Bound by the Viking, Part 2: Compelled (2 page)

He ran his hand up his length again, his fingers curled around it like he was holding the hilt of a sword. He tightened his grip, running his hand up and down again as she watched. He spit into his palm, and slid it over his length, wetting his hot skin so his hand slid freely.

Aislin’s lips parted, her breathing quickening as she watched him stroke himself. She knew she should be shocked by his lewdness, but as she watched him pump his hand over his stiffness, her core heated and her head spun, the lewdness of the act the last thing on her mind. Lord, but he was gorgeous, despite it all. He was a beautiful beast, and here he was, on display, his body less than two feet from hers, showing her how he liked to be touched.

He looked down at her naked body, over the curves of her breasts and the sweet indent of her waist above the swell of her hips. His eyes glinted and he let out a hiss of air between his teeth, his gaze locked on her face.

Her mouth fell open, and she realized she was panting, her nipples growing hard as he looked at her, drew her in. He thrust his hips forward, and she saw he was now bucking into his hand as he might a maiden’s sex. She wondered if he was thinking of what it would be like when he finally took her, and realized she was thinking the same thing, her body heating at the thought.

Alrik grunted, and slowed his pace, teasing his shaft, instead of pumping hard. His eyes were narrowed, the muscles in his jaw twitching with restraint.

“Come here, closer,” he said. “I will teach you this, too, little one…”

She complied, edging closer to him on her knees until her face was mere inches from his cock, the tip glistening and fat. Her whole body tingled, this close to him, this close to his most intimate parts. She could smell him—sweat and leather and a musk that was unique to him—and the scent filling her nostrils made her moan softly.

“Open your mouth, little girl. I will teach you a little of how to please me with your lips and tongue. I’m close now… hold me between those red lips of yours and suckle me like you would a honeycomb. Swallow what I have to give you.”

Aislin whimpered, suddenly afraid, but Alrik seized her by the throat, tilting her head upward. Their eyes met, hers wide, his dark with need.

“Do as your master commands.”

She opened her lips, still caught by his cool, blue gaze like a fawn in the forest by a hunter’s snare, and felt the head of his cock pressing against her. She looked down, eyes wide as she took him in, and opened her mouth further, letting the tip settle beyond her lips, whimpering around his girth. It was hard to take him in, but as she relaxed, she realized he just fit.

Tentatively, she licked the bottom of the shaft, tasting him. The Viking chief groaned, stroking her chin with his thumb, his grip loosening, but still holding her captive by the throat. She whimpered again, her voice a hum against his skin. He trembled beneath her, and a bolt of excitement struck her. With him inside her like this, he was at her mercy. She gave him a pleasure he deeply desired, and with it, took something from him as well. She held a bit of his will between her soft, wet lips. A bit of his control.

She licked him again and leaned in, letting more of him slip inside her hot mouth, satisfaction coursing through her as she heard him groan again, louder. His cock jumped against the roof of her mouth. He stroked her hair with his other hand, then held her fast as he pulled out, ever so slightly, the head of his cock almost slipping out, before pushing back in with a sigh.

She suckled as he commanded, drawing on him as he pushed and pulled, as slowly as the tide lapping at the shale-covered shoreline of her home. Aislin looked up through her lashes at her master. Alrik’s eyes were still locked on her face, his own lips parted, his naked chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took, a bead of sweat glistening on the nape of his neck.

Suddenly, he stilled, his eyes closing, then pushed himself deep into her mouth. She gasped around him, her throat rebelling, pulsing around him as she tried not to choke. He moaned, and then, she felt it. A hot spurt of his seed inside of her, hitting the back of her mouth, then another and another, coating her, filling her, making her gag.

“Swallow it!”

His grip tightened on her hair, and she gulped, sucking in breath through her nose as she fought to obey. He growled, watching her, holding himself inside of her with relish, his eyes flashing dangerously. When he finally drew back, teasing her with his length across the ring of her lips, he grinned, his teeth gleaming. Wolfish.

His seed was salty on her tongue, musky, but also strangely sweet. She swallowed again, tasting the last of him, lingering. He held the tip of his shaft to her, squeezing himself as it he was wringing out the last of his pleasure, savoring every moment. A drop of pearly-white cum stood there, waiting for her. She looked up at him, shocked by what she was doing, but enthralled by the way he watched her as she pleased him.

She stretched out her pink tongue like a cat and licked it up slowly, her eyes never leaving his. His sharp intake of breath made her grin inwardly, her effect on him a revelation, the taste of his body just as intoxicating.

He breathed deeply, his beautiful chest expanding and contracting, and finally relaxed, releasing his grip on her.

“You did well,” he said.

She looked down at her hands, his naked body still in the corner of her vision, his strong thighs and what lay between them hard to ignore.

He stood, towering over her, but she kept her eyes downcast.

“I’ll send women in to dress and feed you, little one, but don’t think you’ll have it easy today. I’ll see you again soon, and we’ll see what else you can learn before the sun sets.”

Aislin shivered against the fur brushing against her body, suddenly cold. She heard his heavy footsteps as he dressed, heard the scraping of metal buckles and the creaking of leather. Finally, the door slammed shut, and she heard his rough voice calling for attendants in his native tongue.

She looked up, and noticed the dirk was gone, then lingered on the tattered remains of her garb from the night before. She covered her breasts then, feeling small, shame washing over her as she thought of what he’d forced her to become. A slave—nothing more than his whore.

The sadness blended into something sharper, the anger that was always there, right beneath her thoughts, boiling, bubbling, churning inside of her like molten lead in a blacksmith’s forge. Because no matter what this man and his foul people did to her, no matter what they made her do, she held one truth closer than her very skin.

She would make them pay.

Aislin O’Byrne would have her revenge.

***

“
Burlufotr
! Clumsy oaf of a girl!”

Aislin’s cheek burned from the big woman’s slap, but she bit back the tears threatening to well up.

Bersa, the blonde woman overseeing the cook fires, glared daggers at her, her square jaw set, her hands on her hips.

“Fetch another pail as quickly as those skinny legs can carry you, or may Hel keep you!”

Aislin picked up the pail she’d spilled, and scurried away, back toward the water barrels, before the woman could hit her again. The draped tunic they’d dressed her in was too long, and dragged in the snows, the wet cloth tripping her up as she worked. She swore as she marched back between the outbuildings, the wooden pail banging against her shin.

She was no stranger to hard work, but she was used to the mild winters and easier garb of her people, and the barking tone of the women made it all the more wearisome. But she struggled on, not wanting to catch a rebuke from the chief himself. For now, she would do as they willed, be a good thrall, until an opportunity for escape presented itself.

She would have to, if she wanted to survive.

Who was to say Alrik wouldn’t slit her throat before their marriage day? After all, she was nothing more than property—the spoils of war. Certainly not a person of value… Although the look in the chief’s eyes when he studied her father’s sigil still stood out in her memory. Was she more precious to him than just a slave? Is that why he suddenly insisted on saving her maidenhead and taking her as his bride when he saw the silver pin?

Still, she couldn’t risk her life on nothing more than a suspicion.

She dipped into the water barrel, filling her pail once more, her mind barely on her task.

If she was lucky, there would be another raiding party sent out before true winter came to these lands, back to her isle, or at least away from this place—these harsh mountains that promised nothing but suffering and death should she venture too far from the village.

She would search for news of her sister and obey until the moment presented itself, keeping her ears and eyes open. And when the ships were ready to sail, she’d sneak aboard… somehow. She’d die trying if nothing else. It was her only hope. Her only way to escape these barbarians.

And once she was out of their grasp, she’d sharpen a blade, and wait for them to show their faces again on the rolling hills and cliffs of her homeland. They would rue the day they ever set anchor on those shores. She’d make sure of it, if it was the last thing she did…

She slopped near-freezing water down her dress and hissed through her teeth.

The door to the storeroom slammed open behind her, and a hand clapped down on her shoulder.

“You’re wanted, thrall. Put down that pail and get to the long hall. You’ll serve the chief tonight.”

Aislin recognized the man before her, the hard planes of his face and light brown beard. He was one of Alrik’s men. She cast her eyes downward and nodded. His hand shifted to her arm, squeezing tight, and she dropped the pail. He led her roughly through the freezing wind between buildings toward the firelight glinting in the distance from men staggering to and from the great hall, horns of ale in their hands, singing and yelling, laughing and carousing.

When she reached the chief’s seat at the head of the hall, she saw Alrik laughing next to a man with dark brown hair spilling down his shoulder, his tunic and sword different from that of the barbarians who surrounded her. The man leading her pushed her roughly, and she stumbled, banging her knee against the step of the dais and tumbling to all fours before them.

She heard the chief’s dark laugh above her, then, and felt his eyes on her as easily as if he’d grabbed her with those rough hands of his. The other man chuckled as well, his laugh smooth and easy, like water rolling over ice. Aislin raised her eyes.

Alrik appraised her, his chin resting on his fist, his blue eyes dancing. She flitted her gaze to the other man. His beard was just a dusting of stubble over his chin, his hair framing an angular face. Piercing green eyes watched her carefully. She shivered, feeling like she was a mouse cowering away from a bird of prey. He held out his hand, and she caught a glimpse of his ring, but she couldn’t make out the sigil, just that it bore a large, red stone.

Whoever he was, this man was noble.

She took his hand, lowering her eyes again, and let him pull her to her feet. Her eyes locked on the chief’s. Would another man touching her, even in this simple way, bring forth his rage? Would he hit her? Punish her right here, in front of all his men?

But Alrik sat there, watching her carefully, his lips curving into a smirk as she steadied herself before them, her hand still held tightly inside the stranger’s grasp.

“Thrall, this man will be sharing my hospitality for a few nights, and tonight. He’s an important man in his land, so you’ll show him the same… respect… you show me.”

The way he said
respect
made her shiver. Would this new man hurt her, too? Who was he? What did he want with her? Would she just serve them food and ale, or was something else expected of her?

She chewed her lip, then dipped into a curtsy, sinking low before them. The stranger chuckled again, the sound dangerous. Hungry.
Aislin repressed a shiver.

“Very nice indeed, Alrik. Your hall is truly like no other.
Even in this bleak land, you still surround yourself with
beautiful
things.”

He raised her hand up to his lips, exhaling softly. His breath tickling her made her wince, but when his lips met her skin, sensual and soft, she whimpered.

“I think she likes you,” Alrik said.

The stranger loosened his grip, and she snatched her hand away. The Viking chief’s face was unreadable, and still he watched, stroking his finger over his lower lip in a way that frightened her, and made her body heat all the same. How could someone so cruel be so maddeningly sexy at the same time?

Aislin felt her cheeks heating, shame rolling over her like a fog.

“Thrall, tonight, we wish to feast our eyes as well as our stomachs.”

A few men behind him stopped laughing and bragging to listen. She could hear the clatter of ale horns and the scrape of knives over the wooden table.

“Remove your garb, and bring us a flagon of mead.”

“Re…
remove
my…?”

Alrik lashed out before she could think, striking her cheek with a sharp
crack
. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she swiped at them with her fingertips, refusing to let them fall. He gripped her skirts, pulling her close, dragging her to him until she was eye to eye with him, her slender body trapped between his powerful thighs.