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She cried out his name, wiggling and begging. “Please, Marteinn.”
Her legs quaked after he penetrated her with one finger, then two, testing and preparing her for first entry. Controlling the need to dominate and claim her threatened his sanity. She was so tight and wet, so willing to please him. So willing to give herself to the bastard who’d trapped her in marriage.
He withdrew his fingers and repositioned himself between her legs. Her pretty face was flushed with pleasure.
“Now?” she asked.
“Now,” he confirmed, thrusting inside her a few inches. He pumped his hips twice and she screamed. “Did I hurt you?” He kissed her lips, praying he hadn’t.
She nodded. “I never knew …” Her inner muscles contracted around his cock, reaching orgasm before he was fully rooted inside her.
“Mercia.” He couldn’t resist her wet heat any longer, and hammered inside her, holding his breath, willing himself not to spill his seed. “No,” he roared. “It’s too bloody soon.”
Seconds later, still fully encased, he circled his hips, determined to have her again and again, until Tyr sent a search party to find them.
Epilogue
Ten days later …
The gods favored them.
After endless rain, the day Mercia and Marteinn chose to exchange vows finally arrived and remained sunny. Gathered at Odin’s altar deep in the woods, Tyr and Rachelle stood before them, the rest of the household and friends gathered at a near distance.
All her life, she’d waited for love—prayed to any god who’d listen. She smiled at her husband, proud to belong to him, desperate to make love again. He’d shown her endless pleasure in the forest, remained patient and gentle, even when he’d flipped her onto her stomach, threatening to spank her and take her like a wild bull, he’d still handled her like she was made of glass.
“Mercia?” Jarl Sigurdsson called.
Why did her mind always wander? “I’m sorry, milord, I can’t concentrate on anything today, but my husband.”
Marteinn grinned, squeezing her shoulder. “Pay attention to this part of the vow—it’s my favorite.”
“Do you promise to obey and only seek pleasure in your husband’s bed, reserving your love for him?”
The sly fox, no wonder Marteinn begged to write her vows. Obey and only seek pleasure in his bed? “As long as he swears to do the same.”
Tyr laughed and eyed Marteinn. “Will you honor her wishes?”
“Aye.”
“Then I will do the same.” She held her left hand up and Marteinn slid a gold ring over her finger.
“A testament of my love and devotion,” he whispered. “I am the happiest man alive.”
She closed her eyes, reveling in the joy, memorizing every word he spoke. This day would live in her heart forever. Opening her eyes again, she stared northward, admiring the lush forest, the place she and her husband had first made love. There was a flash of movement and she saw a familiar face—a very enraged one.
Jarl Halvar?
Those deep-set eyes and that bearded chin were unforgettable. Why did he look so angry? Why was he here? Perhaps Jarl Sigurdsson had invited him. Other dignitaries had traveled to witness her vows. As she glanced away from Halvar, she shuddered. Marteinn tugged her into an intimate embrace.
“Are you cold, my love?” he whispered in her ear.
“No, eager to make love.” She refused to tell him what troubled her. What if she was wrong, and Halvar was only here out of courtesy?
“This union is blessed by Odin—let no man come between them.” Tyr rested his hands on their heads. “Kiss your bride.”
Any fear she had, vanished the moment Marteinn’s lips touched hers. Love—that’s what she wanted for the rest of her life.
“Come.” Marteinn clutched her hand to his chest. “There’s a tiny cabin in the woods, just a short walk from here.”
“A cabin?” She’d never heard of a shack in the woods.
“I built it for you,” he informed her. “My wedding gift—a special retreat of our own whenever we feel the need to escape.”
They left the clearing hand-in-hand, a new life before them.
