With only two days to prepare for an invasion sure to decimate her village, Kaylla is shocked by her attraction to the hunky Norseman she has enslaved. Who knew fear of imminent death could drive an innocent woman to explore the oldest sins known to man.
Desperate to save her village from a band of Norsemen sweeping down the coastline, Kaylla catches her first ray of hope when she discovers one of the pillaging heathens washed ashore. Perhaps they can use this captive to bargain for the safety of their village. Rolf Bloodhands, sole survivor of a traitorous attack on his king’s fleet, assures her that his kinsmen will not spare the easy conquest of their waning village for the life of one man. Instead he teaches them the basics of defense and combat with the meager weapons they have available. If they fail to stave off the invaders, the few villagers left will either be killed or enslaved.
At the sound of approaching footfalls, he closed his eyes, slowed his labored breathing. His senses, keen despite his injuries, detected the approach of a female. He knew by the sound her feet made upon the earthen floor. She squatted next to him. He felt her gaze on him even before she nudged his shoulder. He made no response. Better to wait and discern her intentions.
The woman prodded him, with more force this time. She dropped to her knees. Her bare thighs brushed against the bruised flesh along his ribs as she knelt next to him and placed her hand on his chest. He struggled not to wince at the pain, relieved though it was by the feel of her warm flesh against his.
When he again made no response, her touch became gentler, almost caressing. His heart hammered against her palm, but as she traced his wounds with her fingertips, he almost lost control. Many a full moon had come and gone since he had felt the soft stroke of a woman.
Her touch soothed him. Despite the calluses of a hard life, her tiny hand felt soft against the ragged planes of his body. As she stroked his skin with a feather-light touch, he imagined her loving caress could take away all his pain. She continued her scrutiny of him, sliding her hand across his stomach and charting a path from his chest to his...
By the gods. She was a bold wench. She stroked his tight curls with the tips of her fingers, tickling him beyond what a mere man should be able to tolerate. Her tantalizing caress tortured him, almost more than he could stand. His cock stirred, awakened and sought attention from the brazen wanton who knelt at his side. She jerked back with a gasp at the sudden growth of him.
If the woman realized he no longer slumbered, she did not show it. He struggled to control his breathing, not yet wanting to alert her. He dare not risk a peek, more than curious now, anticipating her next move.
His cock stretched to its full length. The sweet pain almost chased away the hurt of battle. He listened to the woman’s heavy breathing and resisted a knowing smile. Back home, the size of his cock had become legend amongst the women of the surrounding clans.
Instinctively, he knew he was not in Ulfrik’s kingdom. He had probably washed up on the coast of Angleland. He had engaged in many an onslaught along these shores, but he had yet to sample any of the dark beauties he had encountered, choosing instead to claim his reward from the wealth of gold and silver piled high after each raid. He had taken note of the ripe farmland, the settled villages that flourished. He had dreamt of a life less…debauched.
While his comrades violently relieved themselves on the unwilling slaves they captured, he preferred his women compliant. He took nothing they did not offer freely.
So far, none of the local women had offered.
As he lay there struggling to remain motionless, he considered taking a slave of his own. He almost laughed. Here he lay, naked and injured, and all he could think about was taking a slave. When she took him in her gentle grip, his ruse drew to an abrupt end.
In one swift movement, he flew at her, flipped her onto her back, straddled her thighs and pinned her arms to the floor.
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