your vow.”
The tiny bud of hope shriveled and sadness weighted her tongue. She could not speak, could not give him back his words.
“Can you not give me your trust?”
That she could and would do. “I trust you, Konáll. I vow to you on my honor, you are my hand—nay—my husband, and that I will ne’er have another.” She held her breath.
Three lines formed between his brows. He blew out a long sigh and the telltale sign of his frustration, the slight quivering of his nostrils, told her he was not satisfied with her response. “’Twill do, mìlseachd. For this eve, but I will have the all of you. Soon.”
Nyssa hooded her eyes afraid he would see the despair in them. For she knew without any doubt he would cast her aside mayhap sooner than a year and a day. Her glance fell on the serpent curled around the pink areola of her right breast, and she shrank into the straw and yearned for the sheet.
“’Tis enticing beyond all reason.” He traced the length of the serpent. “On the morrow ’twill drive my lust to new heights because I will know what it tastes like, smells like, whether the brown color of it deepens after suckling.”
She squished her thighs together hoping to alleviate the burn that had started at her core.
He licked the tip of her nipple.
“Konáll.” She could not choke back his name.
“Nyssa.” He trailed his tongue around the pearled bud and then blew a hot breath on the wet point.
She overheated and could not draw in enough air to fill her lungs.
“Clasp your hands around the tent pole,” he ordered, rested his chin between her breasts, and stared at her.
Her jaw dropped, and she looked back at the branch supporting the middle of the tent. “Why?”
“I will have another promise from you.”
Truly, the blow had addled his brains. She rose onto her elbows.
Resting both palms on her breasts, he pressed her back down. “Ask me what vow I would have of you.”
She crossed her eyes. “Methinks Mús has ne’er been a trial after all. Viking, you are infuriating. So be it. What vow would you have of me?”
“Repeat after me.” He captured her wrists. “I, Nyssa, do hereby swear that I will not remove my hands from this pole until so instructed by my forever husband.”
“You are mad and maddening.” He raised her hands above her head.
“Say the vow.” He feathered his finger under her arm. “Mús tells me you are sore ticklish nigh everywhere.”
She giggled. “Nay. Do not tickle me.”
“Say the words.” He skipped his fingers up and down and around.
Nyssa laughed aloud, flexed her feet, and squirmed. “Aye. Aye. I, Nyssa, do swear that I will not remove my hands from this pole.”
He grinned, set her hands to the smooth wood, and reached for her other armpit. “Finish.”
“Until so instructed by my husband.” She glared at him and nigh shouted the words.
“Forever husband.” He skimmed her arm.
“Forever husband.”
“I thank you for your trust, wife. Now. Where do I begin?” He inserted himself between her thighs and sat back on his haunches. His cock bobbed at her, the shiny reddened crown poking out from the foreskin. A drop of moisture sprouted from the slit in the tip. She licked her lips. What did
he
taste like?
“You will send me to Valhalla, woman. Another time, you will learn my taste. This eve, you are mine to feast upon.”
She had spoken her thoughts? Nyssa winced and shuttered her eyes in humiliation.
“Be you afraid, mìlseachd?”
She blinked and found him so close their noses bumped. His breath smelled of the cinnamon from the mead he’d drunk earlier. The blue of his eyes had deepened to that of a fathomless lock, but a glimmer of gold showed near the dark circles. He appeared to be waiting and with a start she remembered his question.
“I fear naught, Viking. I am but curious as to why you want me in such a position. ’Tis not as if you were not moments afore inside me hard and heavy and stretching me to bursting.” She lifted her chin.
“Glad I am to hear that you have no fear. I give you my word, Nyssa, this eve I will do only what you desire.”
All the tales she had heard of Vikings spoke of warriors who lived by their word. And naught that he had done or said since she healed him proved otherwise. Nyssa blew out a long breath and gave him a tiny nod. “I thank you.”
“On my oath, you will thank me for all the pleasure I bring you this eve many, many times.” He winked at her, settled between her legs, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath.
Nyssa cringed, enthralled and appalled. His nose near brushed her folds. What did she smell like down
there
?
“’Tis more intoxicating than the fiery spirit the Scots brew. You smell of clover honey and heat and woman. My stones stand ready when I fill my nose with your essence.”
Nay, she had spoken her thoughts again. Nyssa snapped her teeth together and vowed not another wayward word would erupt from her mouth.
He buried his face in her folds.
She gasped.
Blue-black eyes stared at her above her curls. He looked like a pagan god about to devour her in sacrifice. ’Twas delicious and thrilling—the intimacy of the moment, of his position, had her entranced. Her sheath contracted and dampness coated her folds. Nyssa yelped when his tongue rimmed her center. “Konáll.”
“Nyssa.” He lifted his head. His face glistened with her juices.
A fierce blush scalded her cheeks. Yet the sight of him licking his lips between her legs aroused her to the point of explosion. He must have read her excitement for he grinned, set his fingers to her nub, and pinched. Pleasure and pain racked her from nipple to puss, she clasped the pole so hard a splinter dug into her thumb.
“Methinks you like this.” He rolled the sensitive flesh between his fingers, pried the hood guarding her pleasure back, and tickled her.
The feather light touch drove her mad. She lifted her hips in a silent plea for more. Their gazes met for a moment and the eroticism of his position had her sex fisting and relaxing. She bit her lips and prayed for strength. For she wanted naught but to hold him fast to her, grab the back of his head, and press his face into her, beg him to lick harder.
He set his mouth to her core and thrust his tongue into her channel. He suckled her juices, inserted a finger, and then moved to her nub. She held onto the tent pole as if ’twere her only refuge in a life-ending storm.
She cried out when he added another finger and ground his thumb in a circular motion over her woman’s bud. Every pore on her body erupted and a thin sheen of sweat coated her flesh. She was slick and wet and wanting everywhere.
Her nipples alternated ’tween burning and itching. She yearned for him to pinch her there, to lick and bite the taut peaks.
“Aye. Aye,” he growled and crawled up to cover her. He took her mouth and rolled her nipples between his fingers.
’Twas exquisite but not enough. “More. I beg you. More.”
“Aye.
Meiri
.
Hvatvetna.
More. Everything.” He suckled her nipple, his teeth grazed the tips, and he bit down lightly.
Her inner walls convulsed, and she shattered, shuddering through a series of explosive contractions. Unable to draw a breath, unable to do aught but cling to the pole and feel. Feel his mouth drawing hard on her breast, feel his magikal fingers plucking one nipple, feel his pecker riding back and forth over her nub. When the climax subsided, she lay limp and spent, her chest heaving.
He kissed her, his mouth hot and moist. She tasted herself on his tongue, tangy and sharp. ’Twas arousing, the sinfulness, the decadence of such an act, his lips on her folds, his tongue inside her channel, and to her surprise, the sensual excitement began to build again.
When he sipped at her lower lip, she groaned and licked the seam of his mouth. He caught the tip of her tongue between his teeth and the slight pinch was akin to flint to tinder. She explored him, tracing the shape of his mouth, marveling at the contrast ’tween the scratchy stubble of his slight beard and the soft satin of his lips.
She wriggled her hips and his cock slipped and slid o’er her folds. Moaning when his erection pressed on the sensitive nub, she arched and ground against him. Her sex throbbed and pulsed, the inner walls squeezing and releasing in a constant erotic barrage. Desire had her in its hold. Want, longing, the reaching for that sweet release became her sole purpose in life.
His magik hands slipped between their bodies, and he tweaked her nipples.
The blazing need ratcheted, and she yearned for him to fill her.
When he tore his lips from hers, she yelled, “Nay.”
But then he twisted to her breast and bit her nipple. A climax hit her and the force of it bent her like a bow about to spring. She shook with the force of the spasms and cried out his name when he continued to move from one breast to the other, his hands and mouth everywhere all at once.
“Odin’s balls. I can last no longer.” He lifted her hips, set his crown to her core, and drove in so deep she knew he would break her in two, yet she welcomed the furious invasion. Finally, he had filled her, stretching her sheath, making her acutely aware of the way her walls clamped around his cock, straining to contain his girth and length.
His grip on her hips hurt, a sweet pain she endured because he plundered her like a berserker, pounding in and out of her core, and just when she thought she could ascend no higher, his cock hit a spot that caused her to fly apart.
Her walls fisted around the throbbing hard thickness inside her, and she felt the boiling hot spurt of his seed when he found his pleasure. The convulsions went on and on, but gradually lessened in intensity. A bead of sweat dripped onto her cheek, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her like a falcon tracking his prey.
“My arms ache.” For some reason ’twas important he know she could obey him, had given him her all this eve, and had ne’er loosened her grip on the tent pole.
Immediately he reached to pull them down and massaged her hands. “Ah, mìlseachd, I had only meant to keep you that way while drinking your clover honey. Forgive me, ’twas not my intent to cause you pain.”
“Such pain, I would endure o’er and o’er for the pleasure you have given me, Konáll.” She kissed the ridge of his collarbone. “I had never imagined ’twas like this. Torture and ecstasy all rolled into one.”
He nipped the side of her neck and suckled the spot hard. “’Tis ne’er like this.”
She turned to face him. “Truly?”
“Aye. I have ne’er lost control afore. Are you sore? ’Twas a wild ride at the end.” He caught her jaw, and she read the concern in his eyes.
“I am not sore, Konáll. And wanton though I may be, I liked the wild ride.” Warmth threaded up her throat and cheeks, she ducked her chin, embarrassed by her blurted honesty.
His cock twitched inside her, and her walls reacted with a mighty clench.
“Cease woman. My cock is baseless and will be tempted into another pounding if you tease.” He flicked her cheek and their gazes met. “Methinks, my pecker believes the mere fact you exist is a tease. Look to me, mìlseachd. I like you wanton. There is naught more arousing than your passionate abandon when you reach your pleasure. ’Tis a sight to behold.”
Mischief danced within her. She studied him and then squeezed, her inner walls tight, hard, and fast.
He eyed her from under half-closed lids. “Siren. ’Tis some torture taught you by them?”
“Nay. Forsooth, they ignored me for the most part. Though, they did instruct me on all the woman and man parts and the many ways of joining and pleasuring. To be truthful, I believed all they said to be falsehoods. Until I saw the initiation.” While she had not suffered during her stay with the sirens, it had been a time of complete discomfort. For she had felt unwomanly and graceless amongst the beautiful, elegant females.
“Initiation?” He toyed with her earlobe.
“Aye. A siren must bring a man to climax first with only her hands, then her mouth, then her tongue, then her sheath.” Nyssa could scarce believe the words jumping out of her mouth. Yet it all felt so right, him inside her, them speaking of love acts—while not with ease, not blushing furiously either. If any had told her afore that she would feel relaxed while naked and filled by a warrior, she would have scoffed and rebuked them.