Page 31 of Her Rogue Viking
“No? You seemed keen enough to plead your case a few moments ago.”
“And you would not listen. I told you, what happened was an accident.”
“I know that, and I believe you. Were it merely a matter of the weaving I doubt we would find ourselves requiring a switch at all. My sister is somewhat protective of her work, but she is very skilled at the loom and will have the matter set to rights soon enough, I daresay.”
Fiona turned to face him. Ulfric leaned against the wall at the foot of the bed, his posture nonchalant as he regarded her bared buttocks with undisguised appreciation.
“Then, why?—”
“I entered my longhouse to hear you declaring that you were slave to no one and that you did not answer to Brynhild. I had thought I made your status in this house perfectly clear, but evidently not.”
“She was goading me. Threatening me.”
“As she had every right to do. You are to obey her. I told you that, also.”
“But—”
“Enough. Are you my slave, Fiona? Or do you still maintain matters to be otherwise?”
She buried her face in the furs and refused to respond. The whistle of a switch rending the still air elicited a soft whimper.
“Answer me, Celt.”
“I am your slave, Viking.” It near enough stopped her breath to utter the hated words, but the switch… Fiona shuddered.
“Good. Now I believe a half dozen decent strokes across your bottom will serve to drive that message home, but I will be quite happy to repeat the lesson should you so require.”
A half dozen? It could have been worse.
She had fully expected it to be worse, much worse, in fact. A dozen or even twenty strokes would not have surprised her. She could bear this.
“Be still, and this will soon be over.” He stepped forward and laid his warm palm on her quivering backside. He squeezed the firm flesh there, then trailed his fingertips up the furrow between her buttocks. “Are you wet, Fiona?” He murmured the question as he leaned over her.
She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“I do not believe you. Spread your legs.”
“Please…” she began.
“Obey, or I shall start to add strokes.”
Fiona wriggled her thighs apart.
“Wider. As wide as you can.”
She groaned as she complied, bending her legs at the knees to better satisfy his demands. Despite her denial, she knew what he would discover as soon as he tested her moist folds.
Sure enough, the sounds of her wetness accompanied his gentle exploration. Ulfric chuckled as he slid his fingers into her soaked channel. “Bear your whipping well, little Celt, and I shall reward you after.”
“Reward yourself, more like.”
He withdrew his digits and reached further to take her swollen clit between his fingers. He rubbed gently, then scraped his fingernails over the tip, scratching her trembling nub. Fiona groaned and grasped fistfuls of the blankets in her desperate hands.
“I am not sure that I heard you correctly. Which one of us will have the reward, little Celt, if you are a good slave and manage to please me?”
He paused, waited. Fiona let out a defeated breath.
“Me. I will. Please…”
