Frida

Chapter 8 - King Ragnar

The night proved to be very learning for Frida.

She already knew how to say 'thank you,' 'my name is...' and other small phrases that had her tongue curl around in her mouth in a weird manner. She even sometimes thought to have swallowed it. At first, she had been disappointed that the man named Athelstan had not joined them. She was very intrigued in getting to know more about him, mainly because she knew that his name was popular between those of the middle class in Northumbria, and also because she wanted to ask him whether he would be interested in teaching her the Norse language.

The Vikings, another name for this race of men, were namely not very courteous when it came to her not understanding them. Only Ragnar, King Ragnar, she corrected herself, was kind enough to translate for her at times, but there were occasions in which she got the feeling of being the subject of conversation where Ragnar chose not to let her hear whatever they were saying. Particularly Floki seemed to have much to say about her, but whenever he talked to her and she turned her head questioningly to Ragnar, he only shook his head and smiled before drinking from his horn.

This aggravated her. Ever since she first laid her eyes upon Floki, she had felt an unnerving tension gather in her chest every time he would look at her, and it was of no comfort that his gaze always looked rigid, even hateful it seemed, when he spoke to her.

But she could only smile at him, helplessly, whenever he spat words in her direction. She had no interest in making enemies here.

Frida giggled when a man named Torstein and the one sitting next to him drunkenly warbled a really clumsy song with their arms around each other, resulting in them both falling from their stools. All the men around the table laughed like bears, they really reminded her of bears, and she reached her horn up to her mouth but found it to be empty already.

"Here," Ragnar sloshed as he held out a wooden bucket with mead for her to fill her horn, and she reached it over inelegantly with her eyes swimming in her head.

She saw Ragnar looking at her, but not at her face, and when she followed his gaze she realized that he was inspecting her chest. She quickly straightened herself, suddenly very self-aware of how revealing the red dress was, and she let her eyes fell upon her chest too just to be sure that nothing was... falling out, or anything.

The dress hugged her figure very charmingly, that was for sure, and it was very tight over her breasts which made them appear even fuller than they actually were. She exhaled deeply before letting her eyes meet with Ragnar's, and she watched him curl his lips into a smug smile before he took another sip of mead while raising his eyebrows quickly at her.

Frida turned her head to stare at the wood planks of the longtable, blushing heavily. A bubbling heat spread out from the pits of her stomach, and not being able to contain herself, she gazed at him once more.

His skin was very rough, tanned by the rays of the sun, and his chin was covered by a great beard as was the norm here in Kattegat, obviously. His shoulders were broad, and his arms looked strong, and he moved always delicately, deliberately, like a hunting feline closing in on its prey. But what Frida liked the most about this man was his eyes. Almond-shaped and icy blue, like the skies on a clear summer day, and she felt another rush of heat pumping through her veins as he leaned in to let his hand softly touch her knee and sway gently up her thigh.

Frida had to remind herself to continue breathing, and she looked up at the men around them to see if anyone had seen anything. To her relief, the Vikings surrounding them were all too busy with drinking and chatting to notice a thing, and she felt Ragnar's eyes on her from behind, piercing at the back of her head.

She gulped down.

She had never found herself in a situation like this. Her cheeks were on fire, as was her blood, and an unfamiliar tingling sensation between her legs made her breathing staggered, uneven, as she once more felt Ragnar's fingers on her skin, now brushing her arm. An overwhelming eagerness of wanting to touch his skin too had her shifting in her seat, and she heard Ragnar chuckle silently behind her, as if he knew what he was doing to her body.

Frida had never lain with a man before, she had never even felt the desire of doing so, and she had absolutely no idea what it entailed.

She awoke from her daze when she felt her horn being taken away from her, and she looked up to see Rollo refilling it and handing it back to her with a sneaky smile.

"Just... enjoy yourself," he managed to say before a Viking with blond hair grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet while grinning teasingly.

It seemed like he challenged him at something, and it was not long before the two men left the long-hall punching each other's arms rather hard. As she took another sip from her horn, she felt her throat tighten. Enough mead, she thought and put down her horn on the table, before running her hand over her eyes.

She was not prepared for the eyes Ragnar was giving her when she turned her head to look at him. They were filled with hunger, a deep sort of hunger that made her bite her lip mindlessly as she took in the sight of him sitting there, casually leaned against the armrest of his chair looking at her from behind his horn. She giggled nervously when he did not say anything and just looked at her with his eyes narrowed, his legs nonchalantly resting on the table before him.

Their eye contact only broke when Floki came up to him, and bent over to whisper something in his ear while eyeing Frida like she was something revolting It seemed like Floki was trying to convince Ragnar of something, but Ragnar only waved him off as he smilingly growled something in Norse. An aggravated hissing sound spat out from Floki's lips before he strove quickly across the room to exit through the door.

Frida jumped in her seat when she felt Ragnar's fingers intertwine with hers, and he reached over, his mouth dangerously close to her ear, so close that she could feel the heat of his skin on hers. Her nose caught his scent, and she closed her eyes as a musky perfume filled her nostrils.

"Come," he purred, and his voice made her skin prickle teasingly and sent shivers down her spine.

Ragnar rose to his feet before he pulled at her arm for her to rise too, and Frida's eyes met with Torstein's who just grinned at her before raising his horn, as if saying goodnight.

She obediently followed the Norse king as he led her through the long-hall, past his wooden throne and in through a door. The room that he led her into was beautiful, only lit by candles, but she easily recognized it to be his sleeping place, as he released her hand before sitting down on a large bed that stood in the center.

Insecurity had her lips tremble as she saw his eyes travel over her body, studying her, and she closed her eyes as another wave of heat exploded in the pits of her stomach. She had no idea what to do next, her thoughts raced, and she heard Ragnar get up from the bed and walk towards her.

She held her eyes closed, even when she felt his breath on her face and smelled the sweetness of the mead he had been drinking. She did not know what he was going to do to her, all she knew was that she too felt the hunger that had shone from his eyes back at the longtable.

"Hm," she heard him breathe out, before she felt his calloused fingers stroke her chin and she could not help but to whimper softly when they brushed her lips delicately.

When she thoughtlessly kissed his thumb, because she could do nothing else, Ragnar reached his arms around her, and she hissed out in excitement when she felt his strong hands grab at her bottom, crashing his body against hers. Her mind exploded, as did a strange wetness between her legs, and she let her mouth travel across the naked skin of his neck. She could do nothing while he had his strong arms around her. Ragnar knew very well what he wanted. 

When he filled his seeds inside of her, he whispered out the name "Freyja."