Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Njáll
Flames danced along the stone hearth, mocking him.
Njáll sat on the edge of the massive bed of furs. His fingers idly traced the edge of a whetstone against the steel of his axe. Despite the busy work, his mind wandered.
A muscle jumped in his cheek when the wind howled.
It had been hours.
The Volva was a ruthless mistress. She demanded too much from Elara. He hated it. He hated the way her body nearly collapsed under the weight of her trainings.
A necessary evil. But he loathed the toll it took on her.
The oak door groaned on its hinges, and Njáll was on his feet before the latch had even cleared the strike plate.
Elara stumbled over the threshold, a barely there smile slipping into place.
So little of his bright flame remained in her gaze. She looked like a ghost draped in furs.
She swayed, her movements unsteady as she wobbled towards him.
Njáll reached her in two strides, his massive arms catching her before she could hit the floor. She felt impossibly light. It was as if her work with the Volva stole a little more of her each time.
A tired hand stroked his cheek, her smile no less breathtaking.
“It’s alright. I have you, little flame."
She didn’t speak. Only leaned her forehead against his chest. Her fingers wrapped weakly around his biceps. The scent of lavender and herbs clung to her hair, eclipsing the sweet scented soap she used.
He carried her to the hearth, gently lowering her to her feet. A sleepy smile greeted him as she swayed. Soft curves glided under his palms as he gripped her hips.
With practiced movements, he began to peel away the layers of her clothing.
“Njáll. What are yo—”
“Shhh,” he interrupted gently. “Let me take care of you.”
A slight nod dipped her chin, her hands resting on his shoulders for support.
Fox furs slid under his fingers as he pulled it away from her, tossing it aside. The sweat-slicked linen dress followed. Gooseflesh broke out over her bare flesh as he slowly peeled away her shift.
Color returned to her cheeks. That pretty shade of pink crawled down her breasts. His gaze followed, lingering on her tight, dusky nipples. The amber glow from the fire illuminated her tanned skin, making beads of sweat glisten like morning dew.
A small moan escaped her. Njáll’s cock ached, his trews too tight.
He adjusted his length, ignoring the need sizzling up his spine.
“Njáll,” she whined.
“Patience.”
The moan turned into a growl, and he laughed. His knuckles grazed her face as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
He reached for a small clay pot resting near the stones of the hearth.
Thick oil swirled inside, infused with the scent of amber, crushed pine needles, and a hint of sandalwood. He poured a generous amount into his palms, rubbing them together until the friction made the scent bloom in the damp air.
“On your belly for me, kona. Let your jarl tend to you.”
A pleased sound hummed from her as she slowly lowered herself into the furs, her arms stretched out over her head.
Soft, unblemished skin covered the span of her back. Her ass wiggled as she shifted, and Njáll’s cock jumped. He growled, shoving his own pleasure aside.
Tremors twitched in her muscles as he worked his oils over her shoulders. A low moan rattled in her chest, the sound filled with relief.
He started at the base of her skull, his thumbs kneading the knots there. He moved down the long line of her spine, his touch firm but worshipful, drinking in her sweet noises. They were beautiful torture.
“Relax for me,” he whispered, leaning down so his hot breath fanned over her shoulder.
A shiver danced over her spine, and he chuckled.
“Demon,” she murmured, half moaning as he dug into a particularly stubborn coil of knotted muscles.
“A demon who is going to worship you, Elara.”
Under his hands, she began to soften. Her body melted as the oil heated her skin. He worked his way to her hips, his fingers dimpling the soft flesh, finding the tension she carried in her thighs and coaxing it away.
Slowly, her breathing quickened, her body squirming against his fleeting touches.
“Njáll. Please,” she moaned.
“Please what, kona?” he whispered, nipping at her ear.
“I need more.”
“Then more you shall have, little flame.”
Njáll flipped her over, his dark eyes raking over her body as she squeaked.
The oil made her skin glisten in the firelight. Her nipples were tight, aching peaks. Arousal glimmered between her thighs. The sweet, musky scent filled his lungs.
The Jarl in him wanted to drive himself into her until they were both senseless, but the demon in him—the part that lived to worship—wanted more.
“You are so needy,” he purred, trailing a finger through her soaked slit.
He sank to his knees between her thighs, his head bowing before her center as if it were the only holy thing left in this world.
The first time his tongue flicked over her clit, Elara let out a broken, high-pitched sob. A sound that echoed off the rafters.
“Njáll…”
“That’s it,” he snarled, his hands anchoring her hips to the furs, his nails biting enough to leave crescent marks. “You will know nothing else but my mouth and the pleasure it brings you.”
She writhed, her motions useless as he kept her pinned in place.
The tip of his tongue circled her clit, spiraling her higher and higher. Her fingers tangled in his braids, yanking and making him howl.
“What a feral flame you are.”
“Yes,” she huffed, the tiny growl adorable.
Giving in to her demands, Njáll closed his lips around her clit, a low growl vibrating her sensitive skin. A rush of her arousal coated his face, spurring him on. He suckled, steadily swirling his tongue around her clit as her nails raked down his back, leaving marks that would last for days.
“Njáll. Oh… I can’t… I’m gonna…”
“Yes. Come for me. Soak my face, Elara.”
She came with a violence that shook her entire frame. Her legs locked around his neck, her heels digging into his back as she cried out his name in a never-ending chant that made pride swell in his chest.
This time, he didn’t stop.
“What are you….” she started, the question lost as he nipped at her clit, making her glare at him.
As the first wave of her release began to ebb, he breathed hot air over her cunt. She bucked, unable to get away from him. He’d never release her. She belonged to him. Elara was his to love, to pleasure, to tease.
His thumb dipped inside her, finding the spot that made her toes curl. Sweat and oil slid off her tummy as her back bowed, her knuckles white. His tongue lapped over the length of her slit, drinking her in, his eyes never leaving hers as he drove her to the brink of madness.
A madness only he got to see.
A madness only he gave.
“You will kill me,” she groaned.
“And you will receive a glorious death in battle. Odin will honor you in Valhalla.”
A weak chuckle made her breasts sway. “Death by a jarl’s tongue.”
“Only the best for my kona.”
A second climax built in her twitching muscles, the heat a slow-burn that made her eyes roll into the back of her head. The corner of his mouth curled into a wolfish grin, eyeing the sobbing mess writhing beneath him.
Begging for him to stop.
Begging for him to continue.
“Again,” he rasped, his voice a promise of the ruin he’d bring her.
“I’m not sure I can,” she huffed, her eyes glazed with pleasure.
“You can,” Njáll growled, burying his face in her cunt to punctuate his point.
She hissed, nails breaking the skin on his back and making blood streak his flesh.
Two fingers slid into her hot cunt, squeezing him so desperately that it was hard to fuck her properly with them. Njáll was nothing if not persistent. His tongue and mouth worked her clit, the motions timed with each stroke of his fingers.
When she came for a third time, her entire body seized. Part of her disintegrated into nothingness. Her scream echoed in the darkness, her body convulsing. He worked her through every crest of her release, catching every drop, every tremor, until she was completely spent.
Silence settled over them until all they heard was their strangled breaths and the cracks in the fire.
Njáll crawled into the furs beside her, tugging her sated body into his. They lay there for a long time, their limbs a tangled mess of sweat and cooling oil. Elara dipped in and out of sleep, the exhaustion from his tongue and her work with the Volva pulling her under.
Smooth skin bounced under his fingers as he brushed strands of hair off her face, content to let her sleep.
Njáll tightened his grip, his expression darkening as he looked toward the shuttered window. The sun would rise soon, and with it he’d have to leave her. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, whispering softly to rouse her from sleep.
“Elara.”
“Mmm?”
“A messenger arrived while you were with the Volva. There are disturbances along the eastern border. The Konungr has instructed me to investigate. I must leave with the next sunrise.”
“I'm coming with you,” she whispered, her voice gaining strength.
“No,” he growled, the possessive Jarl returning. “You will stay. You will eat, you will sleep, and you will let yourself heal. I will return to you as soon as I am able.”
He rolled her onto her back, hovering over her one last time. His eyes were twin storms of silver and hazel.
“I am yours, Elara. Not until death, but until the end of times,” he repeated the vow, his voice an oath that made the air in the room feel thick. “I will crawl out of any hell to return to you. But you must be here when I do.”
He kissed her then—not with the hunger of a demon, but with the desperation of a man who knew the sunrise brought a storm they might not survive.