Page 79 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“At the harbour. There’s a new trading boat in,” she whispered. “But he won’t be long.” She indicated the pail standing by. “I’ve water for you to wash. He told me to help you quickly.”
“Ragerta.” I placed my hand upon her arm, wanting to say something, wanting to explain away my shame, make her understand that I was here against my will. It was unnecessary, of course. What did she care? I was her master’s bed-thrall, and there was nothing to excuse or judge.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
The water was hot and welcome—not as refreshing as the barrel in the bathhouse, but I could hardly expect that privilege, unless it was Eldberg’s wish that I be taken there.
“He said I was to watch you.” Ragerta gave an apologetic smile.
There was naught for me to do but await his return. He’d take whatever pleasure amused him, I supposed, then leave once more. I could try again to persuade him that he didn’t need to restrain me—that I’d be compliant.
This was my best hope, wasn’t it? Only if I were free could I hope to escape. Not yet, perhaps, but as soon as I had a plan.
But what did compliance mean? Resigned acceptance? No.
Submitting was not enough.
He wished more than that—to bend me to his will, to have me writhe and beg for him, and disavow the love I’d borne Eirik.
This I still could not bring myself to do, but there might be another path.
I would not be passive like a slave.
I would invite his passion, but on my own terms.
* * *
Ragerta was right; he was not long in returning. Entering the chamber, he immediately dominated all around him. Ragerta scurried away, leaving us alone.
I’d thought carefully of how I would present myself and what I would say. Already, I’d wasted almost two days and nights. The sooner I made him believe I was pliant, the sooner I might escape.
I lowered myself on the sheepskins, raising my arms and parting my legs in simulation of the position in which he had tied me.
His gaze was wholly upon my body as I did so, and I felt a new energy fill the room, as if there was nothing else but my nakedness and his desire to possess what he saw.
“You await me, thrall.” It was a statement rather than a question, but I nodded, parting my legs a little farther and turning one knee outward, that he might see what I offered him.
Neither of us spoke as he unstrapped the leather at his waist, from which his short-bladed dagger and axe hung. He pulled his tunic roughly over his head and jerked open the drawstring of his trousers, kicking them away.
With the mid-morning sunlight filtering through the central opening in the longhouse roof, I was able to view him as I had not before.
The burns which marred his face travelled the length of his body, but only upon his left side—from his neck, across one shoulder, and down the muscles of his arm.
Ugly, raised welts broke the contours of his body ink, scars dappling the hard plane of his chest and the ridges of his stomach, reaching the deep crease of his abdomen and continuing down his thigh, even to his foot.
His arousal was already prominent, springing from the russet hair at his groin. The sight made the breath catch in my throat.
Stepping closer, he took my hand and guided me to encircle him.
Rubbing my palm to his thickness, he said, “Now, you see what I will thrust inside you.”
My punishment, and your revenge.My mouth was suddenly dry.Will you be happy when this is done?
With his hand over mine, he stroked upward from the root, squeezing hard so that my fingers were nearly crushed beneath his own. It took nothing more for him to become rigid as iron, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.
He gave one final stroke and released me. “Another day I shall teach you how to take me into your mouth. For now, I wish to discover fully what I own.”
Leaning close, his voice was huskily soft. “Hold nothing back.” He nodded to the curtain that divided us from the greater chamber. “Let them all hear that I am your master—that you are no longer a woman of Svolvaen, but mine.”
