Valkyrie's Harem (Academy of Immortals 1)

Armin shifts and my body slides into the saggy middle of the bed. We face one another, our bodies pressed against one another. Where I gave him his space yesterday, I now reconsider; maybe less distance is what Armin needs. Maybe, I’d dismissed his true intentions too easily before, Armin does need a booty call.

But he’s going to have to say it.

I reach my hand out and start at the shoulder, running my hand down the length of his arm. He’s not a man used to physical intimacy, I know that much, so I move gently, barely stroking his skin. It’s a testimony of his exhaustion, and I think his trust in me, that he doesn’t wake, and I take my time exploring his body. I run my fingers across his neck, pressing them to his muscular chest. His eyes flutter open, and he swallows thickly.

“Hildi,” he says, his voice a strained whisper.

“Why are you jealous, Armin?”

His eyes are so blue—crystal clear—and it’s like peering into his soul. He hurts, painfully so; guilt,

regret, distrust…it’s a wall surrounding him.

“Because Marshal knows how to go after what he wants. He knows how to enjoy himself and to seek pleasure. I can’t…” he swallows, “I can’t do that. Not after all the things I’ve done. It’s not right.”

“Are you saying that you want me?”

His Adam’s apple bobs again. “Does it make me weak to say yes?”

“I think it makes you human,” I tell him, propping up on my elbow.

“I’m barely human, Hildi.”

“That’s not true. You’re a man that’s fighting for redemption, fighting for an entire realm, so that our friends and everyone else is safe. You have a soul, Armin, and it’s okay to have wants and desires.” I touch his chest. “It’s okay to want me.”

As soon as I say it, I realize I want to pull him out of his darkness. I don’t just want to help him sleep or how to manage his guilt. I want to show him that it’s okay to feel something other than pain. That pleasure is okay. And I’m going to be the one that gives it to him.

I don’t ask for permission, I just move quickly, tossing a leg over his hips. He looks at me, panicked, hands already clamping down on my hips in an effort to remove me.

“Armin.”

His eyes hold mine. “Yes?”

“Do you want me?”

“Since the first time I saw you.”

It’s a stunning statement and my heart clenches in reaction. I lean forward and place a gentle kiss on his forehead, and another on his temple and work my way downward. He’s frozen beneath me, unmoving but not running, and I take that as a win. I keep going, kissing the skin under his jaw, tasting his clean, soapy skin, down to his collar.

I reach for the buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one by one. The clench of his fingers against my hip loosens and his hips shift. I feel the arousal underneath me.

I take my time; it’s not the rushed, quick-paced fury that occurs with me and Marshal. This is a different level of feeling. Different men, different needs.

What I didn’t know, until I feel the damp heat between my legs and the thundering of my heart, is how much I needed them both.

With his shirt removed, I see the defined outline of muscles lining his abs and the scattering of hair over his chest. I run my fingers down his body, watching his jaw twitch and tighten. His belly caves when I kiss him below the belly button and touch the coarse hair that leads under his waistband. I bend, hair falling over his chest, tits grazing his abdomen, and reach for the buckle on his trousers.

I can sense his size, his endowment visible as it strains beneath the fabric. I ignore the looks he gives me as I tug away the zipper. The grim set of his jaw as I free him from the confines.

“Oh,” I say, eyeing the size. He’s large. So large. Long and thick, same as his body.

Heat grows between my legs just at the sight of him.

I’m a woman that likes all things, cock, pussy, mouths and fingers. I’ve never been shy, Odin didn’t make me that way. I’m bold, a warrior, and when I bend to take Armin’s cock in my mouth, there’s no hesitation. I know what I want. I know who I am. I’m the woman who loves the feel of a dick sliding down my throat, of balls soft in my fingers. The fact that it’s this man? This cock?

Even better.

His stoicism fades once I start my ministrations, all the bravado and holding back slips away. He groans as my tongue circles his tip. I cry out when his hands tug at my hair and I hum when his fingers reach for my nipples. He grows bigger, harder, thicker with every stroke and I know when he’s on the edge, when he can’t take it anymore.