The Barbarian's Stolen Bride (Northmen Barbarians 1)

And I said that without words by pressing my lips to his and showing him with my mouth that I wasn’t going anywhere.

13

Fen

The feel of my Prima’s mouth on mine sent a shock wave of lust right to my cock. I instantly grew hard, as hard as the forged steel the blacksmith wielded.

I groaned and wrapped my arms around her tightly, pulling her close to my body, knowing I’d die before I ever let her out of my sight, before I ever let her go.

The needy, feminine sound that left her when I stroked her lips with my tongue had another surge of possessiveness coursing through me, and I found myself sliding my hands down to cup the perfectly rounded mounds of her ass. I hauled her up against me, and the surprised sound she made and the way she kissed me harder had pleasure coursing through me.

She was mine. This was what I’d been missing all my life. The way she clung to me, the fact that she wanted me after all I’d done, after taking her freedom of choice away, had this foreign happiness slamming into me. I almost faltered in my steps, wanting to just fall to the floor and thank the gods that, despite the villain I was, I still got the treasure.

My Prima.

I carried my wife to our furs, laying her gently down on the platform, my breath leaving me as I took a step back and stared down at the sight of her. She looked up at me with a soft, trusting expression, her eyes hazy, hooded from her arousal.

I knew she was nervous, could practically smell it. But it wasn’t as strong as her arousal, that sweet, slightly musky scent that had me growling and my mouth watering even more.

And when she lifted her hands, her fingers shaking as she went for the delicate ties at her bodice, I wanted to soothe her, calm her. We’d go as slow as she wanted. We’d take eternity if that’s what she needed.

“Tell me to stop and we will. In an instant.”

She froze, her breath moving through her lips slowly. “I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, and a harsh sound of need left me.

My breath held in my lungs as I watched her unlace—an agonizingly slow process—her bodice. It was a tease that drove my lust even higher. Already, my cock throbbed behind my leathers, demanding to be free.

And when she parted the two halves of her bodice, her high, tight breasts coming into view, I didn’t stop the animalistic sound that left me. I didn’t even attempt to lessen it.

Let her see how feral she makes me.

She was perfect, with breasts no more than a handful. Her nipples were tight and a dusky pink, her areolas no bigger than a small coin. My mouth watered, my balls drew up tight, and I felt copious amounts of pre-cum lining the tip of my shaft. Soon, my seed would coat the front of my leathers in a show of my lack of self-control where she was concerned.

I imagined touching her everywhere, following that same path my fingers made with my lips and tongue, memorizing every curve of her body. I was already addicted to her touch and had barely sampled it.

Part of me wanted to tear off my clothing, mount her, and push her thighs apart to finally claim her. But the stronger part, the one that wanted to do right by her, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

I lifted my hand and ran it over my mouth, unable to look away from her breasts. She was beautifully formed, perfection in my eyes.

“I wish to touch you,” I said gruffly, my words muffled behind my hand, which I still had running over my mouth. I hadn’t even meant to say them aloud, just a string of thoughts that commingled with filthy images running in my mind.

Asking for anything felt strange and almost… wrong. All my life I’d been used to fighting for everything I had, never asking because it was never given. I came from nothing, had to scrape the very bottom of the barrel to survive. I’d been the son of a poor farmer. A motherless child. And it had made me cold and hard to the world around me.

I’d grown up working from sunup to sundown. Only eating what we could scrounge up. Some nights I’d gone to bed hungry. Some mornings there hadn’t been a morsel to be had. We’d rationed in the cold season. I’d stolen to ease the ache in my belly.

And when I’d been grown and strong, I’d become battle-scarred and warrior-honed. Because then no one would be able to deny me again.

I’d been shaped into the man I was today, the rough life making me who I was. I could try to change, but it was ingrained in me at this point and was branded into my very core, in my spirit.