Page 24 of Heart of the Wolf

“Because of the one thing all Englishmen want. Power. Greed. The head of that village approached my father when I was still a jarl and bartered with us. Asked us to wipe out a town that threatened his own chances at getting closer to his king,” Leif snorted, and flicked his hand.

“Weakling couldn’t do it himself. Instead, he asked us to do it in exchange for providing goods every winter.

Left his people with so little just for a taste of power, he is no leader,” Leif spat, hissing and clutching his bandaged ribs.

Anxiety swirled in her stomach, and acid rose higher until it splashed in her mouth. Brielle wrung the cloth in her hands, the one stained with Leif’s blood. Part of her didn’t want to believe it. She dabbed unconsciously at the cuts, a far-off stare settling in her gaze.

“So, I nearly starved because my father wanted to be closer to the crown?” Was everything her father told her a lie?

“I was in the woods that day, desperately gathering supplies, alone, all to meet our quota. All because I was told we would be slaughtered if we didn’t. All because my father lied to me.”

Tears fell unbidden down her face. Not from sadness, but from anger. All the horrible things he had told her about the Norse. Yet, he was the one starving his people for a chance at power.

His own daughter.

And for what? None of it mattered. Not even nobility ever came to their village, let alone the king. No one knew who her father was. At most, merchant sailors gave him a good deal on their once-yearly visits because they pitied him.

“That man,” Leif grimaced, pulling her into his lap until she straddled his waist. “Is your father?”

Brielle nodded. Leif peppered a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from her ear along the hinge of her jaw.

His lips rested against her ear, his palms resting on her hips.

“All things led to this. Do not be sad.” His timbre softened, sweet like honeyed fruit.

“Freyja guided us to this moment. All your pain led to us. To now. I would take it all away if I could.”

The tip of his teeth grazed her jaw. She sniffed, and his tongue coaxed her mouth open, swallowing all her tiny sounds of hurt until only pleasure remained. He nipped at her lips, lathing kisses over her throat.

“You will never be hungry again. Never want for anything again. I will keep you safe until my dying breath. And with that breath, it will be your name I call. That is my promise to you.”

Warmth spread out from her abdomen, heating her body and flushing her cheeks with the conviction of Leif’s promise—one she knew he meant, and one she knew he’d never break. Grunting, he pulled her into the furs with him until her head rested on his shoulder.

“Your wounds,” she said, no real bite in her words.

“Forget them. Hjartae mitt.” His fingers ghosted along her curves. “You are mine. In this life and the next. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to claim,” he said, his nose nudging hers.

Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. Ones she blinked away. She slid her narrow fingers through the scruff of his beard until her hand cupped his face. She tilted his head until their noses touched, seeing the promise of forever in his eyes.

“úlfr,” she said, grinning at the primal smile waiting for her. “And you are mine. Forever. All of you belongs to me.”

“Then take what is yours.”

Leif spread his arms wide, his proud length hard and straining against the wool around his thighs. Brielle’s hand caressed down the scarred expanse of his chest until her fingers played with the ties that hung deliciously around his hips.

“Mine,” she said.

Shallow breaths fell from her as she fiddled with the ties, removing his clothes with his help. Brielle closed her fingers around him, groaning at the heavy weight in her hand.

Not quite confident, she moved her hand up and down in firm, steady strokes like she had seen him do.

A heaving sound groaned in his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed, his tongue tracing his lips.

Pride bloomed in her chest, watching Leif unravel from her touch. While his eyes were closed, she flicked her tongue over the tip, licking the glistening bead from the head. The taste was foreign, but not unpleasant. Leif hissed through clenched teeth, his hips bucking.

“Odin, help me,” he gritted out, a hand burying into her curls.

A sting slid along her scalp as he tugged, and Brielle grinned. She wanted to taste him, to make him fall apart for her, like he so often made her.

Tentatively, she closed her lips around the head of his cock, her heart fluttering as his grip on her hair tightened. Brielle bobbed her head, taking him as far back as she could. He was too big for her to fit him all. Instead, she closed a hand around his base, stroking with each bob of her head.

She moaned around him, sliding her tongue over the vein that traveled along the underside. Soon, Leif started to rock his hips into her, guiding her head with each thrust.

“Do you want it?” he hissed. “Do you want to have all of me, hjartae mitt?”

Every muscle in her body seized, snapping and threading together with an unbearable heat. Brielle nodded, taking him further into her mouth.

“So good,” he breathed, the words rough and tinged with desire.

Leif took over the motions, fucking her mouth until he came with a guttural groan, spilling himself down her throat. Brielle whimpered, licking the remnants from her lips as he slipped from her mouth.

He lay boneless under her, his softening cock twitching with the aftershocks of his release. Brielle kneeled beside him, gathering his spend with her thumb, and downing every drop.

Something powerful bloomed inside her. He was a Konungr. A wolf. A man who spilled blood. Yet he was in her bed, spent and sated because of her.

Black rings eclipsed his gray eyes. Deft fingers undid the clasp on her cloak, tossing it aside. Leif gripped her hips. Ignoring the sting of pain that made his jaw jump, he positioned her on top of him.

“You don’t know what you are doing to me. Come here.” He maneuvered her until she dripped on his chest. “Sit,” he ordered, slapping her thigh as he rucked up the hem of her dress.

Brielle gasped, scrambling to move higher until her slit hovered above his chin.

“Ride my face. Come on my mouth. I want to drink from you.”

A squeak stuttered in her chest. He arched a brow, daring her to defy him.

Brielle lowered herself until his broad tongue licked through her slit. She gasped, and Leif’s palms swatted her thighs, pulling her down until she was flush with his mouth, grinding.

Nothing about him was gentle; he was starved. His tongue lapped at her, switching between circling her clit and thrusting into her. The lewd sounds only encouraged him. Leif suckled on her, humming a pleased noise when her legs started to tremble.

It only spurred him on. Brielle circled her hips, chasing that blissful burn so close to igniting her like a dying phoenix.

Leif dipped two fingers into her, curling them as his mouth grew more insistent against her clit. Everything caught fire all at once as Brielle shattered with a cry, her hands buried in his hair as her hips canted against his mouth.

Flashes of white flickered in her eyes as Leif pumped his fingers in steady strokes, coaxing her through each crest of her orgasm. He moaned between her legs, drinking from her until her body stilled with the final quakes of her climax.

A hand slid up her back, under her dress, nails gliding along the sheen of sweat there. Leif scooted her back until she straddled his waist. His face glistened with the evidence of her pleasure, and she smiled shyly, sucking in her bottom lip.

Those lust-gone eyes just stared at her as he brought his fingers up to her mouth, the ones coated in her.

“Taste yourself,” he commanded.

Unable to deny him, she parted her lips, moaning as his fingers filled her mouth. She flicked her tongue around the digits, sighing at the sweet tartness of her on his fingers. She sucked them clean, and Leif removed them with a pop.

“Off,” he said gruffly, pawing at her dress like it offended him. “You only sleep with me naked. I want to feel you.”

Brielle shed the garment, now as bare as he was. Fingers burrowed into her hair, and he pulled her languid form into him, brushing the sweaty curls from her face.

Slowly, her fingers ghosted over the bandaged wounds, worried their activities made them worse.

“Only scratches,” he murmured, his voice a low, distracting rumble as he held her tighter. “They will heal. Now let me love you.”