“Jomsvikings are an elite group of military men of proven courage, none older than fifty years. They live in a huge circular fortress on the island of Trellenborg on the west coast of Sjaelland… the Danish lands. Jomsvikings adhere to strict rules of fellowship. Each must avenge the other as a brother. None must ever speak a word of fear. No man can be absent from the fortress for more than three nights, unless engaged on a military campaign. And, most important, no women are permitted in the castle itself.”
“Sounds like foolishness to me.”
He pinched her behind for making light of serious men’s business and went on. “It is quite an honor to be admitted to this society. A foster brotherhood, some call it. At the initial swearing-in ceremony, a large ring of turf is cut from the ground in such a way that two ends are still held fast and under it is laid a razor-sharp spear. Four men are required to pass beneath it till they draw blood, lots of blood, and their blood mixes with each other’s and with the earth beneath. After that, they clasp hands and pledge an oath to the brotherhood.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “That really is foolishness. Men! What utter nonsense, that they would spill blood just for the sake of making an oath. I tell you, women would never do that!”
He laughed. She was probably right.
“In any case, that is why I was celibate for a year… that, and my battle injury.”
“Ummmm,” she said.
He was not certain if she said “Ummm” as an indication that she understood or as appreciation of the throbbing of his cock inside her tight channel. Talented fellow, his cock was. He continued to hold himself as still as possible inside her, trying to control the game as much as he could.
She stared up at him, waiting.
While he held himself rigid over her, she did not question him. The woman trusted him implicitly. That he would not hurt her. That he would bring her pleasure. That he would keep his word as a man of honor. That he would hide her secrets.
Vagn knew she was ready—nay, anxious—for impending bliss because her inner folds were already clutching at him, but still she trusted him to know what was best for them in the bedsport. A heady compliment, that was: trust. It carried responsibility, too. Did he want that responsibility? Did he have a choice?
Apparently, I do, became, Odin help me, I love her.
As if reading his troubled thoughts, Helga reached a hand up and caressed his cheek, trailing her fingers over his parted lips. “Vagn,” she murmured huskily.
He began to pound her then, as if in punishment, but in reality to drive home to her what he could not say: I love you. To some men that might not be such an amazing revelation, but to Vagn it was mind-shattering. He had never thought love would come to him… love of the man-woman kind. And he’d never needed it before, not while he had his brother.
Helga flailed from side to side now, keening with the continuous pleasure he gave her. Her body went from one peak to another as the inner ripples went on and on. He’d never known a woman to have multiple peaks like this, but his Helga did. The anticipation of his own peak went on and on, too, to the point of pain… painful yearning, wonderful torture.
I love her. He could not say the words. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But he showed Helga that he loved her in the best way he could. With a roar of male exhilaration, Vagn shot his seed inside Helga’s welcoming womb.
And it felt so right.
Making sweet butter, Viking style…
Tears welled in Helga’s eyes, which she hid from Vagn by pressing her face against his heaving chest. What a miracle lovemaking was! What a miracle lovemaking was when love was involved, as it was on her part!
I love you, Vagn. She wished she could say the words aloud, but she would probably scare him spitless. Not that he would abandon her to her own devices, but it would make their relationship strained. She wanted to relish this peace between them for a while longer.