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“You are no longer his.” The statement came out as more of a growl.

Fiona made to scramble away. “I was never his . He is a good and gentle person, he would never…”

“Do not move.” His command was harsh, but effective.

She paused, bristling with resentment as she lay, splayed before him.

Ulfric cursed again under his breath, though his anger was directed at himself and his stupid remark.

He had behaved like a jealous lad when he knew full well the thrall presented no threat to him or to his plans for this captive.

He was a fool, but he was not about to let that ruin his plans for this little Celt’s deflowering.

“I apologise. I was tactless, but meant no offence, to you or this… Taranc?” It was a name unfamiliar to him.

She gave a wary nod.

“So, you will oblige me by returning your hands to the position I instructed you to maintain, and settling back down to listen to me.”

Her beautiful eyes flashed, their colour reminiscent of the ocean in the throes of a storm, but she obeyed him.

Ulfric had intended to weave a web of sensuality around her and draw her in slowly, but now changed his strategy.

Instead he would go for a quick overwhelming of her senses.

Despite his apology—which was a rare enough occurrence he would concede—she was angry still.

He felt it, and would channel that passion.

His hands still rested on the insides of her knees, but he held her slate-grey gaze as he drew his palms up her inner thighs.

Her eyes widened, darkened. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

He allowed his own lip to quirk as he retraced his path back to caress her knees.

The next time he slid his hands up he hovered close to that delightful hollow where her thighs and pussy met, his fingers just brushing the soft curls that nestled there.

“Viking…” Her voice was a low groan, breathy and laboured.

“Celt?” he responded, “what do you want?”

She rolled her head from side to side, though she never moved her hands from the position he had ordered. “I do not know. I have not the words…”

“Do you want me to pleasure you, as I did last night?”

She flattened her lips and pressed them together, then nodded hard.

“I shall, if you ask me.”

“Please…”

“Please what, little Celt? What do you want from me?”

Long moments passed, which Ulfric punctuated by tracing the tips of his thumbs around the edge of her outer lips. He would not hurry her now. There was no need.

“Pleasure,” she whispered. “I want you to give me pleasure.”

“And I want to taste you.”

“T-taste…?”

“Mmm, like this.” Before she could utter so much as a squeak of surprise he had parted her pussy lips with his thumbs, then dipped his head to drag the flat of his tongue along her slit.

Fiona’s hips jerked upwards but he had wrapped his fingers around her luscious bottom and held her against his mouth as he repeated the action.

She writhed in earnest as he pressed harder, thrashing about under him.

He slid the tip of his tongue into her sweet entrance, tasting the juices there before continuing on to wrap his lips around her clit.

He drew the swollen bud into his mouth and applied just a little suction to make her gasp.

He released her clit and returned his attention to her pussy, the entrance spread wide by his gentle fingers.

He licked and lapped, plunged his tongue as deep inside her as he was able, then traced the outer edges of her soft folds as she went wild beneath him.

She was close, he knew, when he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“Is this the sort of pleasure you had in mind, little Celt?”

“Yes,” she croaked. “Exactly that.”

“More, then?”

She nodded, her agreement near frantic now. “More, yes. Much more.”

He returned to his task, suckling on her clit as he eased first one, then two fingers inside her. She was a virgin, he knew, and he might break her flimsy barrier this way, which would ease matters for her later. If she were to ask him…

He curled his fingers within her, searching for that spot that would… yes! There, he had it. Fiona let out a keening cry as her slick, hot walls convulsed around his digits.

Ulfric rubbed. He suckled, he flicked the tip of her swollen nub with his tongue, and he drove his fingers deeper yet as she cried out in her pleasure.

He knew the exact moment when sensation overwhelmed her.

Fiona bucked and moaned, her features contorting in ecstasy as her body shuddered in his hands.

When she stilled, at last, he lifted his head and withdrew his fingers, though not fully. He continued to stroke them in and out of her quivering entrance, just the tips, just enough to acquaint her with the sensation and tease her to crave more.

“Viking, I… I…”

He kissed her inner thigh, then pressed his open mouth against her smooth flesh.

“Do not stop. I want… more.”

“There is more, but you must ask for it.”

“I know,” she groaned, her voice tortured now. “I know what you want me to say.”

“This is about what you want. If you desire it, then say it. Ask me for what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me.” It seemed that she spat the words at him, as though desperate to force the monstrous expression past her reluctant lips. He cared not for the niceties, it was sufficient that she had uttered the request. Now, he would be delighted to comply with her heartfelt plea.