Page 69 of The Magic of Vanaheim
“But the ritual—”
“Do you really think I’ll let you touch my husband?” Talvinen laughed, and Håkon was glad he’d never been the focus of his ire. “I’m more than capable of preparing him for the ritual. And I surely don’t need your poisoned ‘assistance.’”
Svanhild rose, and Håkon watched her retreat with dark glee. Also, the way Talvinen talked about preparing him for the ritual sounded… intriguing.
“Can you stand the heat a little longer?” Talvinen asked, paying Svanhild no heed anymore, his sole focus on Håkon.
“Sure.” Only moments ago, the heat had felt stifling, but now, with Talvinen’s cool hands resting on his shoulders, it was bearable. Håkon had an inkling that Talvinen could make this whole ordeal rather pleasurable.
“Good. Turn around and lie down on your back,dróttning.”
Watching him with a hungry expression, Talvinen laid him out between the hot stones like an offering.
“You have no idea how gorgeous you are.”
Talvinen leaned down and licked a broad stripe from Håkon’s navel to his collarbone.
“You taste good as well.”
Håkon had to stifle a moan. How had Talvinen managed to make him all but forget about Svanhild and her taunting and become unbearably aroused in a matter of seconds?
Kissing him deeply, Talvinen undid the laces of Håkon’s pants, the only clothes he was still wearing.
“Lift your hips.”
Without hesitation, Håkon did as he was told.
“Good boy.” Talvinen continued to undress him. “Now tell me, did this bitch say anything that bothers you?”
“No.”
“What did she tell you, then?”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Liars,” Talvinen growled, eyes shining with conviction and righteous fury. “They’re all liars. Svanhild. Bergelmir. Even Arngrim. I need you to come to me whenever you doubt it.”
Håkon could only nod. He was dazed by the heat, by the sight of his husband. Talvinen’s touch was intoxicating.
“Very good,” Talvinen purred.
Settling comfortably between Håkon’s parted legs, Talvinen uncorked a vial he’d brought with him. He poured a generous amount of sweet-smelling oil over his hands and Håkon’s chest. The scent reminded Håkon of Njord’s tent; the thrall’s skin had been covered in the same substance.
“Why was Svanhild so keen for your uncle and the Odinsson to perform the ritual?” Håkon’s breath hitched as Talvinen started to spread the oil methodically all over Håkon’s upper body. His touch felt so wonderful.
“She thrives in the halls of impressionable kings and vain chieftains. She’s clever and ambitious. But for a High Priestess, she isn’t a talentedvala.”
It was difficult to follow Talvinen’s words while he deftly massaged down Håkon’s sides and smeared more oil over his thighs.
“Turn over.”
Talvinen had seen him naked before, but offering his back like this, legs parted and ass on display, made a stab of self-consciousness twist in Håkon’s gut. He did as Talvinen told him, anyway.
A deep, contented sigh fell from Talvinen’s lips. Knowing it was him who’d elicited it filled Håkon with contentment. And it calmed his nerves.
“What a delicious sight you are.” Talvinen dealt a playful smack to his ass that had Håkon moaning. Then he continued to treat Håkon’s backside with the same dedication as his chest. “You see, unlike Svanhild, my uncle is averypowerfulvala. And having a captive god serve as a vessel would have lent the ritual even more power.”
Håkon felt himself falling deeper and deeper into a state of relaxed arousal as Talvinen kept kneading his ass and thighs, Talvinen’s fingers dipping between his cheeks now and then, circling his hole.