Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Later that day…

Frida had been gone long.

He'd promised not to pick up the axe unless she was within calling distance, which left Gunnar with paltry jobs to occupy him.

Something was going on this day, though he knew not what, for none had come to inform him, and he knew better than to leave the hut to satisfy his curiosity. He sensed a degree of commotion, however, and was determined to quiz Frida on her return. ‘Twas more than he could bear, being left alone for hours at a time and to feel so isolated from the lives of those about him.

Of his fellow men, only Eldberg had been permitted to attend him; even so, he saw little of his jarl, who was busy with his own matters. Meanwhile, his mind dwelt upon Viggo and Rangvald, whom he'd been told were the worst injured among them. He prayed to Odin they would regain their strength.

With only his ankle ailing him, Gunnar knew he should be thankful, yet ‘twas hard to be patient.

To pass the time, he collected stones in white and grey from near the door and one in black. They would suit to play Hnefatafl . He was no master of the game but knew enough strategy to hold his own. Frida would be good at it, he sensed.

At last, she came, and any anger he harbored soon left him, for she was clearly flustered. Having made her sit and drink deeply of water, he drew out the news.

"Remarkable, to be sure!" He could hardly believe his ears.

It seemed Eldberg had tumbled from the cliffs, and the one to save him had been Hedda, in a feat of great courage, though with help from Rutger and J?rgen. Little wonder the islanders had been abuzz, and all the while, he'd had no notion!

"I should like to meet this sister of yours." He rubbed at his beard.

Frida did not look altogether pleased. "I'm sure you will, eventually, though she may not be quite as you imagine. She's been mistrustful of your arrival, though seems to be warming to your jarl."

Gunnar could not help but recall Eldberg's intentions regarding the woman hosting him. "Do you think your sister grows true feelings for him?"

A faint blush came to Frida's cheek. "I would not have expected it, but when they returned down the hill, they appeared in good spirits, despite the fright of what happened. They were teasing one another even. ‘Tis not like Hedda."

Gunnar nodded. "He may appear gruff, but my jarl has had a hard life. It sounds like your sister is a good match who'll stand up to him. It's what he needs. A man and his wife should be of one mind in things that matter and treat one another as equals."

And if Hedda truly loves him, perhaps she will go willingly when the time comes. ‘Twould make things easier. Her compliance might stir Frida—and other women of this place—to the same decision.

Frida still looked distracted. She worried over much, for which he was sorry. Life was serious enough without dwelling overlong upon its sorrows and difficulties. The maid would benefit from more frivolous amusement.

"Come, let me show you something." He reached for her with a smile.

"Nay, not now." She blushed again. "Perhaps when ‘tis dark…"

He laughed at that, for she was clearly thinking of bedsport. A good sign, for he was eager to teach her more of those pleasures. Perhaps she was ready, at last, to engage with him again.

"‘Tis but a game," he assured her. "Dost know it? We call it Hnefatafl . Here, do you see?"

With a stick, he scratched lines upon the earthen floor to make a grid of squares, then laid out the stones in their opening position.

"This black one is the chieftain, you see, and he sits in the middle while his white guard stands close to protect him. The other player's warriors—these stones of grey at the sides—move to trap the guards one by one until they may surround the chieftain and demand his surrender."

Frida peered at the board. "I saw my father play this long ago and the other men sometimes. ‘Twas forbidden to the women, though I cannot think why."

"Forbidden?" Gunnar frowned. The island's men had asserted some strange notions. "Would you like to learn?"

Frida nodded. "And how does the chieftain win?"

"He must reach one of the corners to find his escape. ‘Tis simple when you know the rules. When a defender or attacker is confronted both front and back, he is lost, and so the numbers dwindle."

"And I move like this?" Frida took hold of one of the grey warriors, directing it in a straight line.

"Just so." Gunnar gave his encouragement, and they passed some time, moving the pieces until there were but a handful remaining. At last, he felt she was relaxing and ventured a question.

"You must know, Frida, despite the circumstances of my being here, that I'm glad of it. I would not change anything."

She looked up from her study of the board. "Nor I. Seeing Hedda today made me realize that anything is possible." Her brows creased a little. "‘Tis only that I cannot help but worry…"

He reached his hand to stroke her cheek. "Too much, I think. Who knows what lies ahead? The gods wish us to treasure life, and no day should be wasted."

"I believe that, too." She tilted her head to rest upon his palm. "And yet I see the worst, sometimes."

"And it clouds your happiness." Gunnar sighed.

"Yes." Her eyes glistened with a film of unshed tears, and she looked at him in a way that made his heart ache. She'd experienced sorrow that still pierced her, he could tell, and he wanted dearly to take away that pain. Her vulnerability moved him, but he wanted to bring her confidence, such as this sister of hers seemed to have.

"When it comes to me, there is nothing for you to fear." He leaned in so his forehead touched hers.

"And yet I do," she whispered. "I fear so many things! What if you go wandering off and fall, as happened to your jarl? There may be no one to save you, or the time may come when you grow tired of this place…"

She trembled, and he knew she was thinking of whether he would grow tired of her, not just the island.

"Hush." He brushed her brow with his lips. "You are overwrought—from today's events and from all that is new to you—but I want you to set aside those feelings. Let me love you again, Frida, and you'll forget all."

He rested his hands at her waist, then kissed her tenderly. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes as he tugged lightly on her lower lip. Gently, slowly, he made her open to him. ‘Twas a caress of mouths long and smooth and velvety, her tongue meeting his.

Her hands came up, pushing through his hair.

"You want me, lass," he murmured between their kisses. "Tell me, how shall I begin? You wish me to kiss where you are wet?"

She lowered her chin. "I want to look upon you and to… touch."

The words were enough to stiffen him. ‘Twould be good for her to sample her womanly power and explore as she was moved to.

"Aye." He took a roughened breath. "Help me, then, to be naked for you, then guide me where you will."

She led him to the bed before pushing up his tunic. Her fingers skimmed his abdomen, where the muscles were taut, before passing over the light hair of his chest. His cock nudged upward as her fingertips brushed his nipples, though she did not linger there. As soon as the shirt was gone, she fumbled with the tie of his braies . He lifted his hips to aid her, and they were soon passed down his legs.

"Lie back," she said softly.

Occupying the bed, he looked at her steadily. She did not touch at first, but her eyes raked each part—from his feet upward, along thighs muscular from riding, to his forearms and shoulders, to the expanse of his torso, to the ridges of his lower stomach and the trail of darker hair below.

At last, there was only one place to look, and she took her time, staring at what was now fully hard under her inspection. When she reached for him, it was to touch the angularity of his hip, though her eyes did not leave his arousal.

He coaxed, "‘Tis all for you. Use me as you desire."

As if in agreement, his cock twitched, anticipating her hand or mouth. Still, when she took him in her fist, encircling the root, he took a sharp breath.

Tentatively, she rubbed up and down, moving his skin over the rigid length. Her hands were delicately formed, making him appear all the thicker within her grasp.

He widened his legs, inviting her to sit between them, but resisted the urge to place his hand over hers, to guide her strokes—as fast and hard as he truly wished. Nor did he instruct her, preferring to see how she proceeded on her own.

Her lips parted, and he wondered if she was thinking to lower her head. Already, his brine glistened. It was not long before he found out. She extended the tip of her tongue, touching it briefly to the clear droplet, then covered him with the closure of her lips. She retreated quickly, but he could see she was intrigued. Transfixed, he observed her dip into the channel betwixt shaft and glans. When she flicked the tight cord strung upon the underside, he groaned and jolted in her hand.

When he moaned her name, she ran the flat of her tongue further down before taking him wholly inside her mouth, sucking so gently, ‘twas a bittersweet tease. He shifted his hips, exerting every shred of control not to thrust upward, deeper, toward her throat.

She seemed to sense his need, for she moved her lips farther down, closing tightly, before withdrawing again. The motion made him hungry to dispense with this, as tantalizing as it was—to tug up her skirts, then plunge inside, to the warmth of her entire sheath, where he might push and grind to his own satisfaction.

"Use me, Frida," he growled low. "Suck me. Stroke me as hard as you like."

Her eyes were dark, the pupils large, as she looked into his face and squeezed him. He rewarded her with a guttural sound. To his surprise, she dropped her other hand to cup his balls. Gently, she weighed them, moving the skin of the sac, then rubbed beneath, toward his anus.

He let out a hiss. "Fuck me!"

‘Twas more a curse than a command, for his restraint was hard pushed, but Frida took it upon herself to straddle him. Sinking her body, the soft folds of her woman-place closed about his cock. She angled herself to take him, and her wetness let him slide within.

"Ah… my good girl." He pushed the skirts of her gown to uncover her knees and ran his hands upward over her silken skin.

She caught her breath as she took more of his length. At last, she sat fully upon his groin, looking startled at having achieved the feat.

So tight!

She was little beyond a virgin, for they had swived but the once. Yet she wished to please him, he knew.

"My beauty," he murmured. "Remove your gown, and let me feast my eyes."

Lifting herself to free the back of her skirts, she threw off the loose gown and, in so doing, her inner muscles clenched with the movement. A pang of pleasure gripped him. He took the opportunity to widen his legs further, so when she lowered once more, the underside of her buttocks brushed his balls.

He groaned again. Being inside her without thrusting was too great to endure for long. He needed her to move.

Thank the gods, she had the same notion. She rose and fell, though gently, testing the sensation, then dropped forward, so her soft bosom hung above him. She began a grinding motion, pressing the most sensitive part of herself to the hardness of bone above his cock.

‘Twas a stirring sight, watching his root enter her, fur brushing fur, and the sway of her pale breasts as she found her rhythm.

Her hands she brought to his shoulders, and her face gained an intent expression.

"Like that, my sweetling. Take all you want." He was panting beneath her, willing himself not to come. A limp cock would end their fun, and he intended to make it last a while yet.

He wanted her to tumble first. Only then would he have his way. Would it be too soon to put her on her belly and thrust from behind? ‘Twas a position he'd always enjoyed, slapping against a woman's rump. She seemed close, and her eyes started to glaze. Then, she made a choking sound.

"No! I cannot!"

To his consternation, she lifted off him entirely, though remained astride his pelvis.

"Dearling, what is it?" Bending at the waist, he wrapped his arms about her. "There is no shame in claiming your pleasure nor in letting me watch you."

"‘Tis not that." She pressed the heel of one hand to her eyes.

"Then what?" The way she'd raised her arm brought her nipple within grazing distance of his chin, and he rubbed playfully against it.

"I don't know." She uttered it upon a whisper and in such a way that he was not convinced.

Something was stopping her, though, even now, she was angling her hips again, so the tender bud between her legs pressed forward. Meanwhile, the rosy point of her nipple nudged his lips. He obliged by taking it into his mouth, suckling in the way that would send a delightful pang to her womb. Her arms wound about his neck until he nipped playfully with his teeth, and she pushed him away.

"Too much? Sometimes, a little pain can heighten the pleasure. Hush now. All is well. You trust me, do you not?"

She nodded.

"Then let me soothe you. Close your eyes and think of nothing but my kisses upon your body and how relaxed you feel. Fall asleep if you wish as my hands caress you. There is naught to fear." As he spoke the words, he gently maneuvered her, turning her upon her back.

She soon took a more languorous pose, loosening her limbs as he drew long strokes up her legs. He swept from her wrists to her shoulders, then down her torso, taking care to no more than brush the outer curve of her breasts. He circled upon her belly before spanning her hips, then began again from her finely boned ankles, visiting shin, calf, and succulent inner thigh, letting his thumbs move deliciously close to her cleft without trespassing to where he knew she must be growing ready for him.

On the third journey about her body, he replaced his fingertips with his tongue and lips, licking and nuzzling, leaving a trail of delicate kisses. Only when he sensed an impatience in her did he let his palms claim her bosom.

"You are perfect, Frida… lush and soft." He kneaded firmly, pressing the tips into pink pebbles, which he then took in his mouth. He lay himself between her legs, letting her dampened fur tickle his abdomen, and she tilted up against him.

There was no chance of her sleeping, nor had there ever been. But he did not plan to enter her yet. At least, not with his cock. He gave each pert teat a final lick.

She had one eye open.

"Did I not tell you to rest and be soothed, dearling?" He pinched her chin mirthfully. "I've a notion we should cover your eyes."

"I'm not sure."

"Trust me." He unwound the sash wrapped through her hair, tying it loosely, for he wanted her to keep it there of her own volition.

"And let's place your hands here." Raising both her arms, he pinned them together above her head.

One day, we might try binding them properly. But let's see how you do, for now, keeping them there of your own choice.

She lay compliant, though her brow was creasing, and she worried at her lip.

She was right to be a little anxious, for she looked delectable in her vulnerable state, even if it was a little pretended. Had he tied her hands truly, she would have been quite unable to move them, however rough his sex act.

Gunnar drew one finger down the underside of her elongated arm, brushing her cheek momentarily before returning to her breasts. They sat higher with her arms in this position and pushed together pleasingly.

He circled one bud, then the other, following his feather-light caresses with brushes of his lips. She trembled beneath him but made no objection. The puckering of her nipples showed him her arousal and the parting of her lips, from which her tongue darted, licking one corner.

His hand continued downward, across her belly to her mound. He cupped her there, then dipped one fingertip inside—expertly—to touch upon her sensual knot.

She could not help but cry out, which became a moan as he rubbed lightly back and forth. He felt the place swell and grow—that cock in miniature which all women possessed. He thought, sometimes, ‘twas even more sensitive than the one he was blessed with.

"You like this, sweet one?" He delved deeper, caressing from the nub of her pleasure into her slipperiness and out again.

In response, she pushed against his hand, and he laughed, returning to her breast to lick broadly across her areola. One wet lick there to match the wet stroke within her sheath. She was undulating her hips and uttering little gasps, so ready for him, warm and yielding.

"Do you wish for me now? For me to wrap your legs about my back and push deep inside you?" He added a second finger, making sure to connect where it would give her the most delight.

"Gunnar, please!" She made to reach for him, but he was too quick for her.

With one outstretched hand, he pressed upon her wrists.

"Remember to lie still, sweet Frida." He placed a feather-soft kiss upon her lips. "You need only feel and enjoy. Leave all else to me."

With a jagged sigh, she tossed her head to the side, but the blindfold remained in place. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling in a way that stirred him greatly.

No woman was ever more responsive nor so alluring. And she was his!

He ached to take her now, to let his cock claim her sheath. For there could be no doubt—he and Frida were a perfect match… in all the ways that mattered and in this most of all. He could make love to her forever and a day and never grow tired of how she shivered at his touch. She was exquisite.

"My fair beauty." He kissed her neck, then brushed his lips over the curve of one breast, nipping the tip before trailing lower, licking a slow path down her belly until his face was between her thighs.

He inhaled deeply, taking in her musk. Her cream was trickling—honey and milk combined with her own rich woman's scent. Hungrily, he pushed his tongue there, wanting to own this, too.

She raised one knee, parting for him, then the other, all coyness gone in her surrender to his intimate intrusion. He hummed his approval, licking rotations of her hidden nub while moving his fingers inside.

"Yes, oh yes!" The words were choked, for she was upon the brink.

He would enter her now, not as he had the first time when he'd taken so much care to hold back, but with thrusts that would show her what it was for a man and woman to be joined in frenzied passion.

Raising himself above her, he aligned himself with her groove. The ache in his balls was heavy, deep, and rich, telling him the act would not be long in duration. He needed to bury himself to the hilt and thrust them both to a state of oblivion.

Her body was ready for such lovemaking, and it was what she needed—to be possessed so entirely, she forgot all else but he and she.

He returned one hand to her wrists, encircling them. He wanted her to feel his restraint of her and the inevitability of her submission—not just to him but to this overwhelming need. His other hand spanned the indent of her waist, pulling her into the hardness of his lower torso.

She whimpered softly, keening for him, lifting her hips to meet the column of his shaft. Subtly, she was seeking the head, moving to accommodate his entry.

"That be the way, my willing lass. Open to me. ‘Tis all for you…the rod and the seed." He cupped beneath her bottom, holding her fast for the moment of his penetration. One thrust of his pelvis and he breached her, pinning her hard against the mattress. His groan of satisfaction was so loud, he hardly heard her own cry.

This moment was everything—the joining of their bodies, where nothing else mattered.

With determined rhythm, slow and sure, he withdrew and laid siege again, sliding within her tightness. She gripped him naturally, but he commanded her, nonetheless.

"Squeeze me, Frida. Clench and draw me in." He could feel her doing so, meeting the pace of his thrusts, which he delivered faster now.

By the gods, she felt good!

He was going to come hard. His balls drew up, ready to give her their burden, and his abdomen wrenched low. His head was pounding, as was his heart, the blood racing fast. As he let go, heat consumed him, scorching through every muscle.

"Frida!" He held her at wrist and hip, his fingers digging into her buttock. There would be bruises, mayhap, but her brand upon him seared deeper than fingers upon flesh.

His lips found hers, and the kiss compounded their joining. She mewled against his mouth with each spurting surge of his seed, the ripples of his release making him jerk within her sheath. Heat burned his very bones. He was aflame, his mind filled with searing white light.

"My Frida!" ‘Twas almost as if he could feel her pleasure and an intensity he'd never known before, so powerful as to be almost frightening.

She was sobbing in his arms, her tears hot as the flaring passion ebbed to embers.

Releasing her hands, he tugged away the fabric from her eyes, revealing deep pools of anguish.

"I'm here, Frida. You're safe." He stroked away the wetness from her cheek. "In my arms, you're always safe."

With his body still buried within her, she clung to him.