Relief—and desire— flooded his veins when she opened her arms and beckoned him.
“This blue wolfskin is sublime,” she crooned, stroking the soft fur which draped his shoulders. She unfastened the elaborate brooch, the lapis lazuli eyes of the snarling wolf gleaming in the silvery light. With reverent care, she placed itbeside her crown, then slipped the wolf cloak from his shoulders, laying it over the large wooden trunk at the foot of her sleigh- shaped bed.
She returned to his side, admiring the silver torc on his right arm which herfaðirhad bestowed upon him at the feast. “A worthy prize for your triumph in the first round of theSólhjartaTournament.” She slipped it from his arm and laid it gently beside the brooch, then lifted the hem of his blue tunic, encouraging him to disrobe.
When he complied, her breath hitched and her eyes went wide. “You are magnificent, Sigurd Sea Wolf. I have longed to do this since I first laid eyes on you.” She ran her fingertips through the dark blond hair across his chest. With a sultry hum, she nuzzled the tuft at the base of his throat and traced a tattoo with her tongue.
The muscles in Sigurd’s belly twitched, his loins throbbing painfully, legs shaking with repressed longing. He unstrapped his sheathed sword and stood it along the wall near hisBlárûlfrcloak.
“Please unlace me.” She turned her back toward him, displaying the ties of her bodice.
With trembling, awkward fingers, he unfastened the interwoven silk cords.
By the gods, I have never wanted a woman this much before.Though he had bedded several—theSjórúlfarhadinsisted onmaking him a manas they sailed into various ports—he had never known the overwhelming sensations which now flooded him like the sea inundating the fjord.
This was much more than mere lust.
Her spirit called to his.
Heart, body, and soul.
She slid the gown down her shoulders, stepping out of it as the green silk pooled on the polished floor. Scooping up thegown, she folded and placed it next to his tunic and cloak. When she slipped out of her linen shift and turned to face him, her naked beauty slammed into him like a blow to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs.
“You are a goddess,” he whispered, awed by the exquisite blend of her sleek muscles and alluring curves. He reached out to caress a strand of her golden hair. Emeralds woven into her blonde braids glittered in the moonglow and starlight.
When she grasped his hand and guided it to her breast, a guttural growl rumbled from his raspy throat.
He stroked her pale skin, rubbing his thumb over the pert peak, and lowered eager lips to suckle the irresistible pink flesh.
She whimpered, running her fingers through his hair as he feasted on both breasts.
He sampled her neck, shoulders, and chin, working his way back to her luscious lips. His tongue penetrated and probed as his eager hands roamed her supple skin. When her legs gave out beneath her, he carried her to the bed and laid her gently atop the sumptuous furs.
He knelt over her, savoring her flavor as he sampled her throat, nipples, and smooth belly. With trembling fingers, he parted the soft blonde curls between her long, lithe legs. And when he lapped the sensitive pink folds, her sweet nectar sang to his Sea Wolf soul.
Rising up on his knees, he licked two fingers and slid them gently inside her. As her moans of pleasure ignited his aching loins, Sigurd returned his mouth to her tender flesh. Penetrating her with the rhythmic rocking of his fingers, he nuzzled her small nub with persistent lips and tongue. The tension rose in her taut belly and clenched thighs until she quivered, convulsing in pleasure beneath his tongue, clamping his fingers in rhythmic release.
With parted lips and flushed cheeks, she watched him lick his fingers and growl with ravenous hunger.
Her tangy taste inflamed his throbbing body. Nudging her thighs apart with impatient knees, he slid shaking hands beneath her bottom and tilted her hips up to receive him. Though his hardened body roared like a raging wolf, he positioned himself at her opening, easing in gently at the resistance of her firm flesh.
Brynhildr whimpered, “I want you.” She wrapped her long legs around his waist, gripped his hips with insistent hands, and pulled him deep inside.
Intense pleasure flooded him when he penetrated her warm depths. He plunged in deep, pumping like rhythmic waves pulsing against the cliffs. The delicious surge rose quickly, her slick grip clenching him tightly from within as she arched her body to meet his every thrust. He arrowed into her and erupted, the fountain bursting forth in violent, pulsing jets.
He couldn’t breathe, move, or think.
She cried out, her body clamping around his, the rhythmic contractions of her climax extracting every last drop as Sigurd poured his essence into Brynhildr, sowing his soul with his seed.
“Mmm,” she hummed, tracing her fingernails over his quavering back. “I never knew that making love would transport me to the stars.” She brushed his braided hair away from his shoulder and kissed the side of his neck. With the tip of her tongue, she traced the tattooedTiwazrune. “I love the taste of your skin. It sings to my soul.”
He smiled down at her, nestled between his arms. “And I love the tang of your nectar. Sweet as golden mead, yet salty like the sea. A divine gift from the gods.” When he lowered himself to her side, pulling her onto his chest, a sudden searing heat flared his flesh, just above his heart.
He gazed down and gasped. Anouroborosring—an endless circle of a fierce dragon swallowing its tail—burned upon his skin, glowing with golden otherworldly light.
“Brynhildr,” he breathed, placing her hand upon the radiant ring.
She stared in stunned silence, then abruptly sat up,
