Mastered By the Viking King by Lily Harlem

Chapter 8

Halfdan appeared at the entrance to the Great Hall. “King Njal?”

“Aye?”

“The pass to Cativad is blocked with snow. It will be impenetrable until the thaw.”

“My mother?” A tangle of fear threaded around Tove’s heart.

“Did the Viking get through with supplies?” Njal asked quickly.

“I believe so. He left just in time. As long as an avalanche didn’t take his mortal life, all should be well.”

“All should be well,” Tove repeated, then let out a sigh.

Njal reached for her hand and squeezed. “I sent one of my best men. Gunnar is a fine warrior and hunter.”

“Hunter.”

“Aye. That will please your mother, my queen. He will hunt for her.”

Thoughts spun in Tove’s mind. “Will he stay with her? For the winter?”

Njal laughed. “Unless he chooses a cave and the company of bears and wolves. Aye, he’ll stay with her.” He paused. “I trust she is a hospitable woman?”

“Aye, of course.”

Oh, what would her mother make of a Viking warrior moving into their longhouse? For so long, she’d been without a man in her life. Would this Gunnar treat her right?

“Thank you, Halfdan,” Njal said. “That will be all.” He stepped closer to Tove. “Do not fear. The gods have planned this for your mother and Gunnar. Why else would the pass be blocked with snow?”

“Aye, I suppose you are right.”

“So, do not concern yourself.” The right side of his mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled. “Indeed, I have just the thing to take your mind off your mother and Gunnar.”

He stooped, pressing himself against her belly. The next thing Tove knew she was being lifted from her feet and draped over his shoulder. Her plaited hair fell forward, and she gasped as she gripped his fur.

“Njal! What are you…?”

“You have made me proud this morn, with your handling of Ysar, Sune, and Astrid’s situation.” He turned. “We will celebrate.”

A resounding smack landed on her ass.

“Oh!” She jolted in his grip.

Another spank landed, the sound dull through her clothes but the weight of his palm still solid.

He chuckled and strode from the center of the Great Hall toward the curtain. He flung it back, then entered their dwelling area.

She managed to look up and saw the curtain close, sealing her into Njal’s world.

Within moments, he dropped her upon the bed, the furs bouncing up to embrace her.

“Strip off your clothes,” he said, dragging at his own tunic. “I wish you naked, my queen.”

Quickly, she fiddled with the owl buckle, removing it and her new tunic. Next went her boots, pants, and undergarments.

The room was warm, the fires well lit, but still her nipples spiked, a shiver of anticipation up her spine. Sitting naked before her big, dominant king made her feel so small and feminine.

“You are beautiful,” he said, his gaze sliding down her body. “And you are mine. All mine.”

“Aye, I am.”

“I like that you have no ink.”

“You do?” She’d always wished she had decorations that honored the gods and her family.

“Aye, your skin is pale and perfect, unmarked like the first snow in a meadow. It makes me truly feel like I am the first to see beneath your clothes.”

“You are.”

He reached for a length of twine. “Lie down, arms above your head.”

Her heart rate picked up as she obeyed. Cool air washed over her underarms, and she dug her heels into the soft furs.

“Good.” He grasped her wrists, quickly wrapping the twine around them. Then he dragged them upward, harnessing them to the newel on the bedhead.

She arched her back. She was truly at his mercy now.

“I would instruct you to stay there,” he said. “But you have no choice, do you?”

She swallowed, tugging at the twine. It had been secured well. “Aye, my king. I am at your mercy.”

He scratched the dark patch of hair at the center of his chest, licking his lips. “Prepare to learn more about pleasure.”

He turned and walked to the corner of the room, past the loom.

Raising her head, she tried to see what he was doing. He was banging around, knocking and clanking earthenware together.

After a few moments, he returned to the bedside holding a flat piece of wood with handles at either end. He set it on a stool beside the bed.

“You are hungry?” she asked, the sight of the sliced apple, pears, and loganberries making her mouth water.

“Aye, and I wish to feast—on you.” He sat beside her and reached for a cube of apple. Very gently, he set it in the hollow of her throat. “Keep still.”

He added another beside it, then the next one he placed in her mouth.

She ate it, the juice spreading over her tongue and cheeks.

He reached for a slice of pear, then tipped forward and circled her right nipple with his tongue.

She drew in a quick gasp. The tingling sensation in her breast was one of tickling pleasure.

He continued to work her nipple until it was a hard point. Then he nipped it between his teeth and tugged.

“Njal?” A shard of panic went through her as a nip of pain bore down on her delicate flesh.

He bared his teeth and his eyes connected with hers.

Her breath hitched. If he wanted to, he could bite her nipple right off.

But he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and released it only to start suckling upon it, drawing it into the hot wetness of his mouth.

After a few moments, he pulled back, reaching for a slice of pear and placing it beside her nipple. He added another, and another, until the fruit formed a circle upon her breast.

“Don’t let it fall off.”

“No…” Her belly was tight, her toes curled.

He set his attention on her other nipple, treating it to the same lavish affection with his tongue and mouth. Once again, when her nipple was a hard peak, he placed a pear onto her breast.

“Here.” He fed her a slice of the pear, then took some himself.

He pinched up a berry and set it upon her sternum, repeating the action, creating a row to her navel.

She stared at his face, his hair pulled back and concentration etched over his brow.

“Now for this.” He held up a small brown jug. “To complete my feasting on you.”

She pressed her fingernails into her palms, waiting to see what would appear from the jug as he held it over her navel.

Bright red liquid dripped down onto her pale skin.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She gasped, the jiggling of her breasts making the one bit of pear slide down between them.

“Keep still,” he murmured, still tipping the jug. “There is more berry juice to come.”

He filled her navel with the juice, a trickle leaking to the right. He leaned forward and licked it away.

A thrill went through Tove. Seeing his tongue coated in the juice and his eyes closed, she knew Njal was clearly enjoying the moment. It was more than she could have ever hoped for to see him enjoy her body so.

“Njal,” she whispered. “I am yours.”

He lifted up a fraction, smiled, then pushed her thighs apart. “I know, and I wish to sup juice from the sweet lips between your legs.”

“Oh, in the name of all the gods!”

Was he going to put his tongue down there?

“Tell me this is my cunny.”

Her inner thighs quivered as the lips of her sex were exposed to his gaze.

“Say it.” He tipped juice onto her patch of hair, soaking it.

“Oh…” A cold, wet slice of pear slid down her side to the furs. “Aye, it is your cunny, my king. Yours.”

“To do with as I please.” He moved further down, giving himself a better view as he continued to soak her pubic hair with the sweet juice. “Say it.”

“To do with… as you… please.” She clenched her muscles, aware that she was damp between her legs. Not with the juice of the fruit—but with her arousal.

The fruit juice began to seep through her folds, tickling its way to her entrance.

She held her breath. It was such a gentle sensation, but under his scrutiny she found it to be as erotic as a firm touch of fingers.

She was drenched and sticky with the red juice, her belly taut, arms aching.

He tipped the last drip onto her pubic hair, then set the jug aside.

In an instant, he was between her legs, his wide shoulders pushing up against her inner thighs.

“Njal,” she gasped.

“Shh, enjoy this. It is your reward for speaking as a queen should to her people.” He dragged his beard over her inner thigh.

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. Her breaths came in short, sharp pants.

His tongue connected with her sex, sliding from her entrance up to her sweet spot.

She cried out, bowing her back and losing the rest of pears entirely. Even the cube of apple fell to the bed. What he was doing was so crude and base, but in the name of Freya, it felt so good.

He stroked and licked, exploring her folds, lapping at the juice.

Her pulse thudded in her ears, competing with the soft, wet sounds he was making.

“You are so sweet,” he murmured, his fingers winding up her inner leg.

He sought her entrance and pushed in.

This time she welcomed him, wanting the dense filling, no longer afraid. “Oh, Sire, please…”

“You will get what you need, my queen.”

He set to working her with his tongue again, concentrating on the spot that created the wild pressure within her pelvis. He used his fingers to penetrate her over and over, working her insides.

She twisted, fighting the grip of the twine. Her need was growing. It was big and powerful, and only her king could sate it.

“Oh… oh… I’m… it’s so…!”

Her desperate cries seemed to spur him on. He upped the speed in which his fingers drove within her, licking her sweet spot with renewed enthusiasm.

“Oh, for the love of all the gods in Valhalla!” She pulled hard against her bonds, the bed rattling. Unable to contain the pressure any longer, it released, spinning through her body like a web of bliss.

Her internal muscles clamped around his fingers as he beat her sweet spot with his tongue.

She wailed, a high-pitched sound that came from deep in her chest. Her body belonged to him as her climax rolled on and on.

She squeezed her legs around his body, holding him close.

The bliss had her spine juddering, bright lights flashing behind her eyelids.

Eventually, he slowed, lifting his head.

She was breathing hard as she opened her eyes and looked down.

His beard was shiny with her moisture, his eyes glistening. “I believe my queen enjoyed that.”

“Njal…” She struggled to speak. “I never… thought… that…”

“A man would want to set his mouth upon a woman?” He rose up, sliding his bare chest over hers. “A good Viking wants to please his woman, reward her for obeying him, for being wise and beautiful. You are all of those things, so you will be well rewarded with pleasure. All the pleasure I can give you, sweet wife.”

He kissed her, his lips tasting of juicy berries.

“Now.” He reached for the twine, releasing it. “You have your next lesson.”

“I do?”

What else? How much more can I possibly take?

“Sit.” He maneuvered to the side of the bed and untied her arms, gently lowering them.

She winced, her shoulders aching.

“Shh.” He kissed the ball of her right shoulder. “You will soon forget this small discomfort.”

“Aye, I know.”

He helped her to sit, then stood at the side of the bed. He indicated the lip of the bed. “On the edge. It is time for you to learn how to pleasure me with your mouth.”