#harald hairhair fic

[inforapound]

Boundless Chapter 7

A/N -  Well, this chapter almost did me in. Hope it reads okay. Harald and Safira, again, fighting to be together. Thank you for reading <3

Pairing - Harald and Safira

Words - 2,900

WARNINGS - Canon typical violence 

The clamour of weapons being drawn caused the brothers to spin toward the ruckus and, instinctively, grip the hilt of their swords.

Axes and blades pointing at him, Fritjof froze, hands raised high, signifying he came in peace. He was hardly composed, though; visibly battered his face told a story of penance. Dark bruises to the left of his mouth, a bloodstained eye, scuffs to his temple with a partially scabbed gash across the bridge of his oversized nose. He looked pitiful. Alarm and annoyance flashed across his tentative face as he scanned the ready warriors before his eyes met Harald's.

"State your business?" Harald called out, studying the boy's disheveled appearance.

"They have taken her," he called back.

"Who?" Harald shouted, tipping his ear forward so not to miss Fritjof's next words.

"Safira!" Fritjof shouted.

"Who!" Harald roared. "WHO took her!"

"Red!"

Hucking his cup, Harald rushed forward, stepping over the dropped bowls of half-eaten morning stew. Stopping, he came face to face, with the clearly frightened boy.

"When?" he rushed, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Not an hour ago."

Harald's gaze drifted beyond Fritjof's shoulder as his mind raced, estimating their possible distance. Turning back, he shot Halfdan a glance who nodded and sighed loudly, then tossed his cup into the campfire.

"To the ships," Halfdan barked, turning to the gathered men. "Let's go. Now! Carry only what is in front of you. Leave the rest."

Looking back to Harald, Halfdan's face was void of expression, their plan set and understood, despite the risks and grave consequences. Pulling a carving dagger out of the log below, Halfdan dropped it into the scabbard on his belt. Grabbing a fur and a jug of ale, he joined the moving line of warriors, weaving between the tents, heading toward the shore beyond.

Returning his attention to Fritjof, Harald's hardened face spurred the young man to stutter on.

"He knew she was with you... last night." Looking away, he watched the men walking passed.

"How many ships?"

"I did not see but he is making the journey with her. Said he could not trust me to be the escort. His army is still in camp so they must only have one ship, filled with mostly Danes. He had, maybe, a dozen of his own men." Reaching up, Fritjof pressed the split skin across his nose. "Twenty or so of Klak's."

Closing his eyes, Harald ran his hand over his head to smooth his pulled-back hair.

"You will catch them?" Fritjof asked. "You will fight Erik?"

Pushing air out of his nose, Harald squinted at him.

"What is your plan?" Fritjof snapped, frustrated with the lack of response.

"I do not need to explain myself to you!" Harald barked. "Some kid."

"Yes you do!" Fritjof shouted. "That is my sister!"

Harald's face showed his surprise but he steadied, seeing Fritjof's barely controlled composure about to break. His scuffed, bruised cheeks flushing in a way that reminded Harald of his sweetheart.

"Safira has looked after me my entire life. Raised me. You have no idea." Reaching up he again pressed his fingers, with badly bitten nails, to the oozing cut. "I should not even be here. I should have just let her go. Far from you and this.....tryst. Let her live her life as the queen of the Danes. There are worse fates, you know?"

"Why have you come then?"

Lifting his hand, Fritjof dropped the sapphire pendant. The vibrant blue stone swinging back and forth on the chain below.

Snarling, Harald snatched it, yanking it free from his hand.

"They held her down," Fritjof's face broke, tears filling his bloodshot eyes.

"Who!" Harald demanded, his face contorting in horror.

"My father's men." Looking down, he closed his eyes. "They made me watch as a healer examined her." He squeezed his eyes hard as if to force the image from his mind. "Checked to see if she was still intact." Clearing his throat, he opened his eyes, unable to stifle a sob. "Father said he needed to know if she had laid with you before he faced Klak."

Heaving in air, Harald stepped away, looking to the sky and screamed, erupted. Tearing open the buckle at the neck of his armour, he turned and kicked the large pot of stew, suspended over the camp flame.

Undeterred, Fritjof continued, raising the volume of his voice. "She demanded that she be allowed to hug me goodbye. She slipped that necklace to me." Wiping his cheeks with the cuff of his canvas jacket, he again cleared his throat. "All she whispered was, Harald."

Hand on his sword, Harald brushed past him, in the direction of his ship.

"I am coming!" he shouted at Harald's back.

"No," he called back over his shoulder.

"I am coming!" Fritjof shouted again.

Stopping abruptly, Harald spun to face him, nostrils flaring, his bright blue eyes lit with fury.

"I love her more than anyone alive," Fritjof's cried out, his face showing his pain. "And I am quite sure, she loves you more than anyone alive. Be good to her and I will pledge myself to you. To you both." Blinking rapidly, his gaze weakened. "For whatever that is worth... but I will be loyal. I will support her in her new home, in her new role, never leaving her side when your duties require you to." Lowering his gaze to the trampled grass below, he uttered, "I would die for my sister."

—-

"Pull!" Harald roared, as the sixteen ores cut through the water, sweeping back over the white-crested waves.

"Pull!" His deep voice bellowed. The sound of thirty-two warriors, heaving in breath, as they laboured with the oak paddles.

"Pull! He screamed as the stern of Red's boat grew nearer and nearer. Harald's large crew more powerful than Erik's sails in the lackluster wind.

"Pull!" His voice ripped through the air. Halfdan and Fritjof stood at his back, staring ahead, as they approached the other vessel.

"Pull!" His voice broke, his throat raw like the rage in his body, the sapphire squeezed tight in his hand.

Dipping his chin, he lifted the necklace over his head, dropping it below his leathers. Placing his hand on his chest, he pressed the stone hard against his heart, a heart that cracked wide and called her in the night she slugged drink from a jug with tales of ship to ship raids. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes; today, he too would leave behind a sea full of floating bodies.

"Pull!" He rasped, his voice lost in the shifting wind. The curve of her shoulder and black hair flashing in his mind, her easy laugh and rascal smile. The way her face would soften, and her brown eyes would search his right before their lips would meet. A fleeting instant, where her charm eased and all she needed was her affections affirmed, taking solace in the kiss from the man she loved.

Closing his eyes, he reached out and gripped the tall mast beside him, inhaling deeply, he looked back out to sea. Opening his mouth, he prepared for the next command...

"Brother, they know their orders." Halfdan stepped forward, chin nearly resting on Harald's shoulder. He too watched the vessel ahead as Erik's crew lowered their sails, scrambling to drop their oars to row. "Save your voice. You may need it."

"I will only need a sword."

Glancing to Harald, Halfdan's eyes caught the tight, shifting muscles in his brother's jaw, the visible lines around his wary eyes and the spreading grey in his beard. Evidence of all those years spent fighting relentlessly. Claiming territory and stripping the crowns from Kings. In part for glory but also for love. Unknowingly, for this moment and this love; for the girl in the boat ahead. Dropping his eyes, Halfdan watched Harald's fingers fidget with the pommel of his sword.

"We well get her," Halfdan whispered, his eyes returning to the sea. Erik's ship, now only three lengths away.

"Ready yourselves!" Halfdan bellowed over the heads of the rowing men. "You know what to do."

"No arrows," Harald added, making his way to the bow, stepping up on a crate for a better view.

"You heard your King. No thunderbolts today."

He could see her. The back of her. Her small precious form. She was attempting to stand but being held in place by a large, bald-headed Dane. Standing mid-ship, Erik began shouting commands. Back straight and unafraid, Erik's gaze seemed fixed on Harald and his boat bearing down.

"Strong through to the end!" Halfdan called from somewhere behind.

Withdrawing his sword, Harald braced, eyes locked on the other King. Erik's roaring orders shifted, calling for them to drop the paddles and pick up swords. Mirroring Harald's men, the warriors on the inside of the benches, rose, pulling axes and swords free. Many, dropping to their knees, anticipating the impact.

Cutting swiftly through the waves, Harald's boat barrelled on at a speed that made the other seem still. Standing high at the bow, Harald gripped the edge tight, shifting his gaze to Safira, consoled only in that moment, that she had the arms of a warrior to brace her.

"Now!" Harald shouted, keeping his eyes on his beloved.

His warriors heaved in the heavy oak planks, allowing for the side of the boat to collide with Erik's oars. The hollers of battle screams rang as Harald's boat rammed powerfully into Erik's. The sound of cracking wood snapped through the air along with a series of thuds as the long oars on Erik's boat were driven down, hard, below the water by Harald's vessel. The planks slammed against the side of their own ship, hoisting the handle ends up, to stand vertical.

Leaping through the air, Halfdan was the first of a dozen warriors to reach the edge of Erik's boat. Gripping the upright oars like poles, Halfdan and their men swung and slashed their weapons wildly. His swath of light hair, flying loose behind him as he moved swiftly from target to target cutting men down with precision.

The shrill cries escalated as more men joined the scrimmage. Weapons clashed and blood spilled onto the narrow boards of the wooden deck. Men in Erik's front line began to drop and a heap formed as those behind pushed forward to engage.

At opposite ends of the boat, Fritjof and Harald wound their arms back and flung iron hooks, attached to thick ropes, landing in Erik's ship. Yanking back hard, the sharp points, embedded deeply into the wood rim, latching the boats together.

Launching back onto the wooden crate, one boot up on the edge, Harald drove his sword down into the shoulder of an attacking warrior. Slashing savagely with his other blade the others that approached. Snarling, his eyes incessantly returned to Safira. Still braced by the smooth headed warrior, she stared at Harald, terror in her eyes and her mouth gaping open in a silent scream.

"She is not for the taking, Finehair." Erik's voice barely reached Harald's ears over the grinding noise of the fight.

Hollering into the air, Erik made his way toward the bow of his ship, pushing in beside the two men hacking their weapons at Harald. Lifting an ax overhead, Erik let it fly as Safira's scream tore through the clamour of metal. Freezing, Harald's eyes shot to Safira as the ax whacked into the wood beside him, severing the rope attached to the iron hook. Teetering, Harald fought for balance as the bows of both ships begun to swing apart. Flashing his teeth in a jeering grin, Erik pivoted, hurling a second ax through the air, slashing the rope holding the sterns in place. Shooting apart, men lost their footing, falling into the water between.

"Safira!" Erik's voice bellowed out, his eyes searching the deck of his ship. Stumbling backward, Harald grabbed the edge, looking toward the spot she had been. The tall warrior now stood alone peering over the far side of the ship. Rushing to the Dane, Erik too, leaned over the side, repetitively calling her name and scouring the swells for any sign.

"You lost her!" Erik roared, turning toward his warrior, he heaved his sword on an angle, slicing through the side of the man's neck. His nearly severed headed slumped forward, as his body folded onto his knees, thudding hard as it collapsed against the side of the ship.

"Find my daughter!" Erik's wild eyes turned to the rest of the men. "The princess! She jumped into the water!"

"No!" Harald roared as he scanned the dozen or so men still thrashing in the waves, blades hacking and jabbing between the submerged fighters. Others struggling in the water to dodge the enormous, heavy paddles being lifted and dropped, as the oarsmen struggled to control the shifting boats.

Gasping, Safira shot up from the choppy sea between the boats and at the centre of the chaos. Face to the sky with hair slicked back, she coughed and gagged violently, her frenzied eyes shooting in all directions as she fought for her bearings. As the oars dropped around her, both Erik and Harald screamed for the planks to be held.

Leaping from the ship, Fritjof dove into the water. With flailing arms, he moved toward a stunned Safira. Rushing down the ship, Harald too leapt from the edge, hitting the water hard. Surfacing, he clutched the end of a long paddle and reached out toward Fritjof. Swimming on his side, Fritjof tugged Safira roughly, pulling her by her dress as she treaded water, becoming increasingly disorientated.

Fritjof shoved her toward Harald, who grabbed her tight around the waist, pulling her back against his body. Working his hand up the oar, he pulled them as close to the side as he could before losing his grip and sinking, with her clutched to his body, under the surface. The noise instantly stopped; all dark and peaceful. Only the swirling of water could be heard and the hallow vibration of the oars shifting above. Kicking hard, he broke the surface, gasping loudly for breath, Safira nearly slack in his arms.

Brother!" Halfdan shouted, his arm extended over the rim of the rocking ship, his lower half braced by another fighter. "Take my hand," he shouted, jerking it forward.

"Grab her." Harald heaved her upward toward Halfdan's reach. The momentum pushing him, again, below the nearly black water.

Clutching the neck of her dress, Halfdan yanked her up the side, pulling her over the edge and into the ship.

"Fritjof!" Erik hollered from behind. "Fritjof!" he screamed again and again, his voice both damning and full of rage. Neither Harald nor Fritjof turned to look as they fumbled with lines being dropped. The freezing water causing both to struggle with the rope. Finally wrapping the lines around themselves, they were heaved into the boat; Harald, followed by a trembling Fritjof.

Landing on the deck, the uninjured warriors raced past, readying the boat and fishing the last fighters out of the water. Pushing up off the boards, Harald moved stiffly toward Safira; the cold deepening its grip. Being held by Halfdan, who was shouting for furs, Safira sat slumped on a bench, her body shuddering violently from the frigid water and cool air.

Falling hard onto his knees, he reached forward and grabbed her rounded shoulders. Her vacant eyes staring down. Jerking her to look at him, she lifted her face but her dazed eyes would not meet his.

"What were you thinking?" he rushed, his face no less panicked than before she had been pulled from the water. "You could have been slashed by a blade or crushed between the boats. An oar hit would have caved your skull!"

The cold had turned her olive-toned skin pale, her eyes red from the sea. Blue had begun to tint her trembling lips. Slowly, her gaze shifted to his, struggling to keep focus.

"You could have died," his voice broke, his face showing the torment of the thought.

Wrapping a fur around her shoulders, Halfdan's hands squeezed Harald's through the thick pelt. "But she lives brother." Standing, Halfdan moved away to help the men.

Lowering her chin, Safira's eyes caught the small length of gold chain just visible above the neck of Harald's armour.

Shaking her head, her eyes flicked back up to his. "It is you or not at all," she uttered weakly, tears beginning to fall from her large, dark eyes.

Harald, too, shook his head as he stared at her tender face, his own tears blurring his sight.

"You bold, remarkable woman," he whispered, almost silently.

"I angered you," she murmured, closing her eyes and falling forward to press her face into his neck.

"No, my sweet." Breathing in deeply, his arms wrapped around her. "Never mad, only scared."

Behind them, Halfdan called out the order to return to shore to warm and prepare for the journey home.

Cracking open her eyes, Safira turned her head away, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Nestling into his chest, she watched Erik's boat pulling away. The longship's paddles working in unison, moving them further and further out to sea. All she could see of the legendary Erik the Red was the back of his head, never once glancing behind at his children.

"I will never see my father again," she whispered, her cheek pressing against Harald's damp leathers.

"No, my beautiful girl, you will not." Squeezing her tighter, he pressed a kiss to her salty hair, resting his cheek against her head. "But I will."

.

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[inforapound]

Boundless  Chapter 6

A/N -  King Harald and Princess Safira continue growing closer. Lost in their own world as new obstacles form. Thank you for your likes and reblogs and amazing comments. 

Pairing - Harald and Safira

Words - 2,800

WARNINGS - Explicit sexual content.  

"Another step and my ax will trim the skin off your cock," Halfdan taunted, from somewhere in the dark tent.

"Drop your hood," Harald commanded, lying on his cot, on the far side.

"Please, these are borrowed pants."

Pulling back her hood, Safira stepped into the glow of light cast by two candles on the wood round beside the bed.

"Safira," Harald rushed, sitting up and throwing back the furs.

"No, stay in bed. I am only here a moment." Hurrying to his side, she dropped to sit on the edge.

"I suddenly feel the need to study the stars," Halfdan crooned. Standing from his cot, he walked toward and out the tent door.

"Someone could have seen you," Harald uttered, running his hands down her slight arms.

"I could not go to sleep without seeing you after that dreadful feast."

"I am a composed man, but I will never have you beside me again without the world knowing you are mine." Lifting the covers, he looked at her expectantly. "I need to feel you."

Swiveling, she lifted her legs, sliding down beside him. One of his arms pulling her close and the other unclasping the cloak around her neck and throwing it to the ground. Tugging the furs over them, she shifted onto her side, placing her head on his feather pillow, their noses nearly touching.

"My father suspects something. He is sending me to Denmark."

"When?" his expression hardened. Pushing up on an elbow, he looked down at her, shifting his dangling braid to the other side of his neck.

"In three days."

As if the decision was clear, he nodded, "You will stay with me now. Not go back." With the flickering candle behind her, his eyes roamed the shadowed features of her face. Her high cheeks bones and the curve of her bowed lips, black hair, framing her elegant face. Every detail appearing more pronounced. She was breathtaking and making his body stir. He would kill Erik before he would let her be taken from him. "I will talk to him tomorrow," he said, dropping his eyes to her lips again. "Gods, you are beautiful."

Repressing a smile, her eyes shone up to his, her skin warming, responding to his muscular frame resting over her and his consuming stare.

"It will not be 'just talk' between you and my father," she whispered, wanting, so badly, for him to kiss her.

Reaching forward, she picked up his braid, running her fingers down to the tied end.

"Let me worry about that," he murmured, bringing his face to hers, his lips grazing the side of her mouth. Lingering, he dragged his bottom lip over her jaw, causing her to close her eyes, and run her tongue over her lips.

"I have to go soon," she nearly moaned, sliding her hands up his shoulders, and wrapping them around his broad neck. The wide opening of his linen tunic allowing her fingers to run over his powerful build. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, affirm that his body really did feel this good.

"No," he frowned, sliding his hand up, holding the back of her neck.

"Yes," she held his stare. "I am not your wife yet Harald Finehair."

"Somehow I doubt being my wife will change your convictions," he smiled, creasing the corners of his bright blue eyes. "We will leave in two nights' time." The softness in his face faded. "Can you be back here early, while it is still dark, the morning after tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Tilting down, he finally pressed his mouth to hers. Looking at her again, the slightest hum rumbled deep in his chest. "I am in love with you Safira Eriksdottir. Everything about you." Rubbing his nose against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. "You belong to me now." Pulling back, the candle behind her cast a warm light over his open face. "I will die before I give you up."

Running her fingers over his beard, she lightly raked her nails down his cheeks and throat.

"As in you own me?" She pressed a kiss to the under side of his chin.

"Yes."

"As you do your army or a sword or one of your ships?" her eyebrows rose. "The splendor of your next raid, even?" Her tone becoming serious. Questioning.

"What?" he scrunched his forehead. "Has someone been filling your head with uncertainty? Or, are these your concerns?" Lowering off his forearm, he shifted back down to the pillow, his hands, beneath the furs, snaking around her waist. "I like to think of myself as a brave man, but woman, you are scaring me." Licking his lips, his brows pinched together. "Are you having doubts?"

"I need to hear from you that I will be your queen and not your," her lids fluttered searching for the word, "possession."

"Safira," her name slipped free before he had prepared a response. His heart began to beat heavily in his chest, unsure of whether to comfort her or shield himself. "In all honesty," he sighed, as if allowing a decade of strain to topple from his mind, "for so long I was determined to become king of Norway. Consumed by it. I would have stepped over Halfdan, dying on the ground, in order to take the next kingdom. I wanted that title more than anything." Exhaling, he shifted closer, pressing his body to hers. "And to win the heart of a woman, who said she required that." Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. "How that was not an indication of her scheme, I do not know but I was blind, blind to everything but victory. I never thought about what life would be like after. Once I was King of Norway. Once I had a queen at my side. A wife. This." Pulling his arm out from the cover, he ran his fingers over the smooth skin of her cheek, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "I am grateful the Gods knew better. I still want it all." Looking down to her mouth, he pressed his lips to hers. "But I know very little about making a wife happy." Holding the side of her face, he swept his thumb across her chin. "I will do everything I can to cherish you; spoil you. Make love to you every day. I want the whole world to know you are my queen."

"I love you, Harald." Bringing her mouth to his, she kissed him passionately. Kissed him as if it was the last moment to prove her devotion.m, her yearning. Breaking away, she rested her forehead to his. "I promise to tell you how to do everything in order to make me happy," she smiled, laughing softly.

Chuckling, he squeezed her in his arms, running his hand over the curve of her hip, pulling her leg up over his waist.

"I do not need to be spoiled either," she uttered quietly. "I just want you to teach me how to rule. Be a good queen."

"You were born to be a queen," he whispered, kissing her chin and the skin below her eyes.

"Harald?" she nestled closer, hugging his body with her leg, her centre pressing against the large budge below his waste.

"Mm, yes my beauty?" he breathed, pushing his mouth against hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

"I will let you..." holding her mouth still, she swept her tongue back against his, her hips pressing forward into his hardness. "I will let you buy me horses. Many, many horses."

"Anything your heart desires," he chuckled again, tightening his arms around her.

"I have to get back," she murmured between the soft movements of their lips.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fritjof is waiting for me."

"Fritjof!" he pulled back, his eyes showing his worry.

"Yes."

"He will have your father at the ready. You are not going anywhere."

"He will not," she assured, pressing another kiss to his mouth before pulling from his grasp.

Muttering under his breath, he released her. "I will take you back then."

Standing, she turned to Harald as he shifted to the edge of the cot, dropping his feet onto the cool grass on either side of her. Yanking her into an embrace, he rubbed his beard across the blouse covering her flat stomach, sliding his hands up the backs of her legs. Breathing deeply, he soaked the feel of her in, not wanting to face the days ahead without her.

Cupping his face with her soft hands, she dropped to her knees, bringing her mouth close to his. Scanning his handsome face, his thick beard sprinkled with grey, she loved her warrior king in this moment more than ever. Barefoot, dressed for sleep, his touch heavy, with neediness in his wise eyes. A rush of desire washed over her, a warm surge, sweeping through her body, warming and pulling the tender parts between her legs. Her thoughts felt blurred, other than one, she wanted to sate him; leave him feeling at ease until they were together again.

Not prepared to wait any longer, he leaned forward and kissed her. Gently at first, and then with a force that caused her to whimper, softening her straight back and dropping her hands onto the tops of his strong legs. His insatiable mouth, reminding her of his relentless tongue and heady words just days ago. Feeling the wetness between her legs, she shifted her hips aching to hear, again, his lascivious words.

His mouth ripped away from hers.

"Get back in this bed." There was a threat in his tone.

"No."

"Get in here and I will have a new barn built for you and fill it with the finest horses."

Dropping back onto her heels, she looked up to him, admiring his dark silhouette, cocking her head to one side. "You will do that regardless."

Running her hands up his thighs, she skimmed her fingers over his linen pants, his straining erection standing hard.

"Safira." Her name alone was a firm command. His hips flinched toward her touch. "I am not going to have my woman kneeling in the dirt while I sit on a plush fur."

"I thought you would enjoy me on my knees." She squeezed his length through his thin sleeping pants.

"What are you doing?" his voice was low and gravelly.

"Harald." Frowning, she untied the laces at his waist, pulling his pants open. "You are old enough to be my father, remember? You know exactly what I am doing." Springing his thick erection free, she grabbed it firmly, causing him to tense and suck air in quickly.

Leaning forward, she lowered her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head off his cock, her lips ghosting over the smooth surface of his warm head. Grunting under his breath, his hips bucked up, toward her wet mouth. Sucking lightly, she worshipped him, skimming her lips and tongue along the sides of his length. Humming, her heavily hooded eyes glanced up before she squeezed his base with her hand, stroking him, and taking more into her mouth. Letting out a shaky breath, he leaned back, resting one hand on the cot. Brushing her loose hair away from her face, he gently held the back of her head.

This was not new to him, yet every sensation, every movement of her eager mouth felt unlike anything he had experienced before. Growing up as a handsome prince, beautiful women leapt into his bed, greedy and available for anything. Now, at nearly fifty, this flawless young girl had his senses perpetually heightened. He craved her with an attraction so profound, he felt utterly defenceless, entranced and in love.

"Show me," she murmured, peeking up to his dark, powerful stare. Popping him out of her mouth, she sank back down.

"Hmmm?" he hummed low in his chest.

"Show me," she repeated, continuing to stroke his full length with her hand, intermittently sucking the tip. "How fast? How deep? I want you to show me."

Running her tongue under his head, she raked him lightly over her teeth, her thumb and finger circling his base. Hissing, air shot out of his mouth as he pushed the back of her head gently. Her moans urging him on to clutch her hair tighter and rock his groin in time with her bobbing mouth.

"Gods," he growled, his eyes dropping down to watch her. "Is that what you want? Hmm, my perfect girl." his voice was heavy with lust. "You want me to fuck your beautiful throat?"

Whimpering a response, she continued, her hands squeezing tighter and the pace of her mouth set by his pushing and pulling on the back of her head.

Tensing, his movements suddenly slowed. With a pinched brow, he released her hair.

"Stop," he whispered as she continued her rhythm.

"Stop!" he roared, pulling her up by the shoulders.

Startling, her eyes shot wide. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dropping his hands, he leaned forward. "Who have you done this to?" He clutched her chin, and gritted his teeth.

Shaking her face free from his grasp, she sat back on her heels. "No one."

"Do not lie to me,' he snapped, before closing his eyes, inhaling deeply. Pushing every bit of air out of his lungs he attempted to calm the rage clawing at the inside of his chest. "Answer me," his voice was barely controlled.

"I have." She stared up at him with a blank face. "You are not hearing me," she articulated. "Wait," her eyes narrowed. "Was it good?" The corners of her mouth lifted into a smirk.

Grunting in frustration, "I want to know where you learned that."

"I had my thralls teach me," she replied flatly.

"You did this to your thralls?" he rushed. "Your paddock boys?"

"No."

"Safira!"

"I wanted to learn so I watched them do it to each other."

Stunned, his mouth fell open.

"What?" she grinned. "It was quite the tutorial."

Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes closed. "You are so..." He shook his head again, speechless.

"Naughty?" she smiled.

"Boundless."

Steadying her expression, she shifted closer, subtly batting her eyes. "I just want to be a good girl for you," she whispered knowing how much he liked that thought. Dropping her chin, she kept her gaze on him, running her tongue over her parted mouth. Reaching forward, he held her cheek and dragged his thumb across her puffy, red lips. Opening wider, he slipped it inside and she ran her tongue around his thumb, making him groan loudly; his cock pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. Fixated on her wet lips, he continued pushing his thumb to the back of her mouth, hungry to see her gag. Swallowing awkwardly, her eyes watered but never wavered as she stared up, letting him hit the back of her throat.

"Fuck, Safira," his lip rose into a snarl as he ignored his instincts to be soft with her. To protect her. "You are my good girl, aren't you?"

His eyes skipped over her small form, kneeling between his legs, head bowed with her small hands resting on his thighs. Her exquisite mouth open, silently begging to be choked, as he reached as far back as he could. His cock ached, so full of blood, the slightest touch would have caused his release. Beginning to pant, he closed his eyes, imagining himself dominating her. He wanted to claim her violently, tear through her barrier and rut deep into her pristine cunt. He wanted to pull out and see his manhood coated with her blood. Feel her tightness, milking him, and hear her cries as he shot his love deep inside her unspoiled womb. He felt intoxicated, on the edge of madness.

Withdrawing his thumb, he smeared her saliva roughly over her lips, making them glisten in the low light of the flickering candles.

"I want to please you," she whispered. "I want to drink your seed." She glanced down at his large manhood, standing hard before her. "Please, my king. My husband."

Not trusting his voice, he nodded, drunk on her obedience and devoted face. Her round eyes brimming with innocence. Pushing his hips forward, a small trickle of fluid slipped from the end of his throbbing cock, running down the side. Placing his hand on the back of her head, he guided her down, closing his eyes as the warm sensation of her delicate mouth slipped over him. Having no experience teaching a woman to rule as a queen, he had complete belief in his own patience and control. With unwavering, unyielding certainty that his sweet girl, his beloved woman, his beautiful powerful queen, possessed the aptitude for anything.

—

Outside the tent, under the clear night sky and shifting stars, Halfdan snored. Arms tucked over his chest and boots crossed, resting upon a log. The crowds around the fires were growing thin as the kegs of ale reached their bottom. Fritjof, tucked away dozing in the shadows, was grabbed from behind. A gloved hand slammed across his mouth and dragged his flailing body back into the darkness. No one heard a thing.

MASTERLIST .

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