Ravish Her

“Oh, yes, Stian. Yes.”

He tightened his hold on her hips and really started fucking her. When he knew he’d come far sooner than he wanted, he reached around her belly and teased her clit. The little nub was swollen and hard, and he rubbed it back and forth until her whole body tensed, and she threw her head back and groaned out her orgasm.

She may have been on her hands and knees, but he could see her profile and watched the flush spread up her neck and cover her face.

He bent forward, not about to deny himself, and wrapped his hand loosely around her throat. Placing his mouth right on hers, he kissed her until they were both panting. He pumped harder, faster inside her, until their skin slapped together.

Wave after wave of pleasure shot straight up his spine. His balls drew up tight, and he had to pull away from her and suck in a lungful of air. He held onto her hips so hard he knew there would be marks on her flesh, but he got a possessive thrill from the knowledge. He liked knowing she would wear his mark of ownership, because she was his, irrevocably.

He slowly pulled out, the head of his cock almost popping free, before he plunged back inside. She looked over her shoulder at him, her mouth parted, her eyes wide, and her face flushed. Their bodies were dotted with perspiration, and he wanted her soaking wet for him all over.

He swallowed roughly and closed his eyes, knowing he was about to fill her ass with his seed.

For several long, intoxicating seconds, he came, and when he couldn’t come any longer, he gently pulled out of her. He would have collapsed beside his wife, but he moved over to the basin of water he kept by the fire in their room and grabbed a wet rag to clean her with.

She was on her belly now, her ass red from his spankings, her eyes closed. He put on a pair of leathers and grabbed her shift that hung over the wooden chair by the fire. Stain cleaned her the best he could, then slipped in the bed beside her. She was warm and full, and he loved her more than the day before.

He stared at his wife, remembered their conversation years before when she’d spoken of where she’d come from, of the old woman and the herbs, and he knew that everything happened the way it should have. He hid nothing from her, told her about his life, everything he’d done.

Speaking so openly with her made them closer. Every day, he loved her more; every moment, he knew he’d die for her, because she was his world.

“Are you happy, Agata?”

She turned over to face him and knitted her brows. “Of course I am. You’ve made a good life for us, Stian. You’re a good husband, a good father, and I know that staying here all those years ago was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

He smiled and pulled her closer. She was his, and nothing would take that away. It had been four years since he found her in those woods, and things had changed for them. She was his wife, the mother of his children, and the woman he was supposed to be with.

They had three children now and were trying for their fourth. Hell, he’d try having children with her until they no longer could.

Then, as if their little ones read his mind, they came running down the short hallway that led to their bunks and climbed up on their large pallet. Their oldest, a son named Thorbjorn, a little over three years of age, had a big grin on his face as he cuddled up with Agata.

Petrine was only a year younger than her older brother, and she was a spitting image of him. And lastly, their youngest, the baby at less than a year old, was his son Amund.

Stian grabbed the baby from Thorbjorn, who acted more like a father to his younger siblings than the older brother. He pulled all of his children close and leaned down to kiss Agata. She took the baby from him, and pride filled him that his children were here and that the gods had given him all these gifts of happiness.

He had a beautiful family, two sons and a daughter who were strong and healthy and would grow to be warriors just like their parents. He stared at Agata as she pushed her hair, which was in braids, over her shoulder as she brought Amund to her breast.

The baby latched on as he nursed, and Stian loved watching her feed his child, loved the connection and bond he felt when he was with his family like this. The way she hummed to the children until they fell asleep, until they were nestled beside them, had love filling him.