CHAPTER TEN

 

Sigurd’s words echoed in Donna’s ears. He wanted her to show him—to prove—that he could trust her.

It was a test.

And he wanted her to make the first move.

Donna’s pulse quickened. Even though Sigurd had just poured his heart out to her, he was not the only one in torment. He stirred her own demons, her own maxims of life.

Sigurd had been so hurt by the most important women in his life. Just like Donna and her mother had been hurt—by men.

Maybe Sigurd and Donna were not so different, after all.

She swallowed.

Running her hands up his tunic, she felt his hard muscles under her fingertips. Her breath accelerated, and his chest started to rise and fall quicker. The masculine scent of his body drove her crazy.

Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck—gosh, he was so tall—and she reached up to kiss him. Their lips touched gently, and a wave of desire went through her. The taste of his mouth made her want to jump on him, but she also wanted to show him tenderness. This strong man had just opened his deepest wounds to her. Wounds she was all too familiar with.

He answered with a gentleness that mirrored her own. His mouth pressed softly at first, but soon he urged the kiss deeper, and his hands glided up and down her back. Bliss spread through her skin. His tongue separated her lips to dip inside, stroking hers, sending her head in a carousel-like spin and making her forget that the world existed.

Her fingers ran through the silk of his hair. His arms engulfed her as she planted delicate kisses around his lips, his beard, his high cheekbones. Then down his neck, over the violent beat of his pulse, past the Thor’s hammer pendant that seemed to be almost an integral part of him, and down his chest.

He did not let her continue, for now. His hands went under her buttocks and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped around his waist. “I want you just for my own,” he growled and walked further down the coastline away from the village, towards the undergrowth that bordered the pebbled ground of the beach, behind the last of the beached longships.

He let her down near the shrubs, which shielded them from the village and created a cozy wall of sorts. It was only them, the fjord, the mountains and the sky.

She undid the ties of his fur cloak and let it fall onto the beach.

With their eyes still locked, she let his arms rise and pulled his tunic up, revealing his powerful body. Her heart beat faster, and she ran her fingers down his chest muscles, to his ripped stomach. As she approached the line of his trousers, he sucked in a breath. She began planting slow, feathery kisses on the trail her fingers had just taken, marveling at the beauty and strength of him. She worshiped his body, loving him with every touch.

His hands, buried in her hair, stiffened as her lips came close to the line of his trousers. She realized this must be new for him, to let her lead. He did not stop her this time, like he had last night. Her chest tightened till she almost ached.

“You are in good hands,” she whispered against his navel, moving to kneel before him on the fallen cloak.

Surrounded by mountains that rose into the sky-like walls, with the mirror of the fjord, the thick woods—with the whole world going still and quiet—her words sounded like a spell, like a vow, and Sigurd’s fingers relaxed ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable and yet it told Donna everything.

She undid his trousers and let them fall. His erection sprung free and glorious. She planted a kiss on his tip, and he moaned and started shaking.

She realized how much trust he was putting in her, and how fragile that thread was between them. This mighty Viking who could squeeze her to death, break her bones if he chose to, who was never separated from his ax and who commanded and protected dozens of people, trembled before her, showing her—and only her—his vulnerability.

His trust.

She planted another wet kiss on the tip of his erection, and another tremble went through him.

This was new for her, too. She had given blow jobs a couple of times but never enjoyed it, always feeling inferior and used.

But now, she felt the opposite—powerful and loving and giving, like a goddess—and a Viking trembled waiting for her next move, fully in her hands.

So strong and so fragile.

“You are the most magnificent man I’ve ever seen,” she whispered and heard him catch a breath. Then she wrapped her lips around his tip, gently enveloping it in her mouth and welcoming it with her tongue.

He groaned, the hard muscles of his hips bulging under her fingers. His cock swelled and jerked slightly. She gently sucked, and he let out a growl. She took him in deeper and sucked a little harder, encouraged by his reaction. The sensation of his velvety skin gliding in her mouth and his hardness against her tongue heated up her veins like liquid fire.

“What are you doing to me,” he grunted through his teeth.

She only moaned against him.

“Your mouth…” He started to thrust gently.

She took him deeper, started sucking faster and harder, drunk from the power she had over him and the pleasure she gave him.

“Ah, Freyja, oh gods…” he moaned. “I won’t last long…”

Donna almost smiled against him. She wanted him to have everything, to show him that she was ready to give without wanting anything in return.

He stiffened. “If you don’t want me to spill, you better stop now.”

Donna only stroked his length with her tongue in response.

Sigurd panted now, grunting but holding his voice back. He accelerated his thrusts into her mouth. They became almost violent now, but she took everything he gave. And with a few final thrusts, his seed spilled against her throat, salty and primal. Her insides clenched at the feeling of his release.

“Donna,” he moaned her name like a plea. She took everything in without flinching, every last drop of him precious and dear.

She pulled her head back too look at him and he fell to his knees, holding on to her shoulders for support. His forehead fell to hers, and he panted.

Donna’s body buzzed from unfulfilled desire, the intensity of the experience, and love that radiated from her heart.

Her Viking, this big and powerful man, in her hands. Right by her heart.

Sigurd raised his chin and met her eyes. His were still clouded but shone with softness—and also something new. Confidence, or maybe peace. He looked younger, as if he’d just woken up from a deep sleep.

The significance of what had just happened melted something in her chest. She’d passed the test. He’d begun trusting her, even if just a little bit.

And she knew that she needed to trust him in return.