“What are you….” she started, the question lost as he nipped at her clit, making her glare at him.
As the first wave of her release began to ebb, he breathed hot air over her cunt. She bucked, unable to get away from him. He’d never release her. She belonged to him. Elara was his to love, to pleasure, to tease.
His thumb dipped inside her, finding the spot that made her toes curl. Sweat and oil slid off her tummy as her back bowed, her knuckles white. His tongue lapped over the length of her slit, drinking her in, his eyes never leaving hers as he drove her to the brink of madness.
A madness only he got to see.
A madness only he gave.
“You will kill me,” she groaned.
“And you will receive a glorious death in battle. Odin will honor you in Valhalla.”
A weak chuckle made her breasts sway. “Death by a jarl’s tongue.”
“Only the best for my kona.”
A second climax built in her twitching muscles, the heat a slow-burn that made her eyes roll into the back of her head. The corner of his mouth curled into a wolfish grin, eyeing the sobbing mess writhing beneath him.
Begging for him to stop.
Begging for him to continue.
“Again,” he rasped, his voice a promise of the ruin he’d bring her.
“I’m not sure I can,” she huffed, her eyes glazed with pleasure.
“You can,” Njáll growled, burying his face in her cunt to punctuate his point.
She hissed, nails breaking the skin on his back and making blood streak his flesh.
Two fingers slid into her hot cunt, squeezing him so desperately that it was hard to fuck her properly with them. Njáll was nothing if not persistent. His tongue and mouth worked her clit, the motions timed with each stroke of his fingers.
When she came for a third time, her entire body seized. Part of her disintegrated into nothingness. Her scream echoed in the darkness, her body convulsing. He worked her through every crest of her release, catching every drop, every tremor, until she was completely spent.
Silence settled over them until all they heard was their strangled breaths and the cracks in the fire.
Njáll crawled into the furs beside her, tugging her sated body into his. They lay there for a long time, their limbs a tangled mess of sweat and cooling oil. Elara dipped in and out of sleep, the exhaustion from his tongue and her work with the Völva pulling her under.
Smooth skin bounced under his fingers as he brushed strands of hair off her face, content to let her sleep.
Njáll tightened his grip, his expression darkening as he looked toward the shuttered window. The sun would rise soon, and with it he’d have to leave her. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, whispering softly to rouse her from sleep.
“Elara.”
“Mmm?”
“A messenger arrived while you were with the Völva. There are disturbances along the eastern border. The Konungr has instructed me to investigate. I must leave with the next sunrise.”
“I'm coming with you,” she whispered, her voice gaining strength.
“No,” he growled, the possessive Jarl returning. “You will stay. You will eat, you will sleep, and you will let yourself heal. I will return to you as soon as I am able.”
He rolled her onto her back, hovering over her one last time. His eyes were twin storms of silver and hazel.
“I am yours, Elara. Not until death, but until the end of times,” he repeated the vow, his voice an oath that made the air in the room feel thick. “I will crawl out of any hell to return to you. But you must be here when I do.”
He kissed her then—not with the hunger of a demon, but with the desperation of a man who knew the sunrise brought a storm they might not survive.
