Page 6 of Seduced by the Viking (Bound and Betrothed #5)

CHAPTER 5

Rutger worked at the rope with his teeth and his left thumb. Another tug or two and he might just ease his hand from the restraint. That thought spurred him on—of being able to rest his right arm without having it dangling in this awkward position.

Not that it would be good for much—at least, not for a while. He’d made sure to move his fingers regularly and to rest his elbow on his knee to take the weight off his shoulder, but the limb remained slightly numbed. It would take time for the feeling and his strength to return on that side.

Twice before, he’d come close to freeing himself, but the wench had spotted the loosening of the knots and tightened them all the more.

She was a vixen—keeping him that way, treating him like some sort of bedthrall. Most of the time, she flounced off once she’d taken her own pleasure.

He’d tried calling for help, but she’d come running, threatening to tie both wrists and gag him. Wearily, he’d accepted his situation. Wherever his comrades were being kept, they didn’t seem in a position to rescue him, and no one else appeared to care about his predicament.

But nor could he do entirely nothing.

Having a strip of linen tied about his engorged cock was the last straw—and with the fingers of his left hand broken, he hadn’t a hope of untying it. He’d tried willing away the arousal without success.

Odin only knew what further torments she had in mind. He’d no eagerness to find out how inventive she might be.

If he but freed his arm, he might remove this latest indignity, then leave this prison. He’d find somewhere to hide and see if he could locate his fellow men.

Wetting his lips, he persevered with his task, biting at the loop while rotating the tip of his thumb within the small opening he’d created.

It was working! The rope slackened, the pressure abating about his wrist. He moved his right thumb into his palm, reducing the circumference, then gently eased downward.

In a sudden rush, his hand was through, and his arm fell with a thump to the floor. Rutger winced, but the relief was immense.

Thank Odin’s hairy arse-crack for that!

The limb lacked feeling, his shoulder aching and his fingertips tingling in a perturbing way, but he was confident the discomfort was temporary.

He gave it a rough shake and flexed his hand.

How long would it take for the sensation to return? For him to effectively use his fingers?

He looked despondently at his trussed-up phallus. There was no chance of getting the tie off yet, not unless he suddenly developed the ability to reach his cock with his mouth.

‘Twas something every growing lad attempted at some point, and Rutger knew full well he’d no hope!

Still, there was nothing keeping him there. His legs might be weakened from lack of use, but he’d faith he could stand. The rest he’d make up as he went along.

The wench had made a point of telling him that the other inhabitants of this isle knew full well his predicament, and that none would be coming to his aid—that he’d be apprehended if he attempted to escape.

It wasn’t going to stop him, but it looked like he’d be doing it stark bollock-naked. His clothes were nowhere to be seen, and there was naught obvious in the room that might serve to cover him.

He’d had plenty of opportunity to survey his surroundings, and the place was little more than a storage room—a log-built hut housing barrels along one side while ceramic pots filled a shelf above. Someone was a prolific preserver, for sure. The barrels no doubt contained apples or some such thing. The pots were of the sort his sisters used for stewed fruits. He’d a mind to reach up for whatever was inside. Grethe had kept him fed, but there hadn’t been much in the way of sweet treats. He was partial to a good dollop of jam on his bread .

Shakily, he righted himself, leaning against the wall for support. However, before he’d the chance to take more than two steps, the door flew open.

Grethe paused upon the threshold for no more than an instant before slamming the door behind her and grabbing a broom from the corner. Rutger barely had time to blink. The rough-bristled end slammed into his chest, knocking him off balance, straight into the straw.

In a trice, she was astride his chest, her eyes blazing. “What’s this? You think to leave? To sneak away like a thief?”

The strength of her thighs clasped about his rib cage made reply difficult, but Rutger puffed out his protest. “What… did you… expect?”

The wench is delusional if she thinks I’ll willingly stay like this!

“You men are all the same!” Cruelly, she took the bandaged fingers of his left hand and squeezed them within her own.

Rutger gasped at the sudden pain. “For pity’s sake!”

Was there no end to his humiliation? A humble carpenter he might be, rather than one of his jarl’s inner guard, but he had his pride. No man should be reduced to this, begging a woman to cease her torment.

Rutger had no wish to cause her harm. ‘Twas wrong to use his brawn to inflict injury upon a woman. Nevertheless, he could endure no more.

One concerted shove sent Grethe off balance and onto her back, where he pinned her with his weight. Her shock lasted only briefly before anger took over.

“Loathsome oaf! Get off me!” With flailing arms, she attempted to claw his face. She’d surprising strength, fueled by her rage.

He clamped his hand over her mouth. “Cease this fishwife behavior, and I shall.”

To his relief, in spite of her flashing eyes, her struggling ceased, and the sensation of her body beneath his became familiar—that of a soft and yielding woman. For several moments, they merely looked at one another.

Rutger raised himself slightly but remained alert. Grethe could not be trusted. Even while she appeared pliant, she was likely plotting. He wouldn’t put it past her to twist about and cause more pain.

“I’ve some questions. The swifter you answer them, the sooner I’ll let you up. And don’t lie to me, Grethe! I shall know if you do.” He removed his hand from her mouth, pushed downward with his lower body, and was gratified to see her eyes widen.

It hadn’t been in his mind to interrogate her, his assumption being that she would always choose to spin him falsehoods, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

“You say I’ve been given to you, that others know I’m your captive, but I challenge that it’s the truth! Do your menfolk know of your diabolical ways—of how you force me to fuck all times of the day, as if I were some concubine from the East?”

“Pfft! You do think highly of yourself. I doubt you’d fetch much were we to take you to market!”

“You’re evading the question.” For all that his blood was boiling, his voice was calm. “Shall we see how you like it if I tie you hand and foot?”

“Try it, and I’ll scream.”

“Not if I stuff your mouth with straw, you won’t.” He took up a handful, holding the prickly strands threateningly close.

Fury flashed across her features. No doubt, she was heaping every sort of curse on him, but she kept her lips pressed closed.

“Tell me!” Rutger hated to admit it, but he was rather enjoying himself. Even with her wildcat ways, he’d a sense that Grethe was, too. She’d raised one of her legs, exposing herself above the knee—almost as if she wanted him to shove his hand beneath her skirts.

“Alright. But I’m warning, you won’t like it.” A defiant glint entered her eyes. “There are no men here. The goddess Freyja punished them. She saw how badly they treated us women and sent a horrible, foul disease to strike them down. You should have seen them writhe, crying out in pain! Freyja made them suffer. They’re all dead—except for a handful who ran away. Freyja let them live, but only to show us what pathetic beasts men are. They set sail as fast as their cowardly legs would carry them.”

The look upon her face was malevolent .

“Ha! Now you’re wondering if you’ll be next! Perhaps you shall, once Freyja has seen that the six of you have done your job… impregnating our women. That’s the only reason we’ve kept you. So don’t go complaining about me riding your puny phallus! You’d better make sure you’re hard whenever I want it.”

A strange sensation swept through Rutger, as if a mist veiled his mind. His stomach lurched, and he wondered if he might vomit.

All she’d said… it was too much to take in.

Could it be true? This place was utterly devoid of men, ruled by women alone? ‘Twould explain a great deal.

So, he was… what? To be kept like some mating bull, with no purpose but to service the wench or some other woman?

As for Freyja’s supposed deliverance upon the island’s men… he’d never thought of her as an avenging deity, but what did he know? Was it the goddess who’d brought their crew to grief, shipwrecking them there?

He squeezed shut his eyes.

None of it made sense.

For himself, at least, he could think of no action so grave it warranted this fate. He’d been angry with Tyra and Ragnut, and there had been times he’d wished ill upon them, but only in small ways—a wasp sting or two upon Ragnut’s arse or a sudden rash of boils.

Wearily, he surveyed Grethe. “If what you say is true, I must see my jarl. Him and the others from my ship. If you deny me, I’ll gag and bind you, then set off to find them myself.”

“Nay!” There was panic in her voice. “You mustn’t! That is, there’s no need.” The whirling of her mind was evident as she searched for some excuse or other, the better to delay him and deceive.

You think yourself so clever, but I’ve the measure of you, wench!

“‘Tis decided. You’re to be given freedom, in moderation, to help with tasks about the settlement. You and your jarl—he of the flaming hair—and one more, whose name I forget. The others from your ship need to heal before they’re useful for such work.”

Despite all, he’d an inclination to believe this new piece of information, to believe the rest, too—of some mysterious illness, perhaps divinely conjured. He could discern no advantage in her inventing such a story.

“What I mentioned before, of our men, I was only trying to scare you,” Grethe added hastily.

“Is that so?”

She must think me a simpleton to be deflected so easily.

But I’m soon to see Eldberg. He’ll know more, without doubt.

His jarl was not one to be hoodwinked nor forced into anything against his wishes. Rutger would venture this new turn of events had Eldberg’s hand in it.

“Let me up now.” Grethe squirmed, as if frustrated at the way she was trapped. Of course, the movement did nothing but rub her against him.

For all her apparent complaint, he’d wager she was wet as an eel.

Desire shot through him.

“I might do once you’ve untied this.” Kneeling up, he gestured to the base of his penis.

She stared at the sizeable erection. “Do so yourself if it’s bothering you.” She smiled slyly. “Or leave it be. You might find it useful…”

As ever, the wench was eager to provoke him into a rough coupling, caring naught for any discomfort on his side.

“If you insist on keeping me thus, you’ll suffer the consequences.” His answer was gruff.

Grethe’s tongue darted out, licking the corner of her lips.

It was tempting to order her to fellate him. Would she know what to do? Even if she did, the cloth was so tight, he mightn’t manage release. The constriction above his balls was tampering with the natural way of things.

It was hard to tell with Grethe exactly what she knew and what she didn’t. Attempting little variation in her bedsport, she tended to sit upon him, facing front for the most part. She hadn’t the slightest inkling of what he could really do to her.

She was no innocent, but she trembled then, as if unsure of what might happen next. Well, if she wanted to test him, he’d ensure he didn’t disappoint.

“You want me inside, don’t you?” As he pushed up her skirts, she raised her bottom, making no effort to stop him bunching the fabric about her waist.

He paused, taking in the sight of her—that soft, springy bush of curls from which the telltale sliver of pink protruded.

“So much talk, yet so little action.” She lifted her chin, challenging him, as always.

“Don’t worry yourself on that account.” Rutger trailed his fingers down her inner thigh. “There’s going to be fucking. My way and lots of it.”

A flicker of excitement lit her eyes.

“You think you know what you want, but I’m going to show you something else.” He let one finger enter between her labia, encountering immediate slickness.

“More words.” She took a hitching breath as he explored her sheath. “I do hope you’re not going to disappoint me.”

“You can tell me yourself after I’ve finished with you. You’ve had things your own way far too long, and you deserve to be chastised. Something to make you regret all you’ve done.”

“Punish me then.” She smirked. “I’ll warrant you’ll suffer more than I will.”

The wench was obnoxious but also luscious, seducing his finger deeper inside with the clenching of her inner muscles.

A haze of lust descended upon him, and he could no longer wait.

Bringing her knees together abruptly, he twisted her onto her side.

“Hey!”

Her objection was lost as he turned her again, this time onto her front, and dragged her up onto all fours. Her skirts he flung forward, so her peach of a bottom sat high and exposed.

She began to say something, but the first slam of his phallus put paid to that.

Holding either side of her hips, he fucked her hard. Enough to make himself come, were it not for the damned cloth biting into his flesh. He was panting as he withdrew, his shaft coated with her juices.

Whether it had pained her or no, she made a groaning sound and parted her legs farther, inviting him to proceed.

“You want more?” With the flat of his right hand, he smacked her upturned rump. “Always greedy, expecting me to deliver.”

He gave her another slap, then several more, each fiercer than the last, all in the same place, ceasing only when the muscles of his arm screamed for relief.

A fiery flush pervaded the assaulted cheek, but she merely gasped out in her usual taunting manner, “I didn’t say… you should… stop.”

The wench was incorrigible, determining he teach her a lesson—that he was her superior in years and experience, that he ought to be treated with more respect.

He glanced up at the shelf of preserves. An idea struck him, and it mattered not what was in those pots. He would use it upon her and make her repent her gibing.

Throwing her skirts higher so that they covered her head, he rose, swiftly taking down the nearest of the vessels. When he saw what was inside, he couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Twas entirely perfect.

“What’s so funny?” From the floor, Grethe pushed away the fabric from her face. She was in time to see him dip his finger into the contents, then retract to lick it clean.

“I forbid it! That’s not for you!” She struggled to rise, but he was too quick for her.

Pressing the heel of his hand into her lower back, he kept her where she was. One tip of the jar sent a stream of viscous sweetness along the crack of her behind, dripping downward.

“Nay!” she shrieked, but the deed was done. “Foul, clumsy lout!” She was fair spitting with rage. “There’s water in a pitcher by the door. Fetch it and wash me clean.”

“I think not.” Rutger surveyed his handiwork. Then, bending, he dragged his tongue upward through her folds.

“Beast!” She moaned, writhing as he set upon her.

‘Twas a first for him, feasting upon not just a woman’s cream but honey, too. He poured out some more.

“Stop, I say! ‘Tis wasteful and… and…” She struck the ground. “I don’t like it!”

“Is that so? Then let’s try something else. Something I like very much.” Spreading her cheeks, he exposed her puckered hole and, without ado, inserted his tongue there.

Grethe jumped in surprise. “Deviant! What man likes to do such a thing? Cease hold of me this instant!”

He laughed harder. The sport was proving even more amusing than he’d hoped, though he believed not for a moment that she truly disliked what he was doing.

She wiggled her posterior like a she-cat.

“I’ll show you what else I like and, thanks to this cloth tied about my cock, I’ll be able to keep going as long as it pleases me. Remember that, Grethe, and think on it!” He dragged his erection through her honeyed cunt, upward until he was aligned with her tightest place. A nudge forward saw the bulb of his phallus enter her, and she let out a yelp.

“What? ‘Tis the wrong place! Stop that!”

Her writhing succeeded only in taking another portion inside. He hoped her adjustment came quickly, for every sinew of his being was focused upon his cock and the need to push deeper.

She gave a half sob. “‘Tis terrible! An invasion!”

Rutger held still and was rewarded by Grethe pushing back against him.

Praise Odin.

He let out a long breath. She had only half his length but was swallowing him, slow and sure.

“I hate you!” she gasped, but the words were belied by her movement as she eased back, then forward, then back once more.

“Why are you not moving?” she said at last. “Am I to do all the work?”

Rutger gave the widest of smiles.

He was going to enjoy her immensely.