Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Guiding Gunnar to her bed, Frida's pulse quickened. It was she who supported him, but he who was steering her.

She liked it.

Much as she appreciated his respectful manner, she relished his taking control. Frida craved him in ways she'd hardly known was possible. Her body, already softened by his caresses, longed for more.

Of course, conceiving a child remained of the utmost importance—a babe of her own to love and nurture. There would be new life, the joy of motherhood, and something more profound. Gunnar not only listened to and admired her, but his touch ignited magic in her soul. She must remember to offer fresh libations to Freyja for this wonderful turn of events.

Reaching the bed, he turned his eyes upon her.

"Take off your clothes."

Her cheeks burned, but she did as he asked. Frida knew little of the act necessary to conjure an infant to her belly, but she'd expected this much at least.

"You're a delight to behold." His gaze roamed her form, lingering at her breasts before sweeping downward. He wet his lips, looking upon the curls of her sex. "I'm a lucky man."

What should she say to such praise? She was unfamiliar with thinking of her body as a thing to excite interest from a man. "I'm unused to such compliments, Gunnar."

His hand settled at her nape, drawing her closer. "The men of your island must have been blind."

She was acutely aware of her nakedness while he remained clothed. When his lips brushed hers, a quiver traveled through her, making her feel both hot and cold.

"Gunnar, please."Her eyes fluttered closed as his arm snaked around her. Fleetingly, she forgot his injuries. For the first time, his physical needs were not at the fore of her mind. She knew only that she wished to give herself over to this man, to let him do with her as he would.

She trusted him, and after long years of being shunned and misunderstood, she deserved this pleasure.

It was Freyja's will.

"Onto the bed." He cast off his tunic.

She obeyed, though she lay with her legs closed and one arm across her breasts.

Gunnar stood above her, staring down, near silhouetted by the firelight behind him. His eyes glinted, and she saw no hint of pain there, only a concentrated hunger centered entirely upon herself.

"The gods have sent you to me." His voice was filled with awe as he joined her upon the furs. His hand was hot upon her hip, pulling her toward him, and he moved above her, bringing his thigh between hers. For a moment, he looked only into her eyes, his own fathomless.

Then he lowered his head.

Frida gasped as he claimed her right nipple, tugging at the teat. With a groan, he drew it deeper into his mouth and palmed the flesh, squeezing as he suckled.

A bolt of desire shot from her breast to her belly to the crux of her sex, igniting a throb of need. She parted her legs around his and arched against his thigh, wanting to press herself there.

Hail, Freyja .

Nothing, not even his heated kisses, had ever felt as good.

He moaned again, rubbing his bearded face to her softness and the now erect nipple, nipping it between his teeth before moving to her other breast. Cradling the mound, he gave it the same attention, teasing as he feasted, pulling hard upon that most sensitive place.

Frida rocked her pelvis and met the ridge of his manhood beneath his braies. In response, he gave a more guttural groan, grinding against her hip bone. He raised his eyes, and they were darker now, the blue nothing but a rim upon a well of black.

"You see how I want you, Frida." His voice was husky. "My cock aches to be inside you."

Yes. Frida could hardly breathe. She wanted it, too, to feel his hardened shaft inside her.

"But I'm going to savor you, tasting every part before we join our bodies." Running his hands downward, he took his kisses with them, covering her belly until he nuzzled at her woman's fur. He breathed deep, making a contented sound, before extending his tongue into her slit. In surprise, Frida jerked away, pushing at his head, but he only gave a muffled laugh.

"Don't be shy, dearling. I've been waiting for this moment since I first saw you at your bath. There is no greater sweetness than to drink at a woman's cup. You wouldn't deny me a taste of your cream, my gentle maid?"

He ran his hands down the back of her thighs, tipping her hips upward, and Frida bit upon her knuckle as he angled her to meet his mouth. There could be no escape as he pushed between her nether lips to lap at her wetness.

Humming his satisfaction, Gunnar buried himself there, murmuring endearments as he explored her most thoroughly.

Frida knew not what to do. She squeezed closed her eyes, squirming as his breath tickled her sensitive flesh and his tongue probed her woman's place, eliciting sensations almost too intense to bear.

"Gunnar!" She couldn't help but cry his name, though the last thing she sought was for him to cease his ministrations.

Fortunately, he paid her no heed. Lifting her hips from the bed, he splayed her thighs wider, so she was fully exposed, incapable of hiding any part of herself. Her desire to do so was now overridden, however, by the pleasure of his intimate kisses.

He closed his mouth over her again, gently sucking at the pearl of flesh uppermost between her folds.

It was too much.

How could she endure these sensations?

As he flicked the tip of his tongue over her nub, she arched back, pushing herself against him, and fisted her hand into his mane of hair.

As wonderful and terrible as this was, he must not stop!

Something was growing within her body, a throb of need urging her to rock against the wet caresses, pushing her onward.

Just as she thought she could take no more, he slid a finger inside, and she gasped to feel it. Her body offered no resistance, for she was slick there, taking him into her sheath. He rubbed back and forth, crooking his finger to touch her in the strangest ways.

"Gunnar!" Her voice rasped with need as she took him deeper, and he flicked faster at her nub.

Frida was certain only of one thing—the magnitude of what neared. It was coming fast, and Gunnar seemed to know it, for he bore down on her with greater pressure.

She whimpered, pulsing beneath his mouth, then stiffened as the vastness landed. She was pulverized by a single brush of his tongue, tumbling as from the cliffs into the wildness of the sea. A bolt tore through her, searing like lightning from the gods, leaving her writhing and breathless, clenching around Gunnar's finger, still buried within her body.

So captured by the passion was she that the sudden surge of clairvoyance came as a shock. As the fierce waves coursed her blood, melting bone and muscle, her consciousness opened, and she was consumed by a vision of terror. Helpless against all that rushed in, taking possession of her mind, she lay, unable to speak or move. A roaring filled her with blazing fire and molten heat. There were flames and screaming, then all turned black.

With a jolt, she returned to herself. "Freyja, no!"

Kicking her feet, she scrambled away, curling into a ball. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, desperate to unsee the sickening images.

"Frida?" Gunnar's arms came about her, pulling her into the warmth of his chest. "What is it? Did I hurt you?" He held her tightly as she sobbed, pulling up the bed furs to swaddle and comfort, waiting patiently for her storm to pass.

The visions finally faded, leaving her wracked and empty, her body trembling. She grappled for composure, torn between the awfulness of what she'd seen and the unfathomable pleasure that had preceded it.

Surely, this wasn't how it was meant to be?

Gunnar stroked her hair as her tears flowed and rocked her like a child.