The Viking's Runaway Concubine by Caitlin Crews

Author:Caitlin Crews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-04-27T18:19:49+00:00

Chapter Nine

Midsummer came, and with it, the usual celebrations.

And though Ulfric took his errant concubine out because it was that or risk more talk of enchantments, he was always greedy to get her home again.

Where he could shut the heavy door, strip away her clothes, and glut himself on her exquisite surrender.

Because he still couldn’t believe that he had found her again. That she was here, where she belonged. That she was not a dream come to torture him until he woke, in a fury and all alone.

Each night she chose another ten strikes of the staff, and so it was that each night he concocted a variety of ways to make them both happy with how and where he delivered them. Her happiness was more complicated, to be certain.

But Ulfric knew but few things in this life for certain: that the gods would do as they wished and that fate played no favorites. That he would serve his King and fight with honor until he fell, which could as easily be tomorrow as a dozen years hence, when he was gray and withered. And that it was only in the depths of her deepest surrender that his Eithne was most herself.

One night, he had delivered her ten strokes after securing her to one of the wooden posts that kept the little house’s thatched roof high. And when all ten marks gleamed fresh on her flesh, she hung limp and let out that low humming sound she made that told him she was far away inside herself. He had taken her that way. From behind, slow and intense, gripping her hips and holding her up at an angle so she bore the weight of her body on her bound hands, suspended between the post and his cock.

And when he’d had her sobbing out his name like an oath, he, too, threw himself over that edge, losing himself in that tight, sweet grip.

There was none like Eithne. There never would be.

Well did he know this.

Ulfric loosed her wrists, then took his time attending to her welts by the fire and cleaning her of her own honey and his spend. There was a peace in this, he found himself thinking when he was done and she knelt next to his chair, resting her head on his leg with her eyes closed. He toyed with her hair in the firelight, admired the soft curve of her cheek, and felt the strangest sensation creep over him.

It was peace, he was sure of it, though it were like no peace he had ever known.

For Ulfric had always disdained these times between battles and had only ever suffered through them. He had never wished to settle. His two oldest brothers had died well in battle. His father had died as he had attempted to hold off the Irish Kings, his mother had died protecting her home in the same fight. How could Ulfric wish for anything different?

He didn’t. He hadn’t.

Ulfric had followed Ragnall ever since they had been thrown out of Dublin.

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