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“Shut up, Vili.”
An easy thing to say. Eivor had said it a thousand times. But, somehow, it was just as easy to kiss him.
With lips that had cursed him and called him names since they were children, now she kissed him with a grown woman’s passion. His mouth, the same one that sang and slurred and swore, opened now at the suggestion of her tongue.
Arousal bloomed in Eivor’s belly as Vili’s hand tightened in her hair, and he slung an arm around her waist to tug their bodies together. Like she’d wanted ever since arriving in this wintry shire, she tangled her fingers in his bear-fur cowl and captured his bottom lip with her teeth.
He groaned into her mouth and yanked her onto the bed of furs behind them. For once, Eivor went down without a fight—she could be pliable indeed for her oldest and dearest of friends. Side by side, they wound themselves around each other like two clinging vines searching for the sun. Curling his hand around her jaw, he kissed her until they were both mindless and writhing, the pair thrall-like in their search for friction where there was none. Their layers of leather and hide stifled all but the heat of the roaring campfire.
Vili yanked away Eivor’s cloak, and then his hot mouth found the wolf-scar on her throat. The scratch of his beard against her neck sent a wave of goosebumps across her skin, and lust burned all sensible thought from her brain. His breath in her ear, she thumbed the clasp holding his cape together. The metal jingled as she unfastened it, and when he shifted, the fabric spilled to the floor with a soft thump.
His hand at her waist slid lower until he was palming her ass through her breeches. The touch of rough linen was not enough. Eivor wanted skin. She kicked off her boots and tore her gloves off with her teeth, for a second more beast than woman. Her eyes met Vili’s, and mischief danced between them—maybe this wasn’t so different to their usual escapades, after all.
A sweet ache settled inside of her as their lips, strangers until this night, found each other again. Eyes closed tight, she attacked the fastenings of his armour. After some fumbling with the many laces and ties, she freed him from his leathers and shoved them aside. The linen shirt he wore underneath was her next target, and she broke their kiss just long enough to drag the offending garment over his head.
She trailed her nails over the blue-black lines of ink that crossed his belly, his muscles quivering as her touch rode that fine line between a scratch and a tickle. By the gods, Trygve hadn’t lied when he said Vili had the body of an Aesir; he was equal parts sleek muscle and boundless pride. It was just a shame the ‘mind of a troll’ part also proved true.
Holding back a snigger, Eivor pulled away to get some air. When was the last time she forgot herself so badly? Her heart beat inside her chest as strong as the mighty Mjölnir, and lightning zinged up her spine at the thought of their naked, sweat-slicked bodies twining together. Vili moistened his lips with his tongue, his gaze like fire. Never had he looked at Eivor that way. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her underarms dampened under the heat of his scrutiny.
She toyed with the laces of his breeches, and the hard line of his cock jutted against her fingers. Biting her lip, she slipped a hand inside the warm seal-skin and wrapped her fist around him.
Vili grunted and rolled his hips as she pulled his cock out and stroked him until he was hard as her longship’s mast. His head fell to her shoulder, and he breathed out a long sigh against her neck. Lust pooled between her thighs at the weight of him in her hand. Who knew Arse-Stick had such an impressive plough-sword?
He squeezed her ass harder, snaking an arm beneath her so he could use both hands. “Eivor …”
“Hush. I’ve got you.”
“Are you waiting for the Valkyries to appear? I want …”
“What? Tell me.”
He grew even harder against her palm, and a bead of liquid salt appeared at the tip of his cock. Swiping her thumb through it, she revelled in his full-body shudder.
“I want you now.”
She gulped, her throat suddenly dry. “You have me.”
She released his cock and got to work undoing her armour, but the anticipation made her clumsy and it was impossible to be fast enough for Vili. Adding his hands to her own, he pawed and shoved at her leather brigandine until it came apart, then jerked her tunic up past her chest. When she sat up to shrug out of her clothes, he seized her breast wrap and unravelled it.
He dragged her down again and rolled her over like a sack of grain, then curved his big rough hands over her ribs to cover her breasts. Laying back against him, Eivor laughed breathlessly. She was certainly no busty alewife like Vili used to ogle, but he must’ve known that already.
Kissing the tattoo on her temple, he pinched and rolled her nipples until they ached. Her breath came in soft pants as she pressed her flank to his loins, trembling when he moaned into her ear. This wasn’t the boy she’d teased and named ‘Arse-Stick’ for an unfortunate dragon tail. Now, he was a man grown and filled with desire for her.
He abandoned her poor, abused nipples, and forced her breeches down past her thighs, with her scrambling to help remove them. Not wasting another second, Vili covered her mound with his hand. His fingers explored, finding her slick and ready.
“Got your river running, did I, Wolf-Kissed?”
“You’re one to talk.” Face aflame, she ground her ass against his erection. “Unless Odin has misplaced Gungnir over here, I’d say you have it just as bad.”
He chuckled, putting an end to her crowing by rubbing a fingertip over the centre of her pleasure. Her pulse pounded as he worked the slippery, throbbing nub with practised precision. Each stroke was kindling fed to the fire within her, and in no time he’d have her ablaze like the beacons lining Hadrian’s Wall.
She rocked into him, his cock laying thick and heavy between her buttocks, and she couldn’t help but moan. The sound seemed to go right through him, his hips rolling in abandon as his mouth latched onto her throat. Eivor’s blood was liquid lust, and she surrendered to his touch, letting him take her higher and higher.
But then he left her swollen bud alone and, before she could protest the sudden stoppage, he reached under her and sank two fingers into her wet heat.
The stretch merely whetted her appetite. Arching her back, she ground against him in her desperation to feel him deeper inside. He ploughed her with his fingers, fast and lacking all the finesse from before, like he’d lost his wits as much as she had. On a hard stab inward, the heel of his palm nudged her just right, and she cried out as much in surprise as pleasure.
“I cannot wait anymore,” Vili growled, withdrawing his hand. “I need to feel you.”
Even in her pleasure-haze, the franticness of his voice gave her pause. She turned over and touched a hand to his feverish cheek.
“Lay back.”
He nodded and eased himself down onto the furs, gazing at her with eyes that reflected the flames crackling in the pit. Taking a steadying breath, Eivor swung her leg over him and seated herself, comfortable as if atop one of Rowan’s finest mounts. Vili was gorgeous beneath her, and her cunny throbbed for him.
He didn’t need her to protect him, not from the Picts or his grief. It wasn’t as if she could mend his heart the same way she’d tended his wounds when they were young. But, like mead dulled the sting of a fresh cut, her body would be a balm to his heartache—even if just for tonight.
She reached behind to grip him by the shaft and lined him up with her molten core. Gasping, she took the blunt head of his cock inside of her, her sheath stretching wide to accommodate him. He groaned as she sank onto his length, and his hands came to rest on her thighs, thumbs stroking.
“Gods …” Eivor rode him, slowly at first, and lifted her hair from the back of her neck to let the night air cool the dew at her nape.
Woodsmoke from the fire curled around them as their bodies moved together, and Eivor dug her fingers into Vili’s brawny chest to keep her balance. Faster now, her hips rose and fell in a brisk trot, and both of them lost all clarity for words. They voiced pleasure instead; soft moans and murmurs that needed no language.
She threw her head back, groaning deep in her throat as he pushed up to match her pace and hit that perfect spot deep inside. Like she’d put spurs to him, he canted his hips more forcefully until she was crying out with every thrust.
Hands clamped around her waist, he pulled her onto his cock. His skin was flushed with desire and slick to touch, the sweat gleaming on his brow. She watched his muscles move as he drove himself into her; the sight goading her to rub the sensitive pearl between her thighs.
Her blood ran hotter than Muspelheim itself, and she never wanted the sensation to end. This was better, more intense than even the bloodiest battle-lust she’d ever experienced. Laying with Vili Hemmingson had no right to feel so good.
“Kiss me.”
She bowed to his demand, blanketing his body with her own. With the strangest softness in his eyes, he reached up to brush her hair away so their mouths could reunite. But the moment their tongues touched, all traces of tenderness vanished. Their kiss became a war between battle-hardened drengir, with pleasure’s zenith as the victory prize.
His grip slipped from her hips to her ass, and he used this new leverage to wrest full control from Eivor. She held him tight, as if his bucking might unseat her, and ground against him to get honey-sweet friction right where she needed it.
Yes. Fuck yes. Almost … Almost there.
From his expression, Vili looked to be right there with her. His eyes scrunched like a discarded scrap of paper, and he grit his teeth against the oncoming wave. Whose ship would reach the golden shore first?
With an unbridled moan, Eivor trembled all over as ultimate pleasure rippled through her. Lights flashed behind her closed eyelids, hotter and more brilliant than any flame. Vili lifted her until his cock sprang free and slapped against his belly. Kneeling above him, she tried to catch her breath as his seed spurted thick ribbons across his abdomen.
She rolled off him. Collapsing upon the furs, she gazed up at the ceiling of the cave and held in a delirious laugh. They did it. After all these years, they finally did it.
His back to her, Vili sat up and wiped himself with something that had better not have been hers, but she was too boneless to do anything about it, anyway. Just as she thought he was going to get up and dress himself, he laid down instead. Close like this, they basked in each other’s warmth, and Eivor wasn’t ready to break free of the heady seidr just yet.
Lying beside him in the firelight, she traced a fingertip over the scars on his face. Some she recognised; nicks and scrapes from skirmishes long past. Others crept up on her like the lines around his eyes.
As they held each other in Freyja’s embrace, the campfire kept vigil. Its crackling flames drowned out all but the howl of a distant wolf and chased the frigid night air from the darkest reaches of the cave.
The night was theirs and they would keep it, even long after dawn broke upon them.