Page 53 of Wulver's Flame
He nodded and grinned at Brynhild, who grumbled before she left to get him a drink.
The timing was odd, and there was no message to inform me of their arrival. They weren't equipped with weapons, and my terms for Liùsaidh had been most generous. We were on fragile ground, and I would not tolerate anyone unsettling her or altering the terms of the treaty.
The bond tugged at me. My mate was not happy. She was agitated from hunger. I smiled and strode to the bedchamber. I would enjoy sharing a meal with her again. She ate with such vigour.
My smile faltered when I noticed her sweet breasts were tucked away beneath my tunic. It returned because she chose my scented clothing.
“You are trying to starve me,” she cried dramatically, but the moment she saw the platter in my hands, she sat upright like a pup called to the teat.
I set the food before her on the bed and sat across her, one leg curled, the other stretched. She didn’t wait for me to speak.
She tore into the smoked meat with a hunger that made my cock stir. Juice ran down her wrist as she bit into the tender cut, teeth tearing like she’d do to me if I let her. Sköll stilled in quiet awe. He had no words—only warmth.
With the meat devoured, her eyes lit up when she saw the skyr. She didn't wait for a spoon and dipped her fingers in the bowl, scooping a thick portion onto her tongue with a soft, obscene moan. Her thighs shifted under the tunic, and I glanced down at the hem—my tunic—riding high on her hips, threatening to reveal the sweetness between her slick, smeared thighs.
My cock pulsed.
She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth and licking her fingers clean with the reverence of a woman worshipping the gods. I leaned in, plucked a fig from the tray, and pressed it to her lips.
Her gaze met mine.
Open.
Hungry.
Not just for food.
Her mouth parted, and I slid the fruit in slowly, brushing her lips with my fingers. I felt the bond tremble—then pulse—struck by the force of her satisfaction. Her moan curled through my chest like a smoke tendril from the hearth.
Sköll whimpered, dazed.She is feeding our pup. She is in good spirits.
Yes, but I was the one starving now.
Her mouth was smeared with creamy, sweet skyr. A memory from our heat burned in my eye. My seed-surge dripping from her lips and chin when it overflowed in her mouth. I leaned forward and licked the creamy goodness from her lips.
“Your lips look better wearing my seed,” I murmured, eyes on her mouth.
She licked the corner of her lips, slow and lazy.“Your lips and beard look better wearing my slick.”
My smile curved darkly as I reached for another fig.“Next time, I will eat my meal straight from your gaping bloom.”
She choked on her bite and laughed.
Gods help me, I was drowning in the scent of her arousal and my mate’s playfulness. I would feed her until she was sated.
And then I would feast on her in return.
Chapter 24
Liùsaidh
Ilay sprawled on the pillows, rubbing my bulging belly. All that talk of pups had wormed its way into my skull—I almost believed I carried one. The hunger had struck out of nowhere, and the moment my belly growled, he vanished to the kitchen like a bloodhound.
I wondered what Brynhild was doing without me. The thralls were kind enough, but I kept my distance from his warriors. They often trained near the longhouse, and I sometimes glimpsed them while tending the herbs in the garden, kneeling low, hoping not to be noticed. I was bitter enough without catching glances from the toothless brute with shoulders the size of oxen.
Vargr lifted the empty platter and tankard.“You might want to put on a dress,” he said.
I groaned.“Why? Brynhild’s probably finished the chores by now.”
