Bound by the Viking, Part 2: Compelled (4 page)

He pinched her nipple, rolling it between calloused fingers, and she screamed. Her pleasure crested, her back rising off the furs as she writhed, bound between the two men, the ripples of feeling so intense her eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she flew apart in their grasp.

The lord’s tongue lashed her frantically, lapping up her wetness, invading her tightness as much as he could, driving her wild.
When he finally moved back, she shook like a leaf, her thighs as weak as melted butter, her body twitching in the aftermath of his onslaught.

He gritted his teeth above her, his eyes locked on hers, and she saw it—his length gripped tight in his hand, ring glinting in the firelight as he stroked it again and again. With a moan, he stopped suddenly, and then she felt it. Hot seed splashing down onto her naked body, some onto her heated breasts, and some onto her belly, the salty musk of it filling her nostrils.

Denholm groaned again, and then his hands were on her, rubbing his spending into her skin, massaging her chest, her nipples pebbling against him as he claimed her. It was so crude, so animalistic, that her mouth hung open, only pants escaping her lips as she watched him. He grinned, sated, but still predatory, a wolf who’d eaten his fill, blood dripping from its jaws.

She turned her head away, and he laughed.

“You keep a fine hall, Alrik,” the man said, standing.

He tucked himself back into his clothing and sighed deeply.

“You know exactly how to make a man feel warm even in such cold lands.”

He clapped the Viking chief on the arm as he stood, releasing Aislin’s arms. She lay limp, her wrists aching, her body still pulsing from her orgasm.

“Glad you approve of my hospitality, old friend,” Alrik said. “On the morrow, we hunt, so rest well.”

The lord laughed and smoothed his garments. “Now, I shall sleep like the dead.”

He grinned down at Aislin and winked, the gesture making her feel soiled, even though she could still feel his tongue on her, probing into her, teasing her maidenhead.

When he’d gone, Alrik called out the door in his strange tongue, and soon servants handed him a bowl of steaming water and some cloths.
He knelt beside Aislin, and she tensed, wondering what he would do with her, now that the other lord had used her in such a manner.

To her surprise, he dipped a cloth in the water, and slowly brought it to her chest. The water was warm, soothing, comforting against her goose-pimpled skin. He bathed her then, washing her gently with the cloth, smoothing away the seed from her breasts, cleansing her as if it never happened.
His movements were tender, a sharp contrast to the  man who’d threatened her less than an hour before.

She
laid there, eyes wide, not daring to move, not daring to speak, lest she break the spell. What did this mean? Could it be that he thought of her as more than just a slave? More than a plaything?

She tried to banish the thought, but with each soft stroke of the cloth over her flesh, she wondered anew. Finally, he dried her with a fresh strip of fabri
c, and pulled her up to face him. He knelt and pulled her legs around him until they were face to face, her bottom still nestled in the furs, her core aching for something… more.

“You did well tonight, little one.”

He brushed a curl off her forehead, his touch like an ember on her skin.

“Until you and I are joined, I may use you in such a way.
My men chose you because of your incomparable beauty. And beauty is coveted in harsh lands such as these. It is as precious as gold.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, so softly, it made her hurt.

“Maybe even more so.”

Aislin stared at her hands, now covering her sex,
the Viking chief’s body so close now, she could feel his heat. Slowly, he unpinned his tunic and pulled it up over his head. His straw-colored hair fell freely over his bare chest, glistening with sweat in the flickering light. She wanted to touch him, wanted to put both palms on the hard planes of muscle and feel his heart beat beneath her fingertips.

I should sooner wish to stab that breast, to hear the drum beat within falter and cease…

But feeling his breath on her lips, and his strong body press between her legs, she couldn’t muster the hatred she’d held so near since she came to these shores. In its place was an emptiness, a pit of need so great it swallowed her hatred whole.

She wanted him.

“Do you remember this morning’s lesson, my beauty?”

His lips met hers, the touch a mere flutter, a tease. She thought of him stroking himself, his hand gliding over that long, hard shaft, and unbidden, her mouth watered for another taste of him.
He reached down and undid his breeches, letting them slide down to the floor.

“Yes… master.”

His head dipped again, his lips meeting hers, and this time there was heat, his kiss fierce, his teeth scraping her tender mouth, his tongue finding hers, making her pulse race in her chest.

“Good girl,” he rasped.

He swept her up, lifting her by the hips as if she weighed no more than a child, and carried her to his bed. He lay back on the skins so she straddled him, but held her tight, not letting her body part from his. She felt him against her, hard as steel and just as dangerous.

“Now you are going to please your master, understood?”

She nodded, but found her breath had left her. She could only manage a tight murmur with him pressed against her like that, his shaft parting her lower lips. He grinned, his eyes full of dark promises.

“Turn around on top of me so that you can suckle me,” he said, “and press that sweet honeycomb of yours to my lips.”

She gasped and tried to pull away, but his hand cracked down on her backside, making her shriek. She bit her lip, panting, more aroused than ever from the idea he’d planted in her mind, her flesh stinging from his blow. He hit her again and again, reddening her bottom, until she nodded, choking down a sob, her body grinding against him, seeking him even as pain glowed hot as fire where his hand fell. Alrik kneaded her cheeks, making her moan and cry, wanting and hurt mixing together until she couldn’t tell one from the other.

“Do you want to stop, hmm? Do you want me to deny you what you need right now, little one?”

His fingers snaked between her cheeks, tickling her tight ring, before sliding through her wetness. She mewled, face burning, core tightening, thighs tense as drum leather around his body.

In that moment, all thought of escape, all thought of her sister, the images of her burning lands, all were gone, replaced by a rolling fog—a fog where all that existed was his voice and his hot, male body beneath hers—all that existed was her desire.

“Please!”

His hand wrapped around her throat, and she coughed as he held her fast.

“Turn around and wrap those red lips of yours around my cock, slave,” he gritted. “I can’t wait to drink your nectar when you cum…”

He pushed her back, and she did as her master commanded, breasts heaving, mouth open and ready, tongue eager to taste him, to drive him as wild as he did her. Her need for him frightened her, but the fog kept her moving, kept her thoughts, her worries far away. All that mattered now was flesh and lust; her senses full of him, and his of her.

She hesitated when her open thighs were over her master’s face, but he grabbed her roughly and pulled her down, burying his mouth between her legs. She moaned like an animal as his tongue and lips found her most intimate place, suckling and licking, a sweet torment even more skillfully decadent than Denholm’s fevered ministrations.

She leaned down, her mind spinning, her body thrumming along with each thrash of his tongue like a stringed instrument, ready to bend and snap at the slightest tug. Her palm wrapped around her master’s girth, and she almost wept, seeing it there before her again, so stiff and proud, the sensations crashing through her almost too much to bear on her too-sensitive flesh. What if one taste of him sent her reeling? What if the body could only stand so much sinful pleasure before something gave, and she went mad from it?

Alrik’s fingers dug into her backside, the glowing ache there spurring her to action. She opened her mouth wide and took him inside of her, carefully at first, her jaw adjusting to his size, then greedily, her tongue swirling around the head, hungry for him. He groaned beneath her, his hips thrusting upward to meet her, and she moaned around him at the feel of his voice vibrating against her.

That same sense of power flooded through her—the sensation of controlling him, even as she gave herself over to his mastery—the idea of it pressing through the fog, making itself known to her.
It was sweet, that power, sweeter than the scent of him filling her nostrils, sweeter than the chills creeping up her spine with each sweep of his tongue over her sex.

When Alrik took his pleasure in her body, she took something from him as well. Yes, he brought her to the brink of
sensation so intense it shook her to her very core, but more than that, she knew he was vulnerable when he took her, vulnerable even as he asserted his will, forcing her to please him—to love him.

Aislin cupped his balls in her hand and caressed them as her mouth slid over him, tongue dancing, laving, her other hand stroking him softly at first, then firmer, harder in response to his moans—to the tensing of his muscles beneath her.

She grinned around him, sucking harder, and almost laughed when she felt his fingers digging into her hips and his body buck against hers. He was close now, close to coming apart himself, this mighty Viking leader, this warrior. He was hers, at her mercy, even as she was at his.

“Cum, slave!”

He smacked her bottom roughly again and again, and nibbled her sensitive nub in a way that made her eyes roll back in her head and a scream rise up in her throat. She reached the precipice inside of herself and tumbled over, helpless to resist, her thighs shaking and trembling as pleasure ripped through her, tearing her to bits.

But as she fell, overcome by him, her captor, her master, she knew he, too, was overcome.

As he came inside of her, spending himself into her eager mouth, he cried out, his cock twitching against her lips as she drank him down. He groaned as he drank of her, too, taking his fill of her arousal, leaking down onto his upturned chin, and she knew.

Her beauty would be his undoing.

Rare and precious as gold, it would lead him to his death.

She fell asleep that night before the fire, the rope binding her arms feeling as light as gossamer. She slept easily and dreamed of mist over the bog, the rhythm of the drums
echoing through her mind.

***

To Be Continued…

The next part of the sizzling erotic mini-series,
Bound by the Viking
, is coming soon, right to your e-reader!

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About the Author

Delilah Fawkes is the bestselling erotic romance author of "The Billionaire's Beck and Call" series, selling more than 150,000 e-books in 2012.

She's known for sizzling romances with
red hot alpha males you'll fall in love with and strong women who make them swoon. If you like your romance gripping, fast-paced, and dripping with sinful love scenes, you've got to check out what Delilah has to offer.

Delilah Fawkes always delights in bringing you the very best in erotica and erotic romance!

For more Delilah Fawkes stories, visit
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Other Stories by Delilah Fawkes:

Short Erotic Tales
:

My Best Friend’s Brother (An Alpha Male Erotic Romance)

My Best Friend’s Brother 2 (An Alpha Male Erotic Romance)

My Best Friend’s Bed (A Bisexual/Lesbian First Time Erotic Short)

Cram Session (A Domination/Submission Erotic Short)

Getting Off (A Domination/Submission Erotic Short)

Disciplinary Action (A Domination/Submission Erotic Short)

Disciplinary Action 2: Reprimanded (A Domination/Submission Erotic Short)

Yes, Professor (A Domination/Submission Erotic Short)