Page 13 of Her Rogue Viking
His men were already curled up within their own pelts and throws so Ulfric did not trouble them unduly. He made his way back to where Fiona lay huddled on her side facing away from him. Ulfric made no ado but simply slung his sword belt to the ground and slipped in behind her.
The slim body next to him was rigid. He reached for her and laid his hand on her hip. Fiona flinched, but he did not withdraw. She was his property, he would touch her as he chose. Ulfric dragged a blanket under his head and bundled it into a pillow of sorts, then he closed his eyes.
He was tired, but sleep eluded him. Fiona too, if the tension in her stiff form was any indication. Perhaps a half hour had passed by the time he leaned up on one elbow to regard the back of her dark head. By now she was shivering.
“You are cold.”
“No. I am quite all right.”
“You are lying, and I do not care for it. Move closer. I will warm you.”
“Why do you ask me? Why not just take what you want?” There was bitterness and resentment in her whispered tone. The salutary effects of her punishment were but fleeting, it would appear.
“Your memory is failing you even more badly than I feared. I told you, there will be no forced lovemaking, no rape, and I meant it. I also promised to take care of you, which includes ensuring you do not freeze to death in the fucking night. So get over here to me. Now.”
He was gratified to be treated to no further protests as she wriggled backwards into his arms. He pulled her closer, hertrembling back hard up against his chest. By Odin, but she was cold, he should have taken action sooner.
Ulfric wrapped his body around her, his forearms pressing against her plump breasts and his still swollen cock hard up against her buttocks. She must be able to feel his arousal but he saw no merit in concealing it from her. She would become more than familiar with his rampant cock in the coming hours and days. Fiona was still rigid, but despite her obvious apprehension she softened as his warmth seeped into her. Ulfric had spent more nights than he could count sleeping under the stars in his native land and he rarely felt the cold. He supposed he must possess some inner furnace and he was happy to share the benefits with the captive female who now nestled under his chin.
“Is that better?”
“I… I suppose it is. Thank you.”
“In the future, you will be honest with me regarding your needs. If you are cold, hungry, hurting, I want to know.”
Her voice was small when she responded, he almost did not hear her. “Even when it is you who is causing the hurt?”
“Especially then, my beautiful little Celt. Especially then.”
“And if I do not?”
“I still have a spare switch. Never forget that, and never doubt I will use it.”
“I understand.” Was that a note of lingering defiance in her quiet voice? He would test that but now was not the time. She had borne enough for one day.
“Good. So, you will sleep now.”
Moments later her breathing slowed, steadied. Her body no longer trembled. She pressed closer to him, absorbing the heat he shared. His cock remained swollen and throbbing, but he could do little to assuage that need now.
Soon though. Soon, she would beg him to fill her and he would take great pleasure in sinking his cock deep within thelush, slick folds he had glimpsed as she lay bared to him over that fallen tree. Oh, yes, with the investment of a little time, patience, and a good degree of firmness, he suspected his latest acquisition would make a most rewarding bed-slave.
Ulfric wokeas thin slivers of daylight poked the frigid land. Fiona lay draped over him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest and one slim leg slung over his thighs. The jab of metal told him it was her shackled foot that she had used to scramble as close as she might, instinctively protecting her injured ankle. Her breathing remained low and unhurried, her features relaxed in sleep. She was beautiful, he mused, not for the first time. He had thought so the moment he had spun her around after having divested her of that bloody slingshot, the instant he had looked into those lovely eyes and started to lose his senses.
He had raided her village in search of strong male backs to provide the hard labour required to construct his harbour and his granary. A pretty wench offered welcome enough relief after the stress of a swift and deadly attack, but he would not normally go to the bother of bringing the lass home with him. This one was different, and she had been from the start. She brought out the best—or the worst—in him. He wanted her more than he had ever desired any woman, even the sweet Astrid whom he had married and who had borne him his only child.
And now he had her. This little Celt was his for the taking.
Ulfric strained his neck to peer about him in the thin light of dawn. Already his men were stirring, soon the camp would be up and on the move. He needed to rouse his captive, and he could think of no better way…
He reached for the hem of her woollen skirt, already hiked up around her knee, and he tugged it slowly to her hip. He paused there to trail his fingers up and down her exposed thigh, and knew the precise moment she registered his actions. Her soft form flinched, then stiffened and her breath caught in her throat.
“Good morning, little Celt. I trust you slept well.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice was breathy, her fear of him already apparent despite her seeming trust as she slept.
“I am exploring. I believe I mentioned this to you already.”
“You promised…” She made to wriggle away but his arm around her waist prevented such awkwardness.
