Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1) (20 page)

Setting aside his discontent over his men’s worries not to mention his own with what lay ahead, Naðr mustered up an easy smile. Megan was dealing with enough. She didn’t need him to add to it. “Did these fools feed you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

When she smiled a few knots in his shoulders and neck unlocked. The genuine warmth of her regard felt like a much needed safe haven from the heaviness of his thoughts.

Kol eyed Naðr’s skin. “It’s still full. Drink.”

“I will if you give up your seat.”

“It would never happen.” But a wide smile soon followed as Kol stood. “If I didn’t love the hel out of you.”

Naðr clapped his brother on the shoulder then sat between Megan and Kjar, wearier than he’d ever let on.

“What about you?” Megan said softly, nudging him a little. “Have you eaten?”

“Some time ago,” he assured. But he hadn’t. It was the least of his priorities.

Within moments, Kol was pressing meat into his hands, voice low. “Eat.”

Naðr nodded his thanks and ate, eyes to the fire.

“And drink,” Megan murmured.

When his eyes turned to her, she grinned. Raknar leaned forward, nodded at him and echoed her words. “And drink.”

So he drank as he ate, ears still to the conversations happening around him. While especially tuned into the beauty by his side, nothing would ever stop him from listening…hearing. It was a fine-honed skill he’d learned long ago. One that gave him a feel for the energy, the very life force of the men around him. If they were happy, he needed to know. If they were discontented, he needed to know.

Meanwhile, Kol squeezed himself between Kjar and Naðr as he swigged from his skin. It gave the king the fire at his face while those who mattered most surrounded him. Megan, seeming to understand that though he was by her side he still needed to pay attention to his men, turned her conversation Raknar’s way. Yet despite his determination to listen to others, Naðr was drawn not only to her warm body but to her gentle words.

“So we’ll go fishing. I used to go back home. A long time ago.” She nodded. “I’d like to do it again.”

“We will,” Raknar agreed, a sense of purpose in his voice. “There is klippfisk aplenty.”

Megan shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that type of fish. What does it look like?”

Raknar looked for words but couldn’t find them so scooped up a handful of snow. “A bit darker than this color. Flaky, dry meat. Very good.”

“So like cod or haddock?”

Confused, he shook his head. “I don’t know. Could be.”

“No matter.” Megan nodded, eyes alive. “We’ll plan on going fishing then.”

Naðr kept emotion buried but knew Kol was having more difficulty keeping silent as he took another long swig from his skin. It was a rare day that Raknar spoke not of conquest but of their baser roots. That of being sons of a fisherman.

Yet despite the pleasant turn of conversation, he remained weary.

Kjar’s calm eyes met Naðr’s and he lowered his head. “Sleep for you and Megan then.”

“Sleep,” Naðr agreed and stood. Though Kjar had implied Megan would go when he did, it would not happen like that. His woman had offered solace to his brothers this eve and he’d not haul her off if she did not want to go. No, if she desired to join him it would be of her own free will for all to see. Leaving her alone now was not a concern. Many had gone off to sleep but even so, his men had watched her this eve and if anything, respected the camaraderie she’d formed with his kin.

Megan was a good woman.

She deserved to make her own decision on when she wished to sleep. As to who she would sleep with, that was decided. But even then, on such a night that she’d lost a love, he would not pressure her.

But Naðr would not leave without saying goodnight. Crouching in front of her, he cupped her cheek. “You did well today.” Even though he meant the exchange to be formal, his fingers drifted over her soft skin before he kissed her cheek, voice loud enough for all remaining by the fire to hear. “Visit with my brothers then come rest when you are ready.”

Her eyes locked with his and she nodded. “I will.”

He nodded as well and left.

Kjar grabbed his wrist in passing. He removed the half full skin from his hand and replaced it with a full one. “Sleep well, cousin.”

Naðr clasped his wrist in return, nodded, then made his way into the tent. Yet his steps were heavy and the air in his lungs heavier. As he had the previous night, the urge to toss Megan over his shoulder and slam her down beneath him was strong. But like then, he wanted her to move forward with knowledge and a sense of self-security. Last eve, it had been sharing that he was half dragon. This eve? That he would not force her to do anything she did not want to do. Unless it risked her safety. But they’d deal with that possibility when and if it came.

So upon entering the tent he sat, elbows rested casually on bent knees and did his best to wait patiently. Thankfully, she didn’t make him wait long. The fire was still crackling when she ducked into the tent. Kneeling, she paused and allowed her eyes to adjust. When they did, her hooded gaze locked on his.

Naðr’s dragon blood had never sizzled so sharply around a woman. Free, untamed, her blond curls were back-dropped by warm, orange light and the outline of her body was so tempting he hungered…

For her.

Them.

Everything.

Megan crawled forward until she knelt in front of him. Eyes partially masked in darkness, she said nothing, just stared. It seemed like the moon grew full five times in the sky before she at last spoke, tone husky, throaty. “This is happening so fast. What are we doing? What are
you
doing?”

What
was
he doing? But he already knew. In all honesty, he was fairly certain he’d known since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“I am choosing my mate,” he said bluntly, watching her reaction closely. From her small hitch of breath to the flutter of her eyelashes. “The amount of time I’ve known you does not matter. I want you…us.”

“Mate?” she whispered, unsure. But his words had increased her heartbeat and the scent of her desire. Whatever she might say, Megan liked his declaration, which aroused him all that much more.

“Yes, the dragon within wants you.”

She considered that, cheeks flush. “And what of the man?”

Naðr called on the great strength of Odin to help him ignore the increasing scent of her arousal as his eyes remained locked with hers. “You already know the answer to that.”

“I can’t stay here,” she murmured but the pain in her eyes was unmistakable. “I
won’t
stay here.”

Though her words rankled, he understood her reasoning, her very defiance. Would he not feel the same way if he was in her era and his family was still here? But that didn’t lessen his desire to keep her. Yet it had to be on her terms…because she chose to. So though not necessarily his strong point, Naðr decided right then and there that he’d do everything in his power to persuade her, no matter how much finesse and charm might be required.

And then there were other ways as well.

Ones that he intended to use as a persuasive weapon against her.

“You understand, right?” she said softly. “Because you have a very devious look on your face right now.”

“I do not know this word ‘devious’,” he lied and slowly removed the cloak, exposing her to the chilled air. When a shiver rippled through her, he spread his own cloak in invitation that she join him.

“Pfft. Yeah right.” But it seemed his potential warmth was too tempting when she boldly lifted her dress enough so that she could straddle him. “You understand every word coming out of my mouth thanks to seer magic or the dragon within or whatever’s at work here.”

Naðr wrapped his cloak around her and cocooned them as he pressed his rigid length against her heated core. Fire flared over his skin at the look in her eyes. He wanted her squirming helplessly against him.

But not quite yet.

Though difficult to give control to another, Naðr did. Where he had taken her ruthlessly before, now he wanted to see what she’d do about her own desire. Better yet, he wanted to see just how much she was willing to take. But then the moment she’d spread her legs and pressed against him, she was well on her way to taking a great deal.

Megan sensed the power shift between them the moment she ran her tongue up his neck, nibbling the whole way until her lips hovered centimeters from his. The man released all her sexual inhibitions. While she’d always liked the act itself, something about Naðr introduced a whole new world of possibilities.

Ones made of wrenching lust and unabashed, driving need.

Maybe some wouldn’t have hopped back in the sack so fast. But then she supposed those same women wouldn’t have slept with him so soon to begin with. Hard to imagine looking at him. And though she knew his looks and killer body were part of the driving force behind her covetousness, there was also a sense of time dwindling away. It was impossible to know how exactly she’d traveled back in time to begin with. So the more she got to know Naðr the edgier she became about their time together being brief. Because she’d meant what she said about going home.

Home. A place she seriously didn’t want to think about right now.

No, she’d much rather focus on her Viking king.

She loved his aggressiveness, but something about him allowing her to take control was heady. And not an opportunity she’d let go to waste. That in mind, she flicked her tongue over his lips and ground then rolled her hips. A low groan rumbled in his chest and though he grabbed her backside, he didn’t take control. Yet a tremor rippled through him as though it took a great deal of effort.

Slow, languid, she continued to roll her hips and put her lips next to his ear whispering, “Let’s see how long you last.”

Then she nibbled his earlobe before grazing her teeth back down his neck. While she might have been chilled moments before, she wasn’t anymore. Instead, a fevered heat was breaking out over her skin…one driven and ignited by the steaming body against hers. As she continued a low, grinding roll with her hips, she removed the cloak from around them both.

But even then she wanted more skin.

His skin.

Against hers.

Now
.

She twisted her hands in his tunic, near growling, “Get this off.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not unless you take it off.”

Megan grinned at the challenge and decided it might be more fun to torture him instead. So she peeled off her dress and slowly kept up the grind that was bringing forth an even more dangerous, primal glint to his eyes.

Taking one of his hands in hers, she traced the tip of a finger down his palm, making small circles to match the pattern of her hips. Soaked between her thighs but determined to see how far she could push him, she brought his forefinger to her lips and drew it back and forth so slowly his breathing increased even more. Then, as she feathered her hand over the swell of her breasts, she pulled his finger into her mouth.

A match for what he’d done to her the night before.

The purposeful way she wrapped her tongue around it, groaned then sucked, hollowing her cheeks as her eyes held his, was done so with one intention. That he envision something altogether different in her willing mouth. His eyes narrowed a fraction and he pulsed heavily between her thighs. Her tight nipples strained almost painfully.

When she blew on his finger then sucked hard, he jerked against her, eyes widening.

She gave him the hint of a grin, eyes taunting.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Depriving his finger of the hot heat of her mouth, she closed her eyes, leaned her head back and steered his finger down her neck inch by very slow inch. Honing in on the sensation of his wet, rough touch blazing down her bare flesh, she squeezed her thighs as sensation built.

A haunting, intense wind blew and created a low, bass-like moan through the mountains as if it echoed the cavernous ache growing within. Megan might’ve set out to drive him crazy with desire but was revving up her own engine just as swiftly.

Head still thrust back, eyes slit open just enough that she could hide behind her lashes and watch him, Megan curled his finger so that his nail scraped lightly up over the swell of her breast and around her nipple. Then she started to roll her hips in the opposite direction.

He clenched her backside tighter and flexed his hips with a groan. His previous words flashed through her mind, except now she heard them as low and demanding.

I am claiming you as my mate. I want you…us.

Blown away by the renewed impact of his words, her body blazed and the muscles between her legs started to ripple and clench. Either he sensed what was happening to her or he’d just had enough of the slow agony because Naðr suddenly ripped his tunic over his head and yanked her against him.

Skin to skin.

At last.

Her body exploded. A climax pounding through her so viciously that her jaw quivered and she screamed against the hard, hot skin of his neck, digging her nails into his chest. Christ, what the hell was this? They hadn’t even had sex yet.

But they soon would.

Though he might’ve waited for her to come down from her cloud the night before, Naðr didn’t seem so inclined now as he wrenched back control. Delirious, too far gone in pleasure, she could barely process his actions.

Until he clenched her backside and pushed into her.

Trapped between his strong arms, she whimpered in shock and oh so much rekindled pleasure as his guttural groan vibrated against her body. Pressing deep, he pushed past the pulsing remnants of her clenching orgasm.

“Too,” she moaned, “much.”

“Never enough,” he said, voice low and deep and promising. Yet he stilled and ran his fingers up her backside, taking pleasure it seemed in the feeling of her innards grasping at him.

Drifting down, down, down, her body finally went even limper than before as threads of acute pleasure lingered. Full of him, locked within the powerful, muscled, comforting cage of his body, she floated, drifted…lost.

Until he once more found her.

Better yet, made her find him as he gave her a dose of her own medicine when he thrust and rolled his hips. Megan seized up and frantically twisted her hands up his body. But he was far too strong and didn’t let her get far. Just enough that she clasped his cheeks, met his eyes and pleaded for mercy.

But she should have known better.

None would be given.

Pants pulled down just enough, he braced his booted feet on the ground, legs spread, in effect pulling her thighs wider apart. Hell, the man meant to kill her slow and easy. Despite the inevitability of incomparable pleasure, as he began to move, her heart thundered louder, her lips drifted closer to his.

There was a tangible unspoken thrill in the method they provoked one another. Yet it was in such a sweet but unstoppable way as they pushed each other toward their breaking points. Give. Take. Give. Take. A flow and ebb that had her once more climbing toward another peak as their lips hovered a breath away from one another’s.

“Megan,” he whispered, eager, desperate.

Blood pounded in her ears and she rested her forehead against his as their hips worked together. Sweat slicked their skin despite the cold air and puffs of fog bursting from their lips as both became wrapped up in getting closer, deeper.

Then, in a motion that impaled her even more, he gave her arms freedom, kept a firm grasp on her backside, and fell to his back. Sitting upright, hands braced against his chest, she met his thrusts with pure, unadulterated fury. Engulfed in sensation, lost in his eyes, she rode him with enthusiastic vigor.

Now neither controlled.

Now, like the eerie howl of the wind, their souls cried out for the other as they tested new boundaries, ones made of challenge and consent, made of how far the other was willing to go. Then, as if it’d been there all along, but she only now saw it, fire flared in his eyes.

Actual fire.

The dragon.

Controlled. Repressed. But there.

Somehow she knew it though her mind barely processed. He was baring himself to her... or at least a small portion. But it seemed so important and soulful that she choked not from fear but stark, vibrant need. She wasn’t afraid. Not in the least.

Black. Long. Powerful. Scales.

Searing, pinning, surreal blue eyes.

All rose up in her vision before everything snapped shut and he rolled her beneath him. Though she had no idea how he’d managed it, his soft, supple leather pants and boots were gone. Now there was nothing but hot, slick, Viking male against her…

And dragon.

Somehow the beast within was here every bit as much as his human form. Brash, crazed, rough, yet remarkably tender, everything Naðr Véurr was made of engulfed her as he thrust again and again.

Rip-roaring and potent, the throbbing pleasure between her thighs didn’t simply migrate but blasted through every tiny sinew in her body. Though it was an orgasm, it was so much more, something predatory and leading. Something that held her suspended and strung out. Like a too-stretched rubber band, taut and straining as he moved with her in a mutual, untouchable rhythm that was wicked, unstoppable. 

“Naðr,” she gasped, out of air but already blasphemously addicted to where he was taking her.

Then, as though her saying his name triggered it, he swelled within her and then thrust hard with a strangled roar. Megan arched, head flung back and cried out moments before her throat closed and a remarkably strong climax seized her in a vise grip. Again, as if ushering her straight into the afterlife to somewhere more beautiful than she could imagine, his words tumbled through her mind again.

I am claiming you as my mate.

Lost in pure, never-before-felt bliss, she grabbed onto the words to anchor herself. For a split second she felt like she was under the Atlantic again and standing on the Viking longship, desperate for something she could not see, could not touch.

Until she could.

Her Viking king.

Naðr Véurr.

Then, rippling and wholly lost, she found her way back into his arms, not beneath the dark sea or even beneath him anymore. Confused, she panicked for a moment. Then she realized she was cuddled against him beneath a blanket. Though the lapse in time mildly alarmed her, she was so sated that she instantly relaxed as his arm wrapped tighter around her.

“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes drifted then slid shut. When next she opened them, dim light flooded the tent and he was watching her. Before she could say a word, he put a finger to her lips and shook his head. Trusting, she let him roll her until he came against her back and nestled her head in his arm.

Flooded by his spicy, spruce, outdoorsy scent, she curled back against him as he lifted her leg and slid into her. He didn’t need to ready her at all. No, her desperately wanton body welcomed his thickness as though it had been lost without it. Megan pressed her mouth, teeth even, against his forearm, as it flexed with his movements.

Firm hand pressed against her stomach, he thrust slow and easy. Grasping his arm, she shuttered, drowning in waves of sensation. His lips met the side of her neck as his hand covered hers and dragged it down until she had no choice but to touch her clit.

Wind howled so strongly that it whipped down out of the mountains and blasted beneath the tent, chilling her lips and teeth. Yet it was a delicious countermeasure against the roaring fire he was creating beneath her skin.

“Noooo,” she moaned as pleasure skittered through her veins, determined to eat her alive.

“
Yes
,” he whispered in her ear as he moved not faster but slower, his movements so excruciatingly measured that sweat broke out and her vision blurred. Naðr dealt in pure torment and she was his very willing victim.

When the scruff of his facial hair brushed against her too-vulnerable cheek and the corner of his mouth hovered against hers, she groaned. As she licked her lips, so too did he. Then his tongue flicked against her lips as they both grunted and groaned with his next thrust.

Desperate to taste him, she tilted her head enough to capture his lips. Like an avalanche, his mouth closed over hers and he clenched her hip in a vice grip. His tongue swooped as deep as his next thrust and she cried into his mouth. Pressing her forward a fraction, he didn’t need to move his hand down for friction but used her own compressed thigh to achieve his goal.

Pure bliss.

Everything catapulted through the roof as her body jerked once, twice. When she flailed and tried to escape, he pressed tighter, thrust deeper and sent her sailing clear over the edge. A sob broke from her chest as the pleasure ripped so sharply through her it felt like sweet, sinful pain. Then his hand slammed down beside her and he pressed unbelievably deep, releasing a ragged, deep-throated sound of intense gratification.

“
Mine
,” he half growled, half groaned. His release seemed never-ending as he curled around her protectively, his hold on her body secure.

Muscles not her own, jerking, she held on tight and squeezed her eyes shut.
Mine.
His declaration fueled and elongated her climax, drawing it out until the world dimmed and she closed her eyes.