Strictly Taboo, page 5
On the morrow, Elen. One more eve and you will be free . . .
Or dead.
Deep in slumber’s grasp, Elen whimpered a bit as she dreamt she was being touched and fondled by the Viking’s demanding, calloused hands. She sighed as he kneaded her breasts and sucked on her jutting nipples.
It felt glorious. Wickedly, wondrously delicious.
“Mmmm,” her captor purred from around a stiff nipple. “You are being a good girl for your Master this eve.”
Frowning, her eyelashes slowly batted open. Elen tensed up as her conscious mind realized ’twas no dream. Somehow, the Viking had carried her to his tent whilst she slept. He was naked and on top of her now, his muscled body intimately positioned between her splayed thighs. Elen’s green dress had been pulled down to her waist, exposing her large breasts to him.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. Her heart rose and fell in her chest as she watched Lord Hrolf greedily suckle at her breasts. Half aroused and half terrified, she didn’t know whether to scream for help or moan like a wanton.
The Viking didn’t answer her with words, but with deeds. His dark head lifted up and his heavy-lidded gaze drank in the sight of her as he tugged at her dress until it was all the way off.
His breathing deep and heavy, the warlord took to his knees and began to intimately fondle her, touching her where and how he pleased, as much as he pleased. Her nipples, her navel, her mons, the flesh between her legs . . .
Elen’s eyes went wide. He was letting her know with nary a word that she was his possession. He would do with her what he would and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.
Fight him, Elen! Don’t let him take you!
One part of her wanted to resist, for she knew that after this eve transpired William Lenore would shun her if she didn’t tell her future betrothed a sinful lie and let him believe her to be an untouched virgin. Mayhap the least she could do to assuage her conscience was put up a brave resistance.
But the other part of her, the far more primal piece of her being, wanted the barbarian to have his carnal way with her. Both for reasons of survival and, loathe as she was to admit it, for reasons of immoral desire.
Lord Hrolf made her body and mind feel sensations she hadn’t known possible before being captured by him. She was fair tempted to see how far these sensations went, to know all there was to know of being possessed by a man, before she made good on her escape.
Desire won out.
“Will you kiss me like you did before?” Elen breathed, her voice throaty in a way she didn’t recognize. She arched her hips, giving him an explicit view of her flesh. “Down there, milord?”
Every muscle in Ivar’s body tensed at her lusty words. Ever since the eve their two sires had agreed on a betrothal between them, he had spent countless hours thinking on the things he would do to his beautiful virgin wife when at last she was his.
He had heard the stories of her beauty from those who had ridden to Chippenham, but hadn’t known whether or not the tales were true. He had found himself obsessed regardless, eager to see for himself the untouched prize he was to collect from the marriage bargain. Elen hadn’t become his in quite the manner Ivar had planned, and yet here she was—naked, untried, and lying submissively before him.
Forgoing words, he answered her with actions. Burying his face in her tight, wet pussy, he all but came from naught but hearing Elen moan. Suckling her little clit in the way he knew she liked best, Ivar groaned against her flesh as her legs shook from around his head.
“Milord,” she gasped, grinding her drenched cunt into his face. “I—I’m about to—to . . .”
She didn’t know the word for the sensation, mayhap didn’t even know what it was. But he knew she wanted it.
Elen came on a loud moan, her entire body shaking as she used her legs to pull his face as deeply into her flesh as she could. His eyes open and peering over her flat belly, he watched her nipples stab up as her head lulled back on her neck.
His breathing labored, Ivar gave her hole one last suck before relinquishing it. The head of his swollen cock found the entrance to her virgin flesh as he palmed both of her large breasts and frenziedly began sucking on her nipples. Stiff and hard, they were delicious. He wanted to take his time and savor the feel of them in his mouth, but her continuous moans all but sent him over the edge.
“Milord,” Elen whispered, her hands buried in his thick, black hair, “Please. I want—oh, I—I—this feels so good.”
Arching her back, she thrust her chest up higher. It was all Ivar could stand not to plow into her as if she was a well-loved woman, instead of like the untouched wench she was.
Releasing her nipple with a popping sound, his dark head slowly rose until their gazes clashed. Perspiration dotted both of their foreheads, their breathing mutually heavy. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years,” Ivar rasped.
Elen blinked, but said nothing. She looked confused by his words. He didn’t know what to think of that, so he ignored it.
His jaw tight, Ivar rested his weight on his left elbow, using his right hand to perfectly position his cock at her opening. “You are mine, Elen,” he ground out, pressing the tip in just a bit. “You have always been mine.”
Her green eyes widened. “Milord? I don’t understand . . .”
His jugular vein bulged, possessiveness engulfing him. On a groan, Ivar seated himself to the hilt, tearing through her maidenhead, branding her as his. She cried out, her eyes squeezing tightly shut.
“It hurts,” she whimpered, her eyes flying open as she tried in vain to push him away from her. “I do not desire this anymore. Please, Lord Hrolf—”
“Shhh,” Ivar consoled as best he could through a clenched jaw. Ah gods, her cunt was so fucking tight. He felt nigh close to exploding already. ’Twas the middle of winter, yet sweat dripped off of him. “You will feel good in a moment, beautiful Elen.”
She gazed up at him with the most innocently frightened expression on her face. It did things to his heart he wished it didn’t.
“Lie still,” he said thickly, his eyelids as heavy as his breathing. “I promise I will not hurt you.”
Ivar began to kiss her, soft, gentle kisses that he knew would arouse her. On her shoulders, on her neck, everywhere that would make her want him again. His muscles were corded, the desire to fuck her hard nigh unto overwhelming, but he didn’t move within her, just let her grow accustomed to the feeling of him possessing her.
By the time her body went limp and she began to quietly gasp, Ivar was more than ready to move his throbbing cock in and out of her. He began making love to her, long, slow strokes that were as branding as they were pleasurable.
“Elen,” he ground out, “you feel so good. I love how tight and perfect you fit me.”
She said nothing to that, but her soft gasps let Ivar know she was enjoying the sensations. He began to move faster, pushing his hard cock in and out of her sticky, glorious flesh.
“Oh God,” Elen moaned. “Milord—oh—ohhhh!”
“Do you like this?” Ivar asked thickly, arrogantly, his nostrils flaring. He sank into her faster, one hand territorially grabbing a fistful of golden curls. “Tell Master how much you like him to be inside you.”
“I like it,” she gasped. Her lips parted on a groan, her hips rearing up. “I love the way you make me feel.”
“Master,” he gritted out, fucking her harder. He slammed in and out of her, over and over, again and again. “Call me Master.”
She refused to speak the word. At least for now, he was beyond caring.
Taking her the way he had oft dreamt of riding her, Ivar ruthlessly pumped in and out of her pussy. He moaned as he fucked her, every stroke more pleasurable than the last. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh heightened his fervor. The tangy scent of combined arousal permeated the tent. He took her harder, faster, deeper, branding her as his. Over and over. Again and again and—
“Ah gods—Elen.”
Ivar’s entire body stilled atop hers, then convulsed on a roar. He kept up the pace, fucking her hard as he came, letting her tight cunt milk him of all seed. His cock jerked inside her, cum spurting out in a series of gluttonous throbs.
“Elen,” he rasped, his heart beating like mad in his chest. He had spent himself so hard he felt nigh ready to collapse. “Elen, thank you.”
She stiffened beneath him, causing Ivar to recall their roles here. Master and slave. Conqueror and the conquered. He was not her husband, he was her enemy.
This is what you wanted, Hrolf. Isn’t it?
Ivar’s grim, dark gaze clashed with a wide green one. She was as surprised by his declaration of gratitude as he was.
Rolling off Elen’s body, he took to his side. “Get some sleep, slave,” he said gruffly, refusing to look upon her, refusing to deal with anything but the fact that his body coveted hers. “You’ll need it.”
Elen stared up at the tent, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. She had never been more confused in her life.
The talk of having waited for years to be joined with her, had that been naught but an exaggeration of time in a fevered moment of passion? It made no sense. She could conjure up no explanation other than that one. And—
He had thanked her. Elen blew out a breath, stunned. The barbarian had actually thanked her for their mating. She had not been expecting such thoughtful words from such a heartless brute.
Is he a brute? He has never harmed you. By the saints, he hasn’t even hurt Lothar!
Contradictions. Nothing was black and white anymore. Elen supposed she should feel guilt for her lack of a maidenhead, but her only sense of shame was born from the fact that she didn’t. She had wanted Lord Hrolf to touch her as much as he had wanted to do it. She could deny it, but what was the point? He had captured and enslaved her, wanted her to call him Master, and yet she had still craved his touch.
More contradictions.
The Viking was mayhap sound asleep beside her, but Elen knew slumber would be a hard won boon for herself. She closed her eyes and tried not to think, desperately wanting this eve, and the bizarre emotions and thoughts that had accompanied it, to end.
Chapter 7
“A good bed slave is awake before her Master, anticipating his every need.”
Elen’s eyelids batted in rapid succession as she forced them open. A beeswax candle flickered, drawing her attention. Groggy with sleep, it took her a suspended moment to realize it was still nighttime. “Mayhap ’tis because the saints made me a lady and not a slave,” she sniffed. “I will not make for a good bed slave at all.”
There was a glint of some unnamed emotion that sparked in his unsmiling eyes. Amusement? Irony? Admiration? She didn’t know. He said nothing, only watched her.
She frowned as she sat up. Recalling her nudity, she raised her hands to cover her breasts. Ridiculous, mayhap, considering there was no part of her body the Viking hadn’t seen, and yet she did it anyway.
“Do not shield what belongs to me.”
“I do not belong to you.”
“Oh?” One dark eyebrow quirked. He glanced down at her golden triangle and then back to her face. “Do you not?”
Elen blushed, the reminder of her wanton behavior nigh unto turning her entire body a horrid shade of crimson.
“Lower your hands,” he murmured. “I like looking at my slave naked.”
She lowered her hands, her blush deepening as she watched him stare his fill at her. His brooding gaze wandered the length of her body, taking in her mons, memorizing the stiff nipples that jutted off soft pink pads. That bedamned knot of tension that had a tendency to coil inside her belly whenever the barbarian coveted her chose that moment to rear its sinful head.
“What do you do to me, Viking?” she whispered. “I do not understand this.”
Silence.
Elen glanced up. Their gazes met and locked.
“Touch yourself,” Ivar said thickly. “Play with your pretty nipples until your pussy is sopping wet for me.”
She hesitated, uncertain what to do.
“Touch them,” he murmured, his voice deep and aroused. “Pluck them and pinch them.”
Elen slowly ran her hands over her breasts. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she listened to his breathing grow heavy. Uncertain as to exactly what it was he wanted to see, but encouraged by his lust, she clamped either nipple between her thumbs and forefingers and began to pull at the hard peaks. Immediately, she moaned, the knot in her belly coiling tighter.
“Keep playing with them,” he said hoarsely. “Pull them harder.”
She did. Elen pinched her nipples tighter, tugging them at the same time. Instinctively, her hips began to move just a little, the arousal she felt in her belly spreading to where he’d impaled her with his rod only a couple of hours hence.
“Please,” she whispered, her eyes drifting shut as she massaged her nipples. “This is making me ache, milord.”
Ache in a good way. He knew it, and she knew it, too.
“Do you want Master to fuck you?” Ivar murmured.
“Aye,” she breathed out. By the saints, she felt nigh unto fevered. Her hips kept up a slow, steady undulation as she pulled at and pinched her nipples. “Please, milord.”
Silence.
Elen felt ready to explode, but couldn’t quite bring herself to the edge. She needed more. She tweaked her nipples even harder, hoping it would appease him, praying he would show her a bit of mercy and make the knot in her belly come undone.
“Please, milord.” Oh God, how she ached! “I need your touch.”
“Nay,” he said in low tones, making her whimper. “You will play with your nipples until you scream out my name and beg for my touch.”
Master. She knew precisely what name he meant for her to call him by.
Elen gasped as she played with her nipples, the ache growing worse and more torturous by the second. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping it would assuage the fire, but found that it only made it worse.
The game was over. She had lost.
“Please,” Elen pleaded, her voice sounding desperate. “Please touch me, Master.” Her eyes flew open and clashed with his. She clamped down on her nipples hard, causing her to gasp. “I beg you.”
His jaw tightened, his arousal obvious. “That’s a very good girl,” he murmured. “Now get down on your hands and knees and offer my slave’s pussy to me.”
Elen all but fell to the ground. Breathing heavily, she took to her hands and knees, her posture imitating a cat. Sweet saints, but she would have meowed had he commanded her to—anything to end the ache.
Calloused fingers dug into the flesh of her hips at the precise moment she was impaled from behind. Elen moaned, the invasion welcomed. She could hear his answering growl, a sound that only further intensified the longing within.
He wasted no time in vanquishing her body, mercilessly slamming his long, thick erection into her with furious strokes. He pounded into her hard—harder—harder—causing the knot in her belly to explode.
“Milord—Master!”
Elen groaned as the violent sensation ripped through her womb. He took her impossibly harder, her buttocks instinctively meeting him thrust for thrust. The suctioning sound of their sexes meeting resonated throughout the tent.
“You are all mine,” Ivar gritted out from behind her, his fingers digging even farther into her hips. He rode her faster and harder, deeper and more ferociously. “Only mine.”
He slammed into her flesh once, twice, three times more before a loud growl echoed throughout the tent. Warm seed flooded Elen’s insides, snapping her back to reality.
She could be pregnant. Even now, Lord Hrolf’s babe could be in her belly.
Collapsing to the ground, Elen’s thoughts raced as she panted for air. What if . . . ?
Ivar flipped her over, kissing her senseless, and all fears immediately fled—just as they always did in the barbarian’s carnal presence. From somewhere in the back of her passion-drunk mind, Elen realized that she had to flee the soonest. The longer she stayed, the harder ’twould be to leave.
In more ways than one.
Getting the captives back to Mercia should have been the priority. Instead, the Vikings made camp for two more days and nights at Ivar’s command that he might glut himself full of Elen’s body.
Elen.
He couldn’t get his fill of her no matter how many times he took her. The innocent way her eyes would round as she found her climax, the sexy look she’d give him from over her shoulder while he rode her from behind, the tight, wet feel of her pussy squeezing around his cock.
And, he thought, blowing out a breath as Elen bounced up and down on top of him, the way her gorgeous tits would jiggle as she rode him.
He loved it all. There was nothing about Elen, sexually or otherwise, that didn’t arouse him. She was his possession, mayhap, but she was also his obsession.
This wasn’t how Ivar had envisioned keeping Elen. Force hadn’t been a part of the betrothal plans. He could do the honorable thing and marry her . . .
She refused the betrothal, dunce! Elen may be beautiful, but ice runs through her veins.
Or did it? He no longer knew.
The love Elen harbored for her brother, Lothar, was obvious in its purity. The loyalty she held for her bedamned Chippenham was undeniable. The protectiveness and devotion she had exerted toward Theodrada, her servant, and the moonstruck way she was looking down at Ivar now . . .
You confound me, little girl. I do not know the difference between truth and falsehood anymore.
His nostrils flaring, Ivar reversed their positions. He fucked Elen harder than he’d ever fucked her before, his rage, hatred, love, confusion, and admiration coalescing into a single orgasm. She hugged him tightly to her as he came, further confounding him.
“I wanted everything from you, Elen,” Ivar growled, his battle-roughened hands sifting through her hair. “Why didn’t you give it to me?”
