She squirmed, pulling a throaty, unfamiliar noise from deep in Njáll’s belly. Groaning, he clenched her thigh, nuzzling into her curls.
“If you keep wiggling like that, I will burst from my trews, little flame,” he grunted, the sound strangled.
Those dark-flecked eyes widened, her gaze flicking to his cock, lingering for a moment before returning to his face. The corner of his mouth lifted, a smug part of him enjoying how she stared at him.
Slowly, sound returned to the longhouse, but Njáll paid attention to none of it.
“You should not have done that, Njáll. I shouldn’t be here.”
The hand on her thigh moved higher, sliding along the span of her ribs.
“You belong wherever I am,” he breathed, the slow timbre making his girl shiver.
“Njáll…” she started, her mouth parted.
He drew in a slow breath. Hissing, he shifted, accommodating the hard, heavy length between his legs. Soft curls slid through his fingers as he palmed her nape, leaving her nowhere to run.
For a long moment, Njáll savored the claim, and the awe-stricken glaze clouding her pretty eyes. She didn’t reject it. Didn’t reject him. She drank it in, absorbing it in the protective crook of his massive embrace.
He plucked a piece of dried meat from a nearby plate, bringing it to her lips.
“Open, little flame. It is my duty to provide for you. Let the clan see how their Jarl worships you.”
Soon, music returned to the hall, voices carrying along the wooden trusses. Njáll smirked at the bemused expression tightening the creases around her eyes. Even as the drunken amusement grew around them, he still felt the assessing gaze of his father—watching them.
His gaze tunneled on this vision in his arms. His cock ached in his trews. Eventually, she parted those plump, plush lips, a mix between a scowl and a smile lighting up her features.
Her mouth closed around his fingers, sucking and licking as she took the offered food. Odin have mercy on him—every nerve lit up, catching fire and burning him with it.
Triumph twinkled in the recesses of her eyes as a rattling groan vibrated in his throat. He met the challenge in her gaze, feeding her fresh fruit and wine until she let out a quiet, little whine. The sound made him question if it was truly magic or simply her that captured his heart.
“Do you wish to torture me with your pretty noises?” he murmured, carding his fingers through the loose waves of her curls.
And then, he heard it—an unguarded, tinkling laugh warming the coldest parts of his soul.
She didn’t respond, merely smirked at him like the proud flame she was.
Gods.
Freyja had blessed him. Whether by magic or fate or luck, Njáll cared not. He would honor her above all others for bringing his perfect mate into his life.
The tips of his nails bit into the soft, supple skin of her chin, pinching hard enough to make her squeak.
“Come. Let me steal you away. I do not wish to share you any longer.”
Her pupils dilated ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked to his father, finding him relaxed with his mother in his lap, nuzzling her throat and murmuring sweet words in her ear.
“Do not worry. The Konungr understands.”
A pretty pink flush colored her cheeks as she nodded. Njáll slid his hands to her bum, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stood. At first, he intended to lower her to her feet, but now that he had her in his arms, he never intended to let her go.
“I can walk, you know.”
“Allow me this pleasure,” he purred, nipping at her jaw as he led them out of the longhouse.
A noncommittal noise fell from her, and she settled into his hold.
That was all the permission he needed.
