Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Rangvald's muscles ached from the exertion of tanning her hide, but he could not regret the deed. Finally, he saw signs of a wench who might come to heel for him.

"You yielded to my palm with grace." He brushed his hand over his lengthening shaft, considering whether to order her to her knees to sate his need. How good her hot throat would feel clasped around him. He wanted release, as surely she did, and surrendering to his spanking had been a significant first step.

She should have been naked for the deed, as he'd demanded, but he'd chosen not to push the point. She'd relinquished to his touch, exposing her flesh and bending for his palm. He intended not to waste it.

She hesitated, as if she was unsure, but Elin had submitted to his will, and by the slickness of her channel, he judged she'd relished his spanking, however lightly given. There was hope for more carnality between them, and if the gods offered favor, this could be the start of something even more.

More?

It was an intoxicating premise.

Rangvald rarely envisioned anything beyond the obligated tasks that filled his day—keeping order in Skálavík, followed by a pitcher of strong mead and the release of a good fucking. What more was there?

His head must be clouded by frustrated desire—and there was only one way to deal with that.

"The pain was not… too much?" Of course, he knew it couldn't have been. Still, she was a novice, and he was pleased with the way she'd taken his palm. Delighted also with the way she'd permitted his fingers to delve deep—a deed his staff longed to imitate, claiming her properly.

She shook her head, appearing to struggle for the words she wanted. "I-I rather liked parts of it."

"I noticed, and I approve. There's naught wrong in ceding to pleasure." Rangvald subdued a smirk. He liked what he'd seen of her body. With her fallen gown restricting her, she'd looked entirely appealing. Ropes and binds around a woman's limbs had always aroused him.

"I should like more of that." Her reply was a throaty rasp.

"As would I." His eyes never left hers. "Let me first devour you, then…" He imagined how glorious their coupling could be. "Then you shall satisfy me, yes?"

Her gaze darted to his braies . The way her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, he could tell she was eager.

She gave a simple nod.

He would have liked to have heard a bolder affirmation and the word master from her sweet mouth, but he'd faith that the term would soon come more naturally to her. For now, he would persist with patience and revel in the undeniable lure of her body.

"I need to be free of this dress!" She frowned a little. "I can barely move."

"It suits you well." He let her feel his stare.

"Don't mock me!" Her cheeks colored. "You tease too far."

"Not yet." He eased the gown from her body, freeing her right arm. "But I might."

Pouting, she shrugged the remaining fabric to her middle before shoving it past her hips to the floor.

"Do you like what you see?" She lifted her chin proudly.

It was the sort of confidence only an experienced lover could bring to his bed, and Rangvald was glad to see it. He'd little taste for maids who couldn't discern a man's arm from his arse. Elin was neither na?ve nor coy.

"A worthy sight!" The words escaped as a growl. Elin was all he most desired—well-rounded and soft, her curves those of a mature woman. Ignoring the pain of his ribs, he led her toward the bed, then lounged back upon it. "I wish you to ride my mouth."

Her eyes widened.

"Come, straddle my face." The impromptu spanking had drained his strength. Stretching out on her covers would ease the pain. "Mount me."

To his satisfaction, she complied without hesitation, easing upward until her thighs were stretched wide, and she hovered above his face.

"I don't want to hurt you." She hesitated, as if uncertain, but he'd no intention of letting her anxiety ruin the waiting pleasure.

"Lower." He guided her over him, breathing in her womanly fragrance. The wench smelled divine, his senses igniting with the sight and scent of her.

Her head fell backward as his arm held her firm at the waist, and he lapped through her curls to her seam, seeking out her hidden nub. Time stilled as he explored her, delving deep.

‘Twas not long before she took possession of her movements, lost to frenzied heat, and with each rotation of her hips, her juices flowed, smearing him.

When she finally lost control, her cries were frantic.

He let his eyes close as she collapsed gently over him. Aware of her waves of pleasure and his mounting need, his staff thickened with arousal, aching to plunge where his tongue had plundered.

"Is that what you needed, wench?" His tone was wry.

"It was indeed." Slowly, she untangled from his body. Her fingertips skimmed over his braies , stroking the outline of his excited shaft. "Do you need relief too, my meistari ?"

Meistari?

His breath caught as she bandied the word. Surely, given his prior demands, she would not do so lightly? She must know how he longed to hear it.

"Ja." Pulling himself upright, he moved to the edge of the bed and pointed to the floor. "On your knees, wench. ‘Tis time you paid homage to your master's needs."

Rangvald had no way of determining whether she used the title with reverence or mirth, but watching her take her place before him, he no longer cared. As her fingers worked his braies loose, all he could think of was how good her mouth would feel about his shaft.

Let there be pleasure and let it be the sort that removed the need for words. After all he'd endured, he deserved this.

" Meistari! " Glee shone in her eyes as her delicate fist surrounded his girth. "I see your need is great." Her hand worked over him, sliding in a smooth and satisfying rhythm.

He groaned through clenched teeth. It had been too long since he'd reached Valhalla this way, too long since there had been anything but pain.

"Use your mouth on me." He brought his left hand to her hair, stroking her tresses before applying just enough pressure to encourage her into position. "You shall taste me as I have tasted you."

When had he last yearned for a woman like this? His desire was visceral and relentless, binding them together—a desire exhausting to him but too strong to be denied. He gave orders, and women obeyed, but with Elin, there was a deeper level of need—for her to cede to his bidding.

She lowered to him without protest, her expression knowing as she settled between his thighs. There, she lapped at the base of his staff, her breath warm against the sensitive skin of his arousal, before working his length with her tongue.

"Yes, Meistari ." She looked up from under fair lashes, a mischievous glint in her eyes, offering both pleasure and her own teasing insolence.

He recognized the sardonic nature of her reply, but his looming peak dwarfed any irritation. At this moment, with her lips wrapped around the tip of his staff, slowly consuming him, he was content to give himself over to the sensations sweeping his body.

Let her mock, if she dared. Let her relish this moment of supposed power. He would have his gratification, and once he was stronger, she would discover what happened to wenches who taunted their master.