Bride of the Sea (The Prophecy of Sisters #2) - Hayley Faiman Page 0,7

it.

“Please, please, please,” I chant.

He grunts, speaking no words, his body and eyes doing all of his talking for him. My lips part in awe as it takes over, the building peaks and I feel nothing but warmth filling me as my entire body tightens and then finally release takes over.

Aaric doesn’t slow down his breakneck pace, he fucks me, his hips slamming against me, harder and harder, until I hear his growl. Closing my eyes, I feel his cum fill me. Its warmth fills my body and finally the sensation of overwhelming dread escapes and nothing but pure satisfaction rolls over me.

AARIC

Watching her, I’m not sure if I am meant to understand the different emotions that I saw flash in her eyes. Fear, pain, terror, remorse, then finally pleasure, need, desire, and satisfaction. It is too much for simple fundr between two people—between a king and a spoil of war.

Her arms wrap around my shoulders, I allow her to rest her cheek against my own, her breaths washing over my ear before she speaks. She is different from any woman I have ever encountered before. Something is definitely off with her.

“I should not have enjoyed that. I’m sure that you are some fucking freak kidnapper, but Jesus, you are good at that.”

I understand none of what she’s said, not a single word, but her bare breasts against my chest make the gibberish worth it. Tugging her back slightly, I look into her pretty green eyes. They are almost magical in the way that they sparkle.

It hits me.

As if I’ve been clubbed on the head with the god, Thyvstus’, mallet itself. The seeress’s words come back to me.

Open your heart, your mind, and your soul and you will be rewarded, though the path will not be easy, trust this—it will be worth it.

The woman’s lips are turned up slightly as she watches me, a soft expression playing on her face.

My reward.

Not just a spoil of war, but a reward.

“Liv, you will be my dróttning,” I explain to her.

Her brows pinch together in the middle. Lifting her hands, she cups my bearded cheeks, her fingers sliding through my beard. “I don’t understand you, Aaric,” she whispers.

“I know.” I nod.

She smiles again and this time I do something that I haven’t done since I was a boy and thought myself in love with the neighbor’s daughter.

I lean down and touch my lips to hers.

Slanting my head to the side, I take her mouth with my own, sliding my tongue inside of her sweetness, my böllur still buried inside of her body. I hear her sigh and I swallow the sound as I continue to fundr her mouth with my tongue.

There’s a noise from my left. Lifting my head, I break the kiss abruptly. Glancing to the side, I see my brother watching us. He grins, jerking his chin toward me.

“Fiske, state your purpose,” I shout.

Liv’s body tightens and she pulls herself closer to me to hide her nakedness. I’m a bit surprised that she is so concerned with Fiske seeing her body. Modesty isn’t something that my people understand, though I know in other lands it is something followed.

Our bodies are gifts from the gods. Men all have the same flesh as women do. There are no surprises in the body parts that we have, so there should be no need to hide them, especially when they are as stunning as Liv’s.

“If you’re finished, can I have a turn?” he asks.

My body jerks, I pull her even closer, my böllur hardening again inside of her, needing to claim her again.

“Nei, bródir. You may not. I am keeping her.”

“Another bed slave, bródir? You’re just being selfish because you’re konungr,” he snaps.

My lips turn up into a grin. Shaking my head, I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. But this is different, you may have the current bed slave back in Wolfjour Ail.”

“Oh, so your leftovers? How generous,” he grunts.

“Nei, don’t be like that. There is something here with this rauõr haired woman. It is unexplainable, Fiske.”

“You’re going to turn a spoil of war into your dróttning?” he guesses.

Dipping my chin, I look down into her eyes. She’s confused as she doesn’t understand the words that Fiske and I are speaking, but it doesn’t matter. She will learn our language, our customs, and she will carry my heirs.

“Já, Fiske. She will be my dróttning.”

I’m not looking anywhere but in her unique green eyes as I say the words, wishing that she could understand them. She doesn’t,