To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) (18 page)

The pressure of his hot hand could make a woman forget her name. Her shoulder blades scraped the wall from the need to rock into him. Did he feel wetness gathering in her hidden folds?

“If I’m
Sif
, you’re hard as rock,” she teased, cupping him back.

He braced a hand on the wall again, the tendons cording his forearm. Shaggy black curls fell around his neck. Brandr’s head dipped and the dimple in his cheek appeared.

The big, bad bahadur was clay in her hands.

Brandr stared at the freckles between her breasts, the muscles in his jawline twitching. The gold and silver of all the Viking kingdoms couldn’t buy this moment. Brandr’s simple touches, light kisses, his smoldering stare.

Let men conquer for shiny pieces of metal. Women seized the better treasure.

Her hand slid deeper between his legs, finding his balls. Air hissed through his open mouth. The more she kneaded him, the harder his stomach muscles knotted. Brandr’s arms and chest tensed hard enough to shake.  

This had to be the beast she met in the shelter. Hungry. Desperate. Rough.

His head swooped between her breasts and he licked a freckle on her cleavage. Brandr kissed the spot, sucking and muffling words about tasting her freckles. The growling moans on her breastbone shot liquid heat inside her, down her navel, past her abdomen to the fragile lips between her legs.

Big, calloused hands clasped her breasts, squeezing her nipples, rolling dark pink flesh. Mouth open, his brow darkened. The pliant nipples fascinated him.

“Come.” Her hand hooked inside his waistband.

“What?” Brandr glared at her, his mind snared in lust-filled fog. The indent etched deeper over his nose.

Leading him by the waistband, she took him to the edge of the bed. The fire cast its molten glow across the sleeping fur. Darkness pitched all around the longhouse save where they stood. Shadows flickered across his jaw and a wicked smile spread.

Tiny flames burned in Brandr’s silvery eyes. “I’m forgetting the finer points of seduction with you.”

She loosened his trousers’ leather ties. The backs of her hand bumped his flat belly, and two fine rows of taut muscle tensed above Brandr’s navel. Orange light contrasted with the deep purple bruise on his waist. He’d lived a hard life. Now she’d soften his path all the rest of her days.

Her breath raced. “You don’t have to with me.”

He liked rough sex. She sensed it, even if he wouldn’t fully admit aloud how powerful the want was. Nor did she give him a chance to say so when she kissed him full on the mouth, open, her tongue brushing his, sucking the tip, mimicking on his tongue the rutting he’d do to her. The kisses were wild, wet, and unashamed of fleshly pleasures.

Brandr’s big hands grabbed her bottom, squeezing her plump seat. Their bodies rammed together. Friction. Bumping. Her thatch of hair grinding hardness in his wool trousers.

He cupped the back of her head and broke their hot kiss. Panting, he rested his forehead on hers. “We’re going too fast.”

She pushed his trousers down and the black wool slid to his knees. “We’re not going fast enough.”

Brandr’s erection bounced on her belly. Waves of gooseflesh swept over his thighs, his chest, and arms. She fondled the length of him as one might stroke a pet, playing with the long, smooth hardness. “This would be a bad time for Lord Hakan’s man to come for the treasure.”

Brandr grabbed a handful of her hair at her nape. “Sestra,” he growled.

His heavy breath came in fits, yet his hot forehead stayed touching hers. He needed her as much as she needed him. She loved him and she lusted for him. The desire for Brandr burned in every fiber of her body. Her nipples ached, her skin tingled, and she wanted him inside her. This hot craving for Brandr left a mark far deeper than bodies against bodies.

Love wasn’t a language she fully understood, the taut connection that made one man and one woman want to be together forever. She knew one thing. He filled her.

And, she smiled wantonly, now he was going to fill her.

“Here.” She pushed him back and settled her bottom on the edge of the bed. Spreading her legs wide, she let him take his fill of the little red bush that fascinated him.

A tendon stood on his neck. Her feminine outer lips parted and cool air caressed hot flesh. She braced herself on one elbow, her other hand sliding through slippery skin, stirring wetness. Rubbing, massaging, provoking. Enough to make Brandr’s life vein throb above his collarbone.

Hot, wanting pressure tormented her. The cradle of her hips tilted forward, pushed back, tilted forward, and pushed back.

She bit her lower lip, stifling a moan.

Brandr towered over her, his glazed stare locked onto her circling fingers. Little snicking noises sounded in the deserted longhouse. The bed ropes creaked.

“This is what you want,” she said, stroking springy curls between her legs. “For the rest of our lives.”

She thrust her breasts high, unashamed at her ploy to lure him. She wanted him for all the right reasons. When he grabbed himself and slid his erection into her, she wanted him for all the wrong reasons, too.

His large, sun-bronzed hands rested on her pale thighs. Brandr crashed into her, stopping to wonder at black curls mixed with red.

“Look at that.” His voice was hoarse, and the iron amulet around his neck swung wildly between them

Orange firelight played over the slopes of his shoulders. His nipples were tight brown circles on his chest, the center nub a tiny point. Brandr began to slide out of her, all the way to his tip.

She whimpered and nudged her bottom forward.

Brandr stopped when the crown was barely inside her and he waited. She licked her lips and scooted closer, the sleeping fur rustling on eiderdown beneath her. He grabbed her bottom cheeks, halting her.

“Lay back.” A lazy smile spread over his face. “I have control
eshgh-am
.”

She sunk back on the downy mattress. Her mouth opened to ask the meaning of the foreign words, but Brandr grabbed himself, angling the tip, touching the sensitive spot high inside her. Quick. Short. Thrusts. Pleasure flared everywhere, embers sparkling under her skin. Her body bowed off the bed. The sweet pressure…fullness right where his fullness touched.

This was why a woman’s body existed. To float on a cloud of pure ecstasy. To let a man gift himself to her and know the purest of connections.

Her bottom quivered on the fur beneath her. Hairy male thighs rubbed her inner thighs. Bed ropes creaked harder. Black hair fell around Brandr’s face, his silver eyes intense. He bent over her and bracing a hand beside her hip, his other slipped between them.

She jolted from white hot pleasure.

His finger joined the tip of his cock.

“Gahhh,” she cried, her body bowing higher the more the rhythm flowed in and out.

Her eyes widened. She clutched the fur. Shock and bliss centered on the strange touch between her legs. The tip of his finger and his hardness brushed lightly inside her.

She writhed, yanking fistfuls of fur. “Brandrrr…”

“Let it come
eshgh-am
. Let it come.” And he bent forward, grazing her nipple between his teeth.

Angling her head, she glimpsed his hand aligned with his cock, palm facing her, moving in time with his hips. Slow. The way he rowed, back and forth with measured strokes, making each one count. His control like his strokes turned her limbs to melting butter.

“Brandr.” She gulped air. “I’m…it’s…”

Never again would she look at oars and boats with dislike.

The bed creaked, louder and faster. Noise came from her, grunts from Brandr pumping harder between her legs. The beast he tried hard to hide unfurled.

“I can’t....” He removed his finger and lunged fully into her. Hard. Fast. Rough.

Brandr braced his hands on either side of her waist. His hot forehead rested on her chest, new sweat glistening on his shoulders. The Viking grunted with every thrust. The bed shook like stormy seas. He rammed into her, and she rammed back with all her might.

Darkness covered her eyes. Wetness dripped over her tender folds.

The beast of need took over her body. She grabbed the hair on Brandr’s head with both hands, shoving shameless hips into him. His teeth grazed her other nipple. Shudders exploded across her navel.

“Brandr…you are so, so…” Her words were lost.

Thoughts fluxed to nothing. She couldn’t talk. She wouldn’t try.

Her body was reduced to pure, fluid feeling.

Through her lashes, she watched him. Hips pounding, Brandr suckled her nipple before opening wider to take more of her breast into his mouth. He devoured her, sucking a mouthful of the freckled curves. Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t swallow. Brandr took half her breast into his mouth all while his hips drove her stunned, pleasured body into the squeaky mattress.

His animal stare met hers, glowing and predatory in firelight.

And with a popping sound, his mouth released her breast.

Jiggling, freckled skin glistened. Her fleshy nipple poked high for more. He inched up her body and his tongue laved the dark pink skin. Eyes smoldering, his hot mouth hovered over her other breast. Sweat trickled down his forearm. His rutting hardly slowed. Growling against her skin, Brandr kept eye contact as he covered the pliant inner curve with his mouth and bit.

Pleasure-pain spiked hard. He left his mark. Faint indents on pale freckles.

Tremors shook her thighs. Wild animals bit when they mated. His claiming bite rattled her. Her body sheened with sweat, bowing high and hard, slamming into Brandr’s chest before her back dropped onto the bed again. She buried her face in the sleeping fur, her final cry hoarse.

The Viking slammed one final time, roaring against her breast. Stars spangled bright against the dark wood rafters before all went black.

Chapter Thirteen

Soft cloth brushed her thighs. “Wake up.”

Thick eiderdown dipped from Brandr’s body seated by hers.

Tangy smells of heavenly sex mingled with earthly smoke. Sestra squinted at sharp daylight. The longhouse door and every shutter had been thrown open.

Brandr caressed her hip. “You’ll want to put your clothes on.”

Sitting up, she wiped her eyes. Her tangled hair tickled her back. Air touched her skin everywhere save the pile of clothes in her lap. Her boots sat at the end of the bed. She grabbed those first.

“I must tend to my needs,” she said slipping on her boots.

She hastily gartered the boots and ran out into blinding sunshine to take care of her body’s needs behind a line of trees beside the longhouse. The yard was empty save the broken cauldron. Rye stalks bowed under a breeze blowing off the Fyris River.

Finger combing her hair, she strolled naked into the longhouse. Passing through the lintel, she announced, “I see why Vikings are unbothered with showing their bodies.” Light laughter bubbled up. “It’s freeing.”

Brandr leaned by an open shutter. “If you’re not careful, you’ll give Lord Hakan’s men a free display of your charms.”

Hips swaying, she strolled to the bed. His grey eyes burned, following her the way cats traced birds. She hitched a foot on the bed and retied her boots.

“We go from Persian words of love to this cool greeting. You’re a fickle one, Viking.” She made sure to give him full view of every freckle.

A muscle ticked on his jaw. “We need to be ready.”

She took her time tying her other boot, but her efforts were for naught. Brandr turned away, surveying the forest and river. Sighing, she yanked her underdress on fast. She wanted to tempt her grey-eyed bahadur, not get caught naked by other men. She pulled on her tunic and sat on the bed. The gentle creak must’ve been too much. Brandr’s head swiveled around fast, his features tense until his gaze caught her fully dressed.

“Is our readiness your only concern?” She separated three sections of hair. “Or is something else bothering you?”

He checked outside the shutter where birds flew past before giving her his full attention. Arms crossed tightly, his hands rested on his ribs with both thumbs on his biceps.

Her stomach rumbled. “Please tell me we get to eat first.”

“I’ll check the traps in a moment.”

Neck prickling, she forgot the braid and hugged her knees. He was ready to leave.
Jormungand
hung by the door next to the bag with all his belongings, the rolled up sleeping fur, and the humble hoard—a tidy row for a man who liked order and could leave in an instant.

She wound long russet threads around her fingers and snapped them off her hem. “But there’s something you want to say first.”

The toe of his boot kicked a dirt clod. Whatever was on his mind had to be excruciating. The beast was tightly coiled. Lines framed the flat line of his mouth as if what he wanted to bite back what he was about to say.

“I love you, Sestra. With all my heart—”

She inhaled fast and sprang off the bed. “I love you, too.” She sprinted across the longhouse. Pushing up on her toes, she flung her arms around his neck and rained kisses on his face. New whiskers scraped her lips, the abrasion perfect as she spoke against his jaw, “I’m ready to go to Gotland.”

Brandr’s body stiffened against her. Her mouth stilled skin tasting of river water. He didn’t yield to the moment and fold her into his arms.

Firm hands gripped her arms. “You’re not going with me.”

“Why not?”

Pain flashed in his grey eyes. “Because I have nothing to give.”

“What?” Her heels hit the ground.

Stale silence hung between them as she digested his words. Brandr’s Adams apple bobbled and he had the grace to look away. Little by little her arms slid free of him, though her body could be whiplashed. One moment he said the most perfect words, and in the next, he crushed her. She could be back in the island stream for the numbness in her legs.

“That,” he said, jabbing his chin at the measly row of things by the door. “Is all I have to offer.”

“You have everything to offer me…you
are
everything.”

Shoulders rounding forward, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Look around you. I can’t give you a place to live.” His gaze bounced off the rafters overhead. “Not even an empty longhouse.”