Page 18 of Viking Beast
He sat heavily on the mattress edge, his head in his hands, and I thought again about caving in his skull. But I had no weapon—nothing of sufficient weight. The harness and the stone thing were upon the trunk, out of reach.
On Ragerta’s return, he took the mug from her and drank it down, wiping his mouth, and nodding for her to refill it. Being thirsty, I did the same.
There was porridge—just like the grøt Sylvi used to make, sweetened with honey. I ate hungrily, scraping round with my spoon.
“You don’t need to tie me again,” I ventured. “You have my oath that I’ll do your bidding.”
Eldberg glanced over his shoulder, wiped his mouth again, then tossed his bowl away.
“I’ll do what pleases you.” Let him think it! I glowered behind his back but, kneeling forward, touched his hair, gently raising it above his left ear, revealing the scars that ran across his neck.
He moved quicker than I’d imagined him capable, grasping my wrist, twisting it away.
I cried out, but he only pushed back harder, rendering me flat upon the bed again, his bulk bearing down on me.
“I can’t b-breathe!”
His other hand came to my throat. “Think not to seduce me with lies, thrall.” His thigh came between mine. “I shall know when you truly desire to please me.” Releasing his hold on my neck, he brought his hand lower, squeezing my nipple hard—making me gasp with the suddenness of it.
“When that time comes, you’ll take me into your body and plead for my seed. You’ll fuck in all the ways a woman can take a man and the viper in you will writhe for more. You’ll ride me until your cunt aches, and still you’ll beg.”
Pinned beneath him, I seethed. I’d never beg.
He was growing aroused. Through his clothing, he was hard against my stomach. I was all too aware of my nakedness—leather and chain links against my breast and belly, woolen serge between my legs.
Before I had the chance to reply, he flipped me onto my front. With my cheek pressed to the covers, I faced the wall.
“Fuck you!” I couldn’t help myself. The man was an animal. Again, he was tying my wrist—looping the silk and knotting it, pulling me forward to secure the sash to the far bedpost.
I could do nothing to prevent him from tying the other hand.
“Please.” I couldn’t let him do this again. “You don’t need to—”
“Quiet, thrall.” He dragged my legs apart.
Though none of the bonds were drawn tight and the sheepskins were soft to lie upon, I could not bear the thought of being made to remain still again.
“Don’t do this.”
And then I felt the dampened cloth, drawn gently up my inner thigh. Hot and then cool, along both sides. Eldberg dipped it into the water again, then wrung out the excess. He held the cloth to my sex then eased apart my cheeks, drawing it along the crease, pressing to my anus.
A trembling fear was taking hold of me—that he would enter me there. I’d felt the size of him when he’d been pressed to my stomach.
He put aside the cloth and rested his palm upon my behind.
“You won’t hurt me.” My voice sounded so small.
The bed creaked, and I heard the chest lid open. I caught a glimpse of what he withdrew. Another of the stone columns, though larger and carved differently—its head more bulbous, the shaft slightly curved, and studded with protruding nobbles.
“No!” I protested, fighting my tears.
“You agreed to all.” He sat again and parted me.
I could offer no resistance and awaited a cruel thrust to the hilt, but he eased it inside me. With each nobble sliding into me, I could not help but gasp.
“Bastard!” I hissed, but he said nothing, only holding the thing still. My own will counted for nothing.
After some moments, he withdrew it—just as slowly, until it left me altogether. It was to be a slower torture, and one that amused him regardless of his ill night’s sleep. He rubbed the rounded head where I was swollen—nudging, teasing, before penetrating me again haltingly with its full length.
