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Authors: Renee Vincent
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delicious brutality. Her emotions undulated between soaring into ecstasy and plummeting into a sudden surge of tantalizing agony. Shortly after he began this torturous technique, a mind-blowing orgasm rippled through her. She clenched her jaw, trying to trap a moan behind her teeth, glad for the hand that readily covered her lips should she fail.
And fail she did the moment Gustaf buried his open mouth in her nape, muffling his own release. Together, their bodies convulsed until the tremors of ultimate bliss slowly subsided.
Legs entangled and arms locked, she lay in the confines of his heavy limbs, feeling the intensity of a labor-induced sleep. She closed her eyes and blew out a long breath, settling into the safe crevice of his embrace.
She felt the heat of his supple lips and the rasp of his prickly beard on her skin as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her ear. The sensation of the trail he blazed lingered with each soft peck. “Have I given you enough cause to find sleep, m’lady?”
****
Gustaf waited for her reply, but none came. “Æsa?” he whispered.
A long, contented sigh was her only response. He smiled and stroked her hair, sinking into the cushion of the boxbed. He lay there, listening to the sound of her deep, even breaths and the crackle of the warm fire at his back. This was where he’d dreamed of being for so long. Savoring these rare quiet moments, as he lay beside the only woman he’d ever loved, held a special place in his heart. Holding her, pleasing her, protecting her; those were now his only missions in life and he’d gladly die to uphold those duties. This was one commitment he’d enjoy to the fullest.
Chapter Ten
“Are you certain the redhead is Æsa?” Grimr asked skeptically, observing the small longhouse at the top of the hill and the two men running scout around it.
Ásmundr smiled, absently groping himself at the mention of her name. He recalled the way he once looked upon the frightened servant girl the day his father, Ragnar, brought her home from the slave market. She seemed so innocent and naïve, her beauty rare, her large, succulent tits a gift from the gods.
His father abused her and exercised his so-called right to “breed the bitch” on a regular basis whenever his other wives denied him. As a son who couldn’t stand the sight of his father, Ásmundr spent many nights plotting Ragnar’s death and how he’d save the young beauty from further degradation. He wanted her for himself. He’d professed his love many times over, but she never believed him. She never let him get close enough to try, turning her back on him whenever he made an effort. Her repeated rejections only made him want her more.
One fateful night, while his father had been convening with his trusted men, Ásmundr sneaked into her chamber. He’d planned to make her understand the depths of his feelings and then kill his father to prove it. To his surprise, he’d caught Æsa with her ear to the door, listening in on a private conversation his father was having on the other side. He assumed it had something to do with the huge amount of silver Harold ‘the Fairhair’ paid his father to kill some wealthy chieftain who would not bow down and how his father had supposedly buried it.
By the look on her face, he knew she’d overheard the whereabouts of his father’s stash. The idea of finding it together had suddenly consumed him, and he begged her to run away with him. But when he proposed his grand scheme, she panicked and denied hearing anything.
It had wounded him greatly to know he’d confessed his own evil plan against Ragnar and she still didn’t trust him. At the time, Ásmundr had gone to great lengths to put aside his injured pride. He tried to sympathize with Æsa’s fear for he’d been prisoner to cowardice all his life. Words of promise and sacrifice were not enough. She needed to be shown.
He backed her into a corner where she couldn’t run from him and stripped her of
And fail she did the moment Gustaf buried his open mouth in her nape, muffling his own release. Together, their bodies convulsed until the tremors of ultimate bliss slowly subsided.
Legs entangled and arms locked, she lay in the confines of his heavy limbs, feeling the intensity of a labor-induced sleep. She closed her eyes and blew out a long breath, settling into the safe crevice of his embrace.
She felt the heat of his supple lips and the rasp of his prickly beard on her skin as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her ear. The sensation of the trail he blazed lingered with each soft peck. “Have I given you enough cause to find sleep, m’lady?”
****
Gustaf waited for her reply, but none came. “Æsa?” he whispered.
A long, contented sigh was her only response. He smiled and stroked her hair, sinking into the cushion of the boxbed. He lay there, listening to the sound of her deep, even breaths and the crackle of the warm fire at his back. This was where he’d dreamed of being for so long. Savoring these rare quiet moments, as he lay beside the only woman he’d ever loved, held a special place in his heart. Holding her, pleasing her, protecting her; those were now his only missions in life and he’d gladly die to uphold those duties. This was one commitment he’d enjoy to the fullest.
Chapter Ten
“Are you certain the redhead is Æsa?” Grimr asked skeptically, observing the small longhouse at the top of the hill and the two men running scout around it.
Ásmundr smiled, absently groping himself at the mention of her name. He recalled the way he once looked upon the frightened servant girl the day his father, Ragnar, brought her home from the slave market. She seemed so innocent and naïve, her beauty rare, her large, succulent tits a gift from the gods.
His father abused her and exercised his so-called right to “breed the bitch” on a regular basis whenever his other wives denied him. As a son who couldn’t stand the sight of his father, Ásmundr spent many nights plotting Ragnar’s death and how he’d save the young beauty from further degradation. He wanted her for himself. He’d professed his love many times over, but she never believed him. She never let him get close enough to try, turning her back on him whenever he made an effort. Her repeated rejections only made him want her more.
One fateful night, while his father had been convening with his trusted men, Ásmundr sneaked into her chamber. He’d planned to make her understand the depths of his feelings and then kill his father to prove it. To his surprise, he’d caught Æsa with her ear to the door, listening in on a private conversation his father was having on the other side. He assumed it had something to do with the huge amount of silver Harold ‘the Fairhair’ paid his father to kill some wealthy chieftain who would not bow down and how his father had supposedly buried it.
By the look on her face, he knew she’d overheard the whereabouts of his father’s stash. The idea of finding it together had suddenly consumed him, and he begged her to run away with him. But when he proposed his grand scheme, she panicked and denied hearing anything.
It had wounded him greatly to know he’d confessed his own evil plan against Ragnar and she still didn’t trust him. At the time, Ásmundr had gone to great lengths to put aside his injured pride. He tried to sympathize with Æsa’s fear for he’d been prisoner to cowardice all his life. Words of promise and sacrifice were not enough. She needed to be shown.
He backed her into a corner where she couldn’t run from him and stripped her of
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