Viking's Fury (5 page)

Magnus believed in her. She’d never had that before.

Then, of course, there was the part where he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

She wondered for a brief moment if the reason he kept putting her off was that maybe he didn’t want her.

No, no. He wouldn’t have that reaction to kissing her if he didn’t want her.

Maybe she’d been too forward? Too brash?

If he was determined that she was more Valkyrie than the meek Odinsdottir, then maybe she was. Mercy found her voice. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to be a regret.”

That was the last answer she’d ever expected from him. She thought he might have said any manner of things, but it never occurred to her he could think he’d be a regret, or it would register in his world. He was so unlike any male she’d ever known. “You won’t. Having not asked you would’ve been the regret.”

He pulled her on top of him and she squealed. “What are you doing?”

“What you asked.”

“It doesn’t work like this.” But maybe it should. She felt so powerful, like she was the one in control.

He arched a brow. “Oh no? Who here has engaged in said activity, and who has not?”

“I… I’m really sure it doesn’t work this way.”

“Do you like how it feels?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is how it works.” A smile curved his hard mouth, and the expression was almost like she was some small mammal that had done something cute.

She pursed her lips.

“You’ll see. Kiss me.”

She definitely wanted to kiss him. She always wanted to kiss him. She wondered briefly if his mouth was like some kind of opiate. That once she’d had a taste, she’d always need more.

Mercy liked having him beneath her. She knew he was there by choice, but some of her tutors had made it sound like sex was something ugly and terrifying. That the male of the species morphed into some raging, uncontrollable rutting beast.

Magnus was large, suitably alpha male, and he definitely had Berserker in his blood. So either they were full of interstellar crap, or she just didn’t inspire that kind of reaction in him.

“I don’t know what’s going through your head, fire-hair, but how about you stop thinking and do this. Unless you changed your mind.”

She grinned. “No, I didn’t change my mind.”

Mercy leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She found her body knew what it wanted even if her brain did not. She’d shifted on top of him, rolling her hips against his, grinding her cleft against his hard cock. It sent little shockwaves of pleasure deep into her belly.

With his tongue in the hot cavern of her mouth, she knew their kiss imitated what would happen between them, his cock pushing deep inside of her. She shivered in expectation as the pressure built between her thighs.

When his hands slid up beneath her shirt, she grabbed his wrists and he allowed her to put his hands above his head.

“No. You said this is how it works. I’m on top, so I’m in charge.”

“As the lady wishes.”

She returned the caress, pushing under the tech shirt. Mercy liked the leather armor he’d been wearing before much better. But this was easier to get off. She slid down his body, using her teeth to peel the shirt up over his hard-muscled body.

He helped her to pull it over his head.

She’d always thought taking clothes off another person had to be extremely awkward, but this wasn’t strange at all.

Mercy thought about all the things she’d fantasized doing to him, or having him do to her, and here he was, spread out before her like a buffet. She wondered how far he’d let her go before he made her stop. There was part of her that rather imagined he’d let her do anything that she said turned her on. That was a heady rush, indeed.

She took her time exploring him, trying desperately to ignore the hot need that made her grind against him like the most shameless of creatures.

Mercy touched her lips to his throat and down over the wide expanse of his shoulder, then back to his chest. It was so warm and hard—she didn’t know how his skin could be soft, but the muscle under it like steel.

She ventured further down, down to where his obliques teased her and she dared to pull off the tech trousers. Her cheek brushed against his erection and she pulled them down his body, also with her teeth. His body stiffened at the contact and a small growl rumbled in the back of his throat. She loved that sound, and she definitely wanted to make him do it again.

Mercy studied him intently, the way his cock jutted out from his body. It was thick, with a wide-girth and it seemed to be watching her back. When she closed in on it, it jerked with the stimulation of her breath on the head.

She thought about the forbidden books she’d read and the descriptions of what to do with such a beast. Mercy dipped her head and touched her lips to the crown, causing him to growl again.

Oh yes, this was exactly what she wanted to be doing.

Mercy took him into her mouth; that was when his hand tangled in her hair. She pulled back. “Who said it was your turn to touch?”

“You’re killing me, Valkyrie.”

“And it will be a good death, Berserker.” She dipped her head again, taking him as deeply as she could.

She was rewarded with another growl that resonated deep inside of her.

When his hand tangled in her hair again, she didn’t tell him no. Instead, she allowed him to guide her, learned what he liked as his hips jerked up to meet her caress. She tasted all of him, her tongue lapping at him as she experimented.

Until finally, she found herself on her back, the great beast of a man over her and a kind of madness in his eyes. It was the same look on his face when he’d been frozen. This was what her tutors meant, but she wasn’t afraid.

“I’m going to devour you, Valkyrie.”

Did he mean he was going to…

The first touch of his tongue made her gasp, but his powerful grip anchored her in place. She could squirm neither closer, nor farther away from the decadent torture of his mouth. It was just so much sensation—so intense.

It was too much, but at the same time, not enough. She wanted more, and she suddenly understood why his hand had been tangled in her hair. She wanted to push her fingers through his and push him nearer his work, use his hair like nav…

“Be as loud as you like. There’s no one to hear you at the moment.”

She realized she’d been biting her lip to keep back her moans, and it seemed so wrong to just—

“I want to hear you. I want to know what feels good.”

“That, do that!” She cried when he laved at her again.

The bristle of his day old scruff scratched against her thigh and she found she liked the contrast of the slight edge of discomfort along with the bliss. She lifted her hips and squirmed to meet him.

Friction warred with the build of something she couldn’t explain, but she knew if she didn’t find the pinnacle soon, she was going to die. It was as if the whole of the ‘verse had been compressed inside of her and was waiting to explode. She’d be nothing but stars and ash, but as she’d told him before, it would be a good death.

“You taste like peaches,” he mumbled against her, sounding almost as if he were drunk on the taste of her.

“It’s the implant.”

“Oh thank the gods.” He looked up from his work. “I was wondering how we were going to do this without any form of birth control.”

“Had the implant since before my cycle started. My mother insisted. Stop talking. Keep doing… that.” She moaned.

He descended, treating her body like a battleground. He pursued her pleasure with the same intensity and ferocity he would track an enemy. The thought thrilled her and did as much to push her higher as the motion of his tongue.

Then, he eased one finger inside of her.

The sensation was forbidden, delightful, and there was an edge of fear in the back of her mind. That single digit stretched her, working back and forth gently spreading her wider each time.

If only one finger made her feel so full, how was she ever going to take his cock? It gave her a naughty little thrill to even think the word.

As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he increased the tempo and intensity of his motions, pushing all thoughts but sweet release out of her head.

Her earlier comparison to a universe that had been distilled to sensation under her skin was apt, because when it exploded it was as if the ‘verse disappeared and reformed—all stardust and light.

Magnus rose above her, the length of his hair shadowing his handsome face like a curtain.

Without speaking, he was asking her if she still wanted him. She put her hand on his cheek, and he linked their fingers together.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and he paused, looking into the depths of her eyes. He dipped his head, and she thought that he was going to kiss her, but instead rested his forehead against hers and held her gaze while he drove home.

Mercy gasped at the shock of pain, but it began to ebb just as it had begun. Those galaxies behind her eyes flared again, only they weren’t just behind her eyes, they were in his too.

He moved slowly at first, allowing her body to learn to accommodate him. Only after he’d established a rhythm did he lean down and kiss her again.

This kiss was so much different than all of the others. This kiss was the final link in their connection, something that seemed to make their symbiosis whole. He drove into her, lifted her hips to meet his thrusts and she found that same intensity building inside of her all over again.

No matter what happened, she was thankful for this moment, with this man.

And as she reached her pinnacle again, the small flame that burned in a hidden place in her soul roared to life. It devoured guilt and fear. Where it was frozen melted, where it was dark, that flame brought life.

For Magnus the Destroyer was right.

Mercy Odinsdottir was a Valkyrie born who’d just come into her own.

Chapter Six

Magnus knew the moment it happened.

She was already beautiful, but this beauty now, it was preternatural. Her hair was silkier, her skin impossibly smooth, and her eyes—gods, her eyes. He could see eternity there. Past, present, and all the ages to come.

He belonged to her—her name was tattooed on his bones. An eon from now, when future beings were digging up his remains, it would be there and they would wonder if it was some ancient death ritual. But it was a life ritual.

They were bound forever, and he did not regret it.

She said that he would love her, but this was so much more than what could ever be encased by four letters and a single word.

“Is it always like is?”

“I fucking hope so.” He gathered her close.

“I think I knew you were mine from the moment I saw you.”

“Did you, now?” he teased.

“Maybe. I wasn’t usually in the habit of touching strange men.”

Part of him wanted to respond with,
“And nor should you be.”
But that was just wanting to claim her, to mark her. Only, he wasn’t a dog. He didn’t need to piss all over his territory to know she was his.

No, instead, he’d just fuck her again. He’d let the pleasure he gave her do the marking.

“Why don’t we try out your hot spring?”

“Is that a sex thing?” She crinkled her nose.

“It can be.” He grinned. “No, the warm pool without the lights. It’ll soothe you.”

“I’ll race you.” She hopped up and darted fearlessly out into the chill air.

He followed behind, watching her. He figured if she’d stared at him, it was only fair. Magnus liked watching her walk, liked the sleek lines of her body as she ran. With his flesh, form followed function, but with hers, it was art. It was sheer beauty.

As he followed her to the hot spring, it occurred to him that now any vengeance he’d seek against Rollo, against her father, it would involve her as well. When he went to battle, so would his Valkyrie.

Could he do that to her?

His fingers curled into fists. Could he let Rollo’s trespass slide for her? Could he allow the decimation of a people with no reprisal to save her?

He didn’t think he could.

If he’d known she was his Valkyrie—he cut the thought off. He’d have what? Not taken this moment? He could no more have changed what happened between them than he could turn the path of a comet.

Their joining was like lightning and thunder, there was no stopping it, no directing the path. It could only be endured.

But like lightning, it was wild and beautiful all the same.

He slid into the strangely warm, glowing purple waters. The darkness around them was surreal, but right.

She climbed onto his lap and his cock was ready for her again. “I’m sore, but can we do this again? Like this?”

He knew she’d liked topping him. As for his own feelings on the matter, what Viking didn’t like to be ridden by his Valkyrie?

“Take your pleasure, if you want it.”

She buried her face in his neck and shifted her hips until she’d impaled herself on his shaft. Mercy cried out and tangled her fist in his hair. He liked the sharp sensation when she pulled, but held back from seeking his own pleasure.

His duty, and his ultimate desire, was to see her find her bliss first.

“It hurts, but it’s still good,” she managed in a breathy little whisper.

“We can wait…”

“No, we can’t. I need to feel it now.” She threw her head back, her little nails digging into his shoulders, her hair a wet banner down her back.

He understood her need—there were so many things he wanted to experience with her, about her. It was as if the ‘verse couldn’t contain the width and breadth of it. Magnus hadn’t expected this connection, or the power it had over him.

Magnus wanted to protect her, but there was part of him that wanted to break her, too. If he broke her, he could get it over with. He could sever that tie between them and he’d never have to know fear again. But he didn’t want that either.

He was hers.

She was his.

And it was so fucking good.

Mercy dragged her cheek against his, almost as if she were rubbing her scent on him like a cat. She found his mouth, her lips hungry and desperate.