Crown | Vikings | Valkyrie Queen Novel

Chapter 7

"He's watching." Harold murmured. His beard lightly brushing against the nape of her neck.

Plans for the raid had already been discussed and everyone had dispersed to continue enjoying the feast. Everyone except Bjorn. Bjorn watched intently, eyes locked on her every movement. The way her hips swung, slow and sultry. The way her hair flowed, disheveled around her shoulders. The way her skin glistened with sweat and her chest heaved slightly, deepening her breathing. It reminded him of all the times she had been underneath him. It was all he could think about as he sat next to his wife, Torvi and their children.

"Let him watch." She whispered, pulling his body closer to hers. "I'm not his wife, remember?"

Back to chest, her curves grinded dangerously against the bulge in his trousers. With each sway, the bulge grew. Harold's body ignited with excitement at the beautiful woman within his grasp. His arms slid around her waist gripping tightly and daring to dip further below. She wanted to let him. In spit of Bjorn, she wanted to let another man between her thighs.

"He doesn't look too happy." Harold chuckled, amused.

She smiled at the comment, catching Bjorn's icy blues. "And do you care?" She intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him down to her height. Her lips grazed his, teasing a kiss. The large amount of ale consumed added to her confidence. "Warm my bed."

She pulled away, leading him to her chambers. His calloused hands never left her body as he slammed the door shut behind them, using his own body to pin her against it. His lips met hers, rough and slow as she locked her arms around the back of neck. She played with the collar of shirt as his hands settled on the back of her thighs, lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he laid her across her bed.

Clothes were stripped and tossed to the side. Harold kissed her roughly, moving from her lips and trailing down her jaw to the side of her neck. He nipped at sensitive flesh of her collarbone, marking her as his own. His lips, slightly parted, slid down between her breasts and past her abdomen to rest between her thighs. His breath was hot, gently blowing against the wetness of her womanhood.

She moaned in anticipation, arching her back while her hips bucked forward. She craved the pleasure she knew his tongue would provide her. Noticing her reaction, he laughed wholeheartedly. She closed her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat at the sudden vibrations.

"Stop teasing." She moaned, bucking her hips once more. She needed him.

He gripped her hips, pinning her in place underneath him. His tongue massaged between her folds as he gently sucked. His teeth nipped at the overly sensitive bud as she grinded against his face, riding him. She could feel a finger enter her, thrusting in and out at an even pace before he added another.

Riyah's sweet moans filled the room, like music to Harold's ears. Her stomach in knots as she grew closer to her high, a light layer of sweat coated her flushed skin. She was close. So close.

"Get out." Bjorn's voice erupted, interrupting Riyah's pleasure. "Now."

"What are you doing?" Riyah screamed, covering herself with furs as Bjorn ripped Harold off of her.

He shoved Harold to the door, throwing his clothes after him before turning to Riyah. "No. What are you doing? Letting him between your thighs? Pleasuring you? You're drunk, Riyah."

"I'm not you're wife, remember? We aren't together, Bjorn. Who I invite into my bed is none of your concern regardless of how much ale I've had!" She spat, using his own words against him.

In a matter of seconds, Bjorn took her wrists in one hand, holding them hostage above her head. The other hand ripped the furs from her body, discarding them to the side. He attacked her neck, placing his own mark over Harold's before dipping lower. He released her hands, immediately she tugged on his braid. Not to pull him away but to encourage him to continue.

His tongue massaged her folds, as he gently sucked. Riyah squirmed under his touch, attempting to move away as her face contorted with pleasure. He knew her body. He knew what she needed to reach her high. With ease he flipped her over, digging his fingertips into her hips to pin them in place. She rocked back and forth over his face, his tongue entering her. She moaned, breathing heavily. It was enough to send her to the edge. But he stopped, lifting her up. She whimpered at the loss of contact.

He smirked, wiping his mouth clean of her juices. "If you want me in your bed, it is my concern."

Before she could say anything, Bjorn left. She was a mess, her core still aching with emptiness. Her chest still heaving, her body still craving his touch. She laid back on the bed, covering herself with the furs before she finished herself what Harold and Bjorn had started.

The next morning, a loud, banging knock at her door woke her from a deep slumber. She scrunched her eyes shut, feeling her head pound at the sudden awareness of light creeping through the windows. Her hand flew up to rub her temple as she groaned and slowly crawled out from under the furs.

Leaving the comforting warmth of her bed, she braced the cold. She noticed the fire had gone out over night as she groggily shuffled to the door. Through squinted eyes, she could see Ragnar through the open crack.

"Have too much fun at the feast?" Ragnar teased in amusement. Her hungover appearance blatantly showing.

Riyah frowned and opened the door wider, shifting to the side so he could enter. Shivering skin craving the warmth, she climbed back into bed, clinging to the furs.

"Don't." She warned. "You should already be gone, why haven't you left?"

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and stood at the foot of her bed. He leaned down, head slightly tilted to the side. He stretched his arms out to either side of her and placed them on the wooden foot frame. "I told you. I want you with me."

"I've already accepted to go with Bjorn. Besides, I've heard Ivar has already agreed to go with you. He couldn't help himself but to tell every person at the feast that would listen." She said.

"Ah, but you are not Ivar, now are you? He has not seen the battlefield or devised plans. He is a man now... But he still has a lot to learn."

She turned to to him, shifting her weight closer. Her face inches apart from his when she whispered. "No."

Ragnar's face contorted in anger. His hands slammed against the frame as he faced his back to Riyah. He rubbed his hand over his bald scalp and down his face, resting it around his chin.

He breathed in deeply, calming himself before he spoke. He reached for the door, stepping into the hallway. "You're words anger me, but I respect your decision." The door closed and she heard his footsteps trail away before hesitating and walking back. The door cracked open enough for him to stick his head in. "You are destined to do great things and I know you will continue to grow. For that, I am proud of the woman you became and the woman you will become. You're mistakes will determine your failures and your victories will determine your successes."

The door closed once more and this time she heard his footsteps fade completely away. Her eyes flickered to the door.

Never once had the great Ragnar Lothbrok said he was ever proud of anyone. He feared his sons would surpass his own fame. At the back of his mind she could tell it was always eating at him. His only daughter was never given the chance to, her life taken by disease as a child, but Riyah couldn't imagine it would be any different. So why was she any different?