Bound by the Viking, Part 1: Captured Page 2
To her horror, a few of the men now had stiff cocks in hand, stroking them vigorously, watching her body shake with the last spasms of orgasm. With a grunt, one in the front spilled his seed into his hand, then grinned at her with yellowed teeth. Another had a serving girl in his lap, now squealing and riding him with abandon, her braids bouncing as they coupled.
She wished she could cover up, but the chief was watching her, holding her tight, claiming her—making her watch the effect she had on the men, submitting to his will as she had.
“Your beauty made these men’s lusts stir as they do mine, sweet one,” he said. “It was my pleasure to show you to them, and to show you that you cannot resist me. I shall train you, and in the end, you will beg me to take you in front of them. You will not be able to help yourself.”
He kissed her neck, and she shivered, simultaneously repulsed and aroused all over again at the thought.
“You will love me.”
With that sinister promise, he swept her off his lap and over his shoulder, to many cheers and groans of sexual release from the crowd of soldiers. Then, it was off the dais and into the back of the long hall, through a heavy wooden door that slammed hard behind them. When he dropped her down, her feet touched animal furs strewn across the wood floor, the sound of the main room muffled through the wood.
This must have been his private chambers. A large wooden bed sat against the wall, and candles glowed on top of an intricately-carved chest. Animal skins covered the mattress, inviting her to touch their soft warmth. But now, alone with this large man, Aislin trembled again, wondering if the time had come—if he would savage her and take her maidenhead by force.
He eyed her casually, leaning back against the door, smirking at her obvious anxiety. A fire roared in a stone hearth, casting his face into devilish dancing shadows. Her eyes flicked to the chest where a dirk lay in its scabbard. If she moved now, she might be able to make it to the knife. Then if she was very, very lucky, she could slit his throat and no one would be the wiser until morning.
The chieftain made a tsk-ing sound and moved toward her with steady steps. As if reading her mind, he eyed the knife.
“I’ve killed dozens of armed men with nothing but my bare hands on the battlefield. What makes you think you’d fare any better?” He stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, making her gasp. “And if you did, where would you go? You don’t know these lands. You’d starve before you found the next village.”
He tightened his grip, making a fist in her coppery curls. “The sooner you accept me as your master, the sooner you can learn to love this new life of yours. The sooner you can let go…” He gave her hair a jerk, and she squealed. “Of all that fear.”
“Are… are you going to hurt me?”
She set her jaw and forced herself to keep eye contact with the man towering over her, holding her hair so tightly it hurt. Don’t break down. Let him see how strong you are, Aislin! How strong the O’Byrne blood is inside you. How deep it runs in your veins. She took a deep breath.
Make papa proud.
“I will, a little,” the large man said, grinning like a wolf. “But I will not harm you, unless you do something to force my hand.”
She paled at the thought of him laying hands on her, but didn’t let her eyes cloud with tears.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re mine.”
He yanked her hair back and leaned down, capturing her mouth roughly with his own. At first, she gasped in surprise, but at the invasion of his tongue, the heat rose again between her legs, making her sex throb. She struggled in his arms, but found herself pressing against him more than she was pulling away. He tasted sweet like mead, and the smell of his masculine scent filled her senses. The feel of his lips on her, his tongue dancing with her own, his teeth scraping over her tender skin, showing her he could bite as much as he could kiss, was almost too much.
When he pulled back, she stood there dazed, lips bruised and cold, missing his warmth.
“Now, little girl, it’s time to punish you.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What?”
Before she could move, he grabbed her wrist and captured the other, bringing them together in one strong fist. She pulled back, trying to break free, but he held her tight, chuckling at her as she struggled, his grey eyes glinting dangerously. He dragged her toward the chest and kicked it open, then dragged out a thin rope from its shadows and slammed it closed again.
In a flash, he wound the ropes around her pale wrists, looping them around and between until they were bound tightly behind her back. She winced at the feeling, her flesh still tender from her journey tied up in the ship. She looked over her shoulder to see him smiling down at his work. He held the other end of the rope in his hands, like she was a cow on a lead.
He sat down on the chest and yanked the rope hard, making her stumble backward toward him. She squeezed her lips together, trying not to cry, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of truly humiliating her. But when his hands removed the brooch at her shoulder holding her dress together, she let out a small keening noise.
She heard the large man chuckle behind her, and felt the rage boiling up inside of her at the sound.
He ripped her sashes down, letting the fabric fall away until she felt the cool air hit her naked breasts. Her rose pink nipples pebbled, and she closed her eyes against the shame of it. When he undid her skirts, pulling them down so only her top remained bunched around her tied arms and waist, she pressed her thighs together, as if that would keep him at bay.
To her surprise, he did not try to force himself on her just yet. Instead, he yanked the rope and shoved her down face-first across his muscular thighs.
“Defy me, and I will punish you, little girl.”
His strong hand came down hard on her bottom, making her scream from the sudden pain. The wooden rafters echoed with the slap of flesh on flesh.
“Now, this isn’t meant to harm you,” he said.
His hand came down again on the other cheek, and she winced, her body tensing as she struggled against the rope.
“But if you resist me, if you try anything like eyeing my knife again, you’ll get a lot worse.”
He hit her again and again, each blow drawing a screech from Aislin. Tears stung her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to steady herself against the sharp pain. She wondered if she would be bruised, and knew he was watching her, enjoying the look of her reddening cheeks. She felt his erection grow against her, and a tear escaped, rolling down her cheek and onto the rug.
“You look beautiful like this, you know,” he rasped.
His hands kneaded her ass, and she yelped again, the touch making the pain blossom anew. Then he smoothed his fingers over her skin, as soothing as he was cruel, rubbing her hurt away. She whimpered, the pleasure of his touch almost worse than the blows.
When his hand came down again, another tear fell, then another as he spanked her again and again, slapping her so hard she gasped, then rubbing the sting away before the next strike. Her head began to grow fuzzy, her mind focused only of the feel of his thighs beneath her, the stiffness of his shaft against her lower belly, the glowing hurt of her body. But soon the pain mixed with something else, the cloud in her mind turning it almost sweet—almost like a kiss, instead of a sting.
She was shivering when he pulled her upright and cradled her on his lap, holding her like a child. He pressed her head onto his shoulder and whispered something in his native tongue, his voice a soothing balm. When he pressed a hot kiss to her forehead, she squeezed her eyes together, letting the tears flow, but not sure anymore of what she was feeling. Was it horror at what he was doing to her? Or a twisted sort of pleasure?
There was a rap on the door.
The Viking chief set her on her feet, but kept a hand on her roped wrists, pushing her toward the door with him. He opened it a crack, and the warm light from the long hall washed over them, revealing the face of one of his men. The bearded man
looked down, his eyes widening at the sight of Aislin’s revealed body. His broad mouth split into a grin.
“What is it?”
“I was sorting through the spoils from the raid, and found this among the girl’s belongings. I thought you should know.”
Aislin’s head still felt light, but her cheeks still burned as the man’s eyes crawled over her body once again. He opened his hand and held it out for the large man holding her wrists to see. The glint of silver made her gasp. The delicate silver sword behind her family’s crest shone in the light—her father’s kilt pin.
Alrik stared for a long moment before snatching the pin up and nodding to his man.
“You’ve done well to bring this to me.”
He closed the door and turned to her, eyes gleaming with evil intent.
“This changes things now, doesn’t it, girl?”
She tried to back away, but he grabbed her upper arms, holding her still, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You’re of the O’Byrne clan.”
It wasn’t a question, but his eyes demanded an answer.
“Aye,” she whispered.
He assessed her for a long moment, than ran his hands through her coppery hair, lost in thought. Then, he pressed a hard finger under her chin, tilting it up before planting a kiss on her lips so soft, she almost moaned.
Who is this man, that he can confuse me so?
“I won’t take your maidenhead tonight after all, little girl,” he said when he pulled back, his voice husky with desire. “But I will have it. Believe you that.”
She bit her lip, nodding. He could take whatever he wanted from her, and they both knew it. She was his captive.
“Instead, you’re going to begin your training. Learn to please me. Do you understand?”
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Nothing about this made any sense. All she knew was she was his thrall, his slave, and that if she didn’t give him what he wanted, he would slit her throat. Perhaps even her sister’s if she were still alive.
She also knew that despite all of that, a part of her wanted him. Wanted to see what he looked like beneath his tunic and breeches. And that she hated that part of herself now more than she hated him.
“Yes, Master.”
What had changed so suddenly? What significance was her clan’s crest in all this?
“Good girl,” he said.
He grinned down at her, then spun her around and began untying her knots. She could have wept in relief. Was she to go free tonight? Back to some safe cell where he wouldn’t touch her? Where he couldn’t make her think such confusing, wicked thoughts?
But instead of releasing her from his chamber, he simply stripped off the rest of her garb, leaving her truly naked before him, not a scrap of clothing between her and his hungry eyes. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but he swatted them away.
“Never hide yourself from me.” His voice was a deadly growl.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She half expected a blow to the face as he stood there, positively boiling with restrained anger and… something else entirely.
He grabbed the rope again and tied her hands before her, binding her again so she couldn’t help but feel another part of her resolve crumble away. Stay strong, Aislin, she whispered silently to herself. He may take your body, but he can never take your mind. Your spirit.
But as his hands ran lightly over her body, making her tingle between her legs, she wondered how true that was. He picked her up and carried her toward the big bed, and her eyes grew wide. She wanted to protest, to remind him of his promise, but she kept her lips shut.
He threw her down and stood looking down on her like she was a meal he couldn’t wait to devour. She trembled, feeling the soft animal furs on her back, the chafe of the rope on her wrists, wondering what this big man was going to do to her.
“Have you ever been given pleasure by a man before?”
He unpinned his tunic and pulled it over his head, his hair falling onto his naked shoulders like spun gold.
“N-no,” she said.
He raised a hand and brought it down on her naked breast with a hard slap, making her scream.
“You will address me properly, thrall,” he growled.
She set her jaw, the sting on her hard nipple making the wetness between her legs increase.
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”
“You’re learning,” he said. He grinned as he pulled off his boots, then lowered his trousers. “Very good. Because I have a new lesson for you.”
She gasped as his hardness rose before her, his manhood stiff and bigger than she’d imagined a man could be. He gripped it hard in a bronzed fist and looked down at her.
“You will learn that I can give you pain, but I can also give you pleasure, little girl. More pleasure than you can dream.”
He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. She tried to scoot back, out of his way, but without the use of her hands, she just pushed the furs toward him and stayed where she was.
“But if you fight me, I will punish you again. Do you understand?”
The ache on her backside had not yet faded, and the memory of it made her sex throb. Her traitorous body arched for a moment, as if inviting him forward.
“Yes, Master.”
Lord, what was happening to her?
He laughed then, the sound cruel in her ears, but when he pressed her thighs back, opening her body to him, she didn’t resist. But instead of thrusting himself on top of her as she feared, he lowered his head between her legs. Before she realized what was happening, she felt his tongue parting her folds and made a sound half gasp, half shriek.
The Viking’s rough hands held her pinned as he began his merciless assault, licking and sucking, his mouth coaxing her to relax, to give in, to let the tightening in her core spill over into untold pleasure.
She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him close. She was all wanting devoid of coherent thought as he laved her, sending jolts of lighting through her veins. Her core felt like it was on fire, an ache building to an unbearable crescendo. Her toes curled into the air, seeking purchase, the soles of her feet arching and stretching.
She heard a wild keening noise echoing through the room, then realized through the haze of need that it was her own voice, wailing as this brute brought her right to the very peak once again. When he bit down on her secret nub, she screamed, her orgasm crashing over her like waves over the bow of the longboat.
Her body shook as she found her bliss, her thoughts only of this moment, this feeling, the incredible new sensation of his mouth on her—the heat of him between her legs.
And then he was pulling her upward, and draping her bound arms over his neck. She was nose to nose with him as he held her tight, making her straddle his lap now, her legs wrapped around his muscled waist.
She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but he stopped her with a kiss, his tongue pressing between her lips, stealing her breath away. She could smell and taste herself on him, but instead of revolting her, the thought only made her sex squeeze again, her body trembling against his.
He ground against her, his erection stiff between them, and finally she understood. He swept her up, moving back against the firm wooden headboard and moving his hips lower so her wet lips were on top of his hardness, sliding over him.
He grunted into her, then bit her lip, making her cry out. He grabbed her buttocks, his fingers bruising the tender places where he’d struck her, making her gasp, but whether in pleasure or pain, she was no longer certain. He used her, then, grinding her over him, sliding her body over his, letting her feel him, his length, his strength, as he bucked against her flesh.
“Gods, your pussy is hot, little girl,” he said through gritted teeth.
He leaned forward and captured one of her nipples between his lips, suckling hard as he pistoned between her lower lips, making her body quiver all over again at the sweet, sinful friction.
Loved.
Alrik pressed a kiss to her hair. “You did well,” he said.
She felt a glow rising inside of her at his words, and inwardly cursed herself. He was not her lover. He was the man whose men invaded her village. Who turned her world inside out. Who made her nothing more than a slave.
He was a monster. She needed to remember that, no matter what he did to her.
***
Aislin thought she would sleep in his bed, but the Viking chief tied her hands behind her back again, making her wince as her back protested, then tied the other end of the rope to his bedpost. He laid a bear skin down on the floor and told her she’d sleep there naked. Like a dog at the foot of her master’s bed.
She lay down, bitterness rising up inside of her at the reminder that she was nothing more to him than a pet, when a thought struck her. Why had he changed his plans when he saw the kilt pin? What game was Alrik playing?
“Master?” She held her breath, fearing he’d punish her then for speaking.
There was an answering grunt from the bed.
“Master, may I ask why you didn’t… um…”
“Why I didn’t fuck you tonight?” There was a low chuckle.
She pressed her lips together at his words. “Yes, Master.”
“It’s simple, little girl. Plans have changed.”
“What plans are those, Master?”
The bed creaked next to her as the large man shifted. “This is your last question.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see. His patience was spent.
“I didn’t fuck you tonight, because this next Freya’s Day we’re to be wed. In six days from now, you will be my bride.”
She heard him roll over and knew, despite the shock now chilling her to the bone, that she’d get no more answers tonight.