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Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3) Page 38
Author: Theodora Taylor

“Too bold?” she asked.

“None too bold,” he answered, his voice husky. “See how my cock does water for you. You will unman me in a few more pulls.”

“In that case, let’s move on to the second form of boli play.”

When her mouth closed around his cock, taking it as far down into her throat as she could before pulling back to suck hard on the tip, Fenris clenched his teeth and started inhaling sharply through his mouth.

He was so large it was impossible to fit all of him in her mouth, so she decided to try tugging and sucking at the same time.

This time Fenris bucked his hips, throwing his head back and yelling something in up to his Norse gods.

He compulsively grabbed the back of her head holding her there while she fucked him with her lips and hand until he released into her mouth with his third and loudest yell.

She grinned after she finished swallowing. “Tomorrow, you’ll be the one who will have to put up with everybody’s teasing.” Then: “So how do you say blowjob and handjob in Old Norse?”

LYING IN THE BED CLOSET that night, she once again found herself thinking about the carving on the ceiling of the bed closet. Two nights ago she still wasn’t technically talking to Fenris and the night before she’d been too embarrassed by the continuous catcalls of his family right outside the closet to engage in any real conversation. But that night they lie blessedly alone and completely sated by what had happened in the chair and then on the table and then again on the benches, and then finally one last glorious time in the bed closet, with Fenris grinding into her slow and hard, until he pulled an orgasm out of her that made it feel like her world was coming apart, that she was shattering and reforming with every stroke.

“What does this carving on the bed closet ceiling mean?” she asked him as they lie there, listening to the howls of wolves outside the longhouse doors.

She felt him stiffen beside her. “’Tis my mother and father,” he answered.

“On their wedding day?” she asked.

“Yea, wolves did come from far and wide to celebrate the marriage, for it united two long time warring clans. The father of my father did manage to unite most of the wolves of Norway under one king. But in my father’s time of rule, there did be one chieftain to the north of us who would not bend. He insisted on keeping his pack separate and said he would never pay tribute to any king. It was a stalemate, yea, that could only end with the blood of the king or the chieftain.

“My father would be an honorable man and did refuse to attack such a small village with his warrior force. He offered to the old alpha that they would fight, wolf to wolf, as it did go in the days of old before the time of long boats and Viking warriors. This to us is still the most honorable way. And the chieftain he did accept, much to the upset of his eldest daughter, who loved her father as a daughter is wont to do and did not wish to lose him even though he did stand a wolf of many years.

“The eve of the fight, my father lay in a nearby meadow with his men, and they all fell asleep as the quarter moon did rise. But when they woke up, my father, the king was disappeared. Immediately did they suspect foul play from my mother’s village and raise up in arms to either find or avenge their king.

“But when they did come roaring into the village, they found its people gathered outside the old chieftain’s longhouse, including the chieftain himself. From inside could be heard the sound of two wolves laying together. It did be my father and the daughter of the old chieftain. She had gone into heat the night before and my father could smell her to be his fated mate all the way from his camp. He did walk from his warriors, past the sleeping guard with none the wiser. So what was to have been a final and grievous battle became a mating that went on for five moons before the lovers did emerge. And thus did my mother become a peace pledge. After their mating, it was contracted that the chieftain’s village would remain free in exchange for the hand of his daughter. To this day my mother’s village calls no wolf king, and once a season I travel there to hear cases from wolves from all around Norway. It is considered a land of peace, where judgment may be given without battle.”

“They’re neutral. Kind of like Switzerland,” she said.

“I do not know the region of which you speak.”

“Um, you know what, never mind. It would take way too long to explain,” she said, laughing.

But when her laughter died down, she felt compelled to ask. “What happened to your parents? Why aren’t they here with you?”

“My mother did die a few full moons after the day depicted here,” he said. He took her hand and laid it on his chest before covering it with his own. “Twas her misfortune that the childbirth of our time ‘tis not the childbirth of your time. I survived my birth, but she did not.”

Guilt erupted inside of her, thinking about how much pain it must have caused him to have her tell him how much better pregnancy was in her time than his. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“As was my father. He did become a king in name only after the lost of his fated mate. He partook of too much mead and would solve all disputes with items from our coffers rather than battle. I was left to my Aunt Bera to raise, and any greatness I learned of him did come through stories of his past. The only contact he had with me was to watch me practice at sword. I will confess this did make me work at my sword art that much harder, and did I spend much of my time dreaming up new sword tricks to impress my father. But then one morning tide, when I was but fourteen winters, he did come with one of his largest warriors to the place where I practiced the sword with the old warrior he had set to tutor me in weapons.

“My father did push the man into the circle. Then did he put a call to the village to come see us fight. At first I thought this meant to be a display of my skills. And I confess I beamed with the pride of a boy to have my father expect so much of me. But then my father spake the words, ‘to the death.’ And before I could comprehend, he spake the words of battle start, and the warrior, who did not want to lose his life to a young boy, did come at me.”

She clapped her free hand over her mouth, horrified by this turn in the story. “Then what happened?”

“Then did I kill this warrior ten winters older than me and, because I had yet to come into my manhood, almost twice my size. While the village cheered me, my father left to our longhouse without a word. And on the morning tide, we did discover his bed closet empty. After the winter did thaw, his body was found on the mountain.”

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Theodora Taylor's Novels
» Her Russian Surrender (50 Loving States #10)
» His One and Only (50 Loving States #6)
» Her Perfect Gift (50 Loving States #5)
» Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3)
» Her Russian Billionaire (50 Loving States #2)
» The Owner of His Heart (50 Loving States #1)