Bride of Grendel: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 2) by Gwynn Jones Page A

shuddering with the force of the orgasm. He raised his head and planted his mouth on hers, his lips and beard wet with her, salty and sweet. She arched against him, wrapping her legs around his. This first climax only left her wanting more, her body singing. She nipped at his lip with her teeth. He fumbled with his trousers, freeing his hard cock, rubbing it against her.
                  “Take me,” she whispered, “take me now.”
                  He pressed the head of his penis against her hot, wet lips, dipping just inside, pausing, moaning softly at the feel of her. “So beautiful, so perfect,” he whispered, before plunging the full length of his shaft deep into her, as though he wanted to bury himself in her womb. Her body already primed, the feel of his full, hard member thrusting inside her immediately triggered another wave of bliss.
                  “Harder,” she gasped, “fuck me harder!”
                  He did. He rammed himself into her, pumping faster. She wanted nothing less than complete oblivion, and as Unferth fucked her and the orgasms overwhelmed her, she lost herself in the sensations. She couldn’t have counted how many times she came, or if it was one long, extended, rolling, mounting orgasm that finally reached its peak when Unferth climaxed, himself, drilling into her, a hoarse sob escaping from his mouth as he pulled out and squirted a spray of semen across her belly.
                  He collapsed beside her, and they lay together silently for several minutes.
                  “You could have come inside me this time.”
                  “What?”
                  “What fear of impregnation now? The king my husband gives me away tonight. And I’m likely to be dead before morning.”
                  Unferth sat up, a pained look on his face. She thought she could see the shine of tears in his eyes.
                  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it must be this way.”
                  But must it? She wondered. Must it, really? Why couldn’t this man take her away from here, right now? Sneak her away, thwart King Hrothgar, leave him to face the anger of the monster, himself. But he would not. She’d never imagined, really, that he would. She’d had no illusions when he first took her in his arms that this warrior would ever love her enough to defy his king.
                  Unferth was Hrothgar’s right-hand man, the warrior who sat at his feet, who enjoyed his greatest confidence, who did all his dirtiest work. This affair was no betrayal, even; Hrothgar was an old man who had long since lost either the interest or the ability to dally with women. He apparently did not care whether anyone else dallied with the maidens he made his fleeting queens, and she suspected that he might even have directed Unferth to play the lover. She had asked him, after the first time they made love, whether it hadn't been important that she remain a virgin.
                  “If the monster wanted virgins,” he’d replied, “It wouldn’t keep taking Hrothgar’s queens.” Perhaps, she had wondered, the old king wanted to keep up appearances, in case the creature was somehow mindful of its victims’ state of womanhood.
                  She had not minded. Unferth had been kind — as kind as could be expected from a battle-hardened warrior in the service of a cruel and selfish king — and Sigrun was in fact grateful for the pleasure and solace he had provided her. She was glad to have felt what it was to be a woman before she died, even if it had been at the hands of the enemy. For he was the enemy, however tenderly he may have treated her, however ardently he may have come to love her.
                  “It is growing dark.” She stared at the tiny window. “You should go.”
                  They both sat up. She