14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Tor could smell the spice of her arousal, and his beast roared within him.
Her hands slipped between them to unknot her braies, and when she loosened them enough to drag them to her thighs, he thrust into her.
She arched her back at his intrusion, keening as he lashed an arm around her hips and pressed her against him.
“Ride me,” he hoarsely pleaded. The need rose in him like the scrape of jagged rocks, and if they’d been standing, her surrender would have brought him to his knees.
She tipped her head and bowed her back, bracing her hands behind her body and gripping his upper thighs.
She rose mere inches, and rocked down again, the water eddying around them like a buoy.
Tor gripped her thighs as she rose and fell, her body laced by fading sunlight.
Her body was strong and lithe, her calves anchored around his waist and her hands curled into fists just above his navel.
Every time her body arced, those fists spasmed against him and her unbound hair dragged over him like a second caress.
He slid one hand up the span of her undulating waist, until he reached her breasts.
When he thumbed her nipples into hard peaks, she moaned, and when he splayed his hand over the space between her collarbones and let his fingertips rest against her pulse, he could feel the wild beat of her heart.
The sheen of sweat and seawater that covered her made his beast thunder with impatience and as her pace slowed, she began to keen low in her throat.
He gripped her hips again to urge her on. “Ride me, Valkyrie. Show me how to fly, Fireheart.”
She fell against him and one of her hands made a half-circle around his throat. “I would draw out the pleasure, barbarian,” she told him with a glimmering, half-lidded gaze.
“We cannot draw it out today, wife. Our arrival at the keep is anticipated and a celebratory feast is surely in the making. Tame my beast before the sun sinks any lower.”
She dropped her body over him so she could slide her nose along his cheek. “I’ll wager your beast has never met one of my ilk, King of Seaweed,” she murmured in his ear before nipping his lobe.
Tor wanted to anchor her against him full-length, but knew the buoyancy of the waves wouldn’t be enough to keep them afloat if he fully abandoned his concentration. She laughed softly, as if she sensed how he struggled. “What have I told you about your little epithets, Valkyrie?”
She leveraged onto her elbows and nuzzled her nose against his. “I know you’re loathe to admit it, but you like it when I challenge you.”
He couldn’t hold back the smile that creased his cheeks. “I’ll never admit it.”
Her body rose to its half-stance and she slowly sank down.
Tor could feel every ridge of his cock scraping against the suction of her center as he fought the need to bury himself to the hilt.
Her inner muscles clenched around him like a vise, and he could feel his release building like an inferno radiating through his limbs.
“The way you feel, Barbarian,” she groaned as she tossed her head back, so he could feel the ends of her braids brushing against his skin. Her hands gripped his flesh, her nails lightly scoring the skin of his chest. Marking him with her passion.
“Tell me how my cock feels inside you, wife,” he growled as he set his hand in a light necklace around her throat.
She leaned into his embrace, scoring him more firmly with her nails. “Your cock is like a blade made of Odin's lightning and Thor’s hammer. It makes my body spark and I feel its thunder in my womb.”
“High praise, indeed,” he said with a choked groan as she rose and sank again.
When they left the sea, they lay on the beach and let the sun dry their bodies. Something fragile spun between them, and Brunhild was loath to break its spell. She kept her words to herself, and when he tangled their fingers together, she didn’t jerk away as she would have before her capture.
The silence lasted as they made their way back to the keep, interrupted only by her astonishment when he pulled a bundle wedged into a crevice between two rocks that was revealed to be a set of clothes. “You knew you’d need them?”
He shook his head. “Nay. But I have similar bundles stashed near all the coves for exactly this situation.”
She crossed her arms. “Situations that involve water acrobatics?”
Whatever he’d done before their union shouldn’t concern her, but he could see the flare of jealousy in her eyes.
“I may have been alive for a millennia, but water acrobatics aren’t something I’ve experienced with anyone but you. I love the fact you're thinking about it, though, and those thoughts are envious,,” he reassured her as he reeled her in and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.
When they reached the keep, Glamorgan was lounging against the watchtower. Brun saw him make note of their clasped hands, and he leveled a smirk in Toran’s direction.
“I see the rescue went well.”
Toran gestured over his shoulder. “Aye, Glamorgan, and ’tis likely my mate’s rescue means retaliation is coming. The waters of the cove we just returned from offer deep waters for anchor, and we should remain vigilant.”
“The cove the spymaster has a certain fondness for?”
Toran nodded. “Aye. Station a lookout there.”
Glamorgan dipped his head in acknowledgment before giving Tor a jaunty salute. Tor knew he hadn’t endured the last of the man’s ribbing and expected their next conversation to be full of sly innuendo.
“Come,” he said as he tugged her behind him into the great hall.
The fire in the giant hearth was lit, but the peat was half-banked and only a subtle warmth curled around them as they neared it.
The room was dim, and Brunhild didn’t notice his aunt languishing on the cushions strewn across the floor until they were a few feet away.
“Nephew,” she greeted them as she popped some sort of confection into her mouth, steadfastly ignoring Brun’s presence by his side.
Tor bowed slightly. “Good e’en, aunt. As you can see, our mission was a success.”
The harpy’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The Kraken King doesn’t relish being thwarted or outsmarted and I’d wager the moment he discovers his schemes have been undermined, he’ll seek retribution.”
“I am not afraid of his retribution,” he said as he tightened his grip on Brun’s hand. Often, he forgot his own strength and prayed he wasn't crushing her. When he glanced over, he caught the barest wince, and loosened his hold.
Arianrhod was ever sanctimonious, and knew just how to drive her barbs home. His aunt had a way of making his skin crawl, and he knew his mate was well-acquainted with the effect insidious observations could have. He didn’t want her to question his decisions.
“I am not afraid of this coward king, either. What sort of ruler launches his attack by subterfuge instead of meeting his enemy with a sword in his hand?” Brun asked as she stepped forward, until they were standing shoulder to shoulder.
“You do know that your husband uses subterfuge as well? His spy network is nearly a rival to my own.”
Brun resisted the urge to roll her eyes. According to her husband, this woman employed the network at her disposal as an interminable wheel of gossip. He’d witnessed on more than one occasion how she sowed seeds of discord and watched gleefully from the sidelines as chaos ensued.
“It is not the same,” Brun refuted, and her tone brooked no argument.
“You do not know the ways of the each uisge court,” Arianrhod haughtily replied.
Brun snorted. “The ways of the each uisge court differ little from the Bodthing of my home, or from my father’s longhouse. Fools scrabbling for favor and stumbling over their own feet in their eagerness to curry it.”
Arianrhod spine snapped straight and she glowered in Brun’s direction. “I repeat. You know not of what you speak. Our court should never be compared the the ignominious surroundings of your barbarian kingdom.”
"I may take issue with many of the ways my kin deal with others, but I'll not allow you to impugn my heritage," Brun said as she narrowed her eyes and stepped forward with clenched fists.
Tor put a restraining hand on her forearm, "Don't let her vitriol poison you," he said softly in her ear.
“I dare you to call us unworthy of comparison again.”
The other woman sniffed imperiously, and turned her attention back to Tor. “Nephew, you’d do well to instruct your wife in the proper tone of address.”
He let go of her hand to cross his arms and raise a brow. His air of superiority matched that of his aunt. “Mayhap I enjoy the fact my wife speaks her mind, and believe she needs no instruction.”
The woman tossed her head at Brunhild’s smirk and whirled on her heel. “A feast is being prepared in your honor, nephew, and you’d do well to attire yourself as befits your station. Please ensure your wife conducts herself as a queen and not a mongrel.”
Brun scowled and would have strode forward, but Tor’s hand on her forearm stopped her. “Nay, wife. She merely mourns the loss of her own influence.”
“She should know she has nothing to fear. Though your subjects may admire my battle acumen, I am foreign to them. They only welcome I've received is due to the might of the warriors I brought with me to this union, and if I had come to them with empty hands I’d have been met with nothing more than cold shoulders and icy stares.”
Tor's hand curled around hers again. “I very much doubt that, wife. You gravely underestimate your appeal.”
One side of her mouth quirked in a smile and she shook her head, charmed by his defense. “You are smitten, husband.”
He reeled her into him, uncaring who saw his display of obvious affection. “I concede, you’ve tamed my beast, wife. In more ways than one.”
“False flattery,” she teased as she bussed him on the cheek.