Page 42 of Her Rogue Viking
Now it did hurt and Fiona stiffened. She had not meant to resist, but could not help it.
“Easy, little one,” he murmured and lowered the hand that had been resting on her hip to slide it around the front and rest his finger on her clitoris. “Would it help if I were to pleasure you whilst we do this?”
“Yes, oh, yes, please…” she groaned as moisture gathered anew.
He pressed on her clit at the same time as he drove his fingers inside her now unresisting arse. Fiona yelped as sensation overwhelmed her. It was tight, stretching, burning. Too much, too sudden, too?—
“Aagh!” Her release ripped through her before she even had a chance to recognise what was happening. Her body shook and convulsed, her inner muscles contracted around the fingers pressed inside her. She jerked violently within her bonds, desperate for Ulfric to rub harder, thrust deeper. She craved it now, that heady blend of pleasure and pain that sent her spinning, her senses whirling and unravelling.
He held her, his fingers in her, on her, teasing the last shivers of lust from her over-taut body until she settled again. Now, as her arse relaxed fully, he was able to withdraw and plunge his fingers in and out without resistance, her body accepting his intrusion readily enough. She groaned at the lewd delight of it, the sinful, sensual depravity of being utterly possessed, completely within his power.
“You are ready, little Celt.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am ready.”
He circled her waist with his arm and withdrew his fingers from her arse. Then he reached above her to loosen the knot that secured her to the rafter. Fiona would have collapsed onto the floor but he held her fast and scooped her into his arms. She moaned as he laid her on the bed, the residual tenderness from the strokes of his belt registering as her weight settled on her punished buttocks. He untied the strip of cloth that bound her wrists and she turned to lie on her stomach. Fiona stretched her arms out on either side of her as she rolled her aching shoulders.
Ulfric placed his hands on her hips and pulled her up onto her knees. She held still as he parted her buttocks again to view her well-prepared arse. She should be cringing in embarrassment, she knew this, but was well past such niceties now. She wanted him inside her, however much it might hurt. She craved him, lusted for this invasion.
“Would you… if it hurts, could you pleasure me again?”
“Aye, if you like. Or you could pleasure yourself.”
“Me?”
“You know by now what you like, how you want to be touched. You do it.”
So she did. Fiona relished the sense of freedom and power as she took her own pleasure in hand. As she looked over her shoulder, watched Ulfric smear butter over his engorged cock, she caressed her clit, sank her fingers into her own juices, even drove one digit into her pussy as he positioned his cock at her rear entrance.
He pushed, and she groaned. This was harder, much harder than accepting his fingers. Perhaps, even now, even after all his careful preparation, she would fail.
“Push back against me, and relax if you can. Let me in, little Celt…” His words coaxed and cajoled, drawing out her submission as he eased the wide head of his cock past the tight coil of muscle.
Fiona whimpered as her body stretched, the burn impossible now. She would surely tear, he would injure her, this was not possible…
“Oh!” she cried out as his cock inched forward, then chewed on her lower lip as he pressed further. She rubbed her fingers over her clit, the pleasure masking the pain of his entry. She hissed in discomfort, tensing despite her best efforts. Ulfric paused, waited for her to adjust, for her body to adapt, then he thrust again. And her body parted to fully accept him.
“There, that is it. You have all of me now.” His breath feathered against her flushed cheek as she lay panting on the bed. With her free hand she reached for—something. Someone. Ulfric laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. “Are you quite well, little Celt?”
She pondered that question before responding, then managed a slow, wondering nod. “I believe I still live, Viking.”
He chuckled. “Then, we shall settle for that. Tell me if you need me to stop.”
He withdrew his wide cock, slowly, with great care. When he was almost fully out of her body he halted, then drove his erection deep again. His greased cock slid in easily now, caressing her snug inner walls as she rubbed even more frantically at her clit.
“Oh, sweet saviour…” The friction was beyond exquisite. She moaned, writhed under him, thrusting back as he buried his cock again and again. She squeezed, gripping him hard though she could not imagine a tighter fit.
“By Odin’s balls, that feels so fucking good, wench.”
“Viking, I… Oh! Oooh!” Her body was racked by another climax more powerful than any that had gone before. He continued to fuck her, harder now, his possession deeper, more demanding. This was intense, all-consuming, beyond her imagination. Her body quivered on the verge of yet another shattering release.
“Again, girl. Scream for me again.”
She did, but into the palm of his hand, which he laid over her mouth to muffle the sound. She remembered, belatedly, the sleeping child in the next room and was glad of his presence of mind. Only as her groans of delight ebbed did he give one final sharp and driving thrust. He swore, obscene but expressive words she had heard from him on other similar occasions and which she now understood. His cock lurched within her arse. Heat bathed her inner space, and they both lay still.
10
“We have visitors, Brynhild. There shall be feasting this night.” Ulfric stepped through the entrance of the longhouse to regard the members of his household. His sister was at her loom, as usual, and the thralls milled about at their everyday tasks. Fiona sat at the table with Hilla, the pair of them bent over a hank of rough sheep’s fleece. All turned to look at him.
