House of Freya: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 1) by Gwynn Jones

 
     
     
                  Heat. Such heat. Body against body, limbs intertwined, a tangle of legs, his fingers tangled in her hair, his mouth against her throat. Her breath coming in gasps and sighs as he moved against her, plunged into her. And she rose to meet him, arching into him with every thrust, desperate to feel every inch of his thick, throbbing cock buried inside her. The feel of his hand on her breast, his fingers pinching and twisting her nipple, sending thrills of sweet pain shooting through her, igniting every nerve in her body. Her body taut, her hot cunt pulsing around his shaft, everything so wet, so tight. He pulled back, teasing her, and she moaned, begged him to fuck her, to fuck her hard. When he did, thrusting fast and deep, it set off an explosion, her body erupting into wave after wave of climax. Spent, shaking, her loins humming and her head spinning, she'd curled up in his arms.
                  And then she'd begged for more.
                 
                  But that was then, and this was now. And right now it was cold. Very cold.
     
                  The sun was low. It was always low in these parts, never ascending to the heights of the sky, only ever tracing a shallow arc along the southern horizon for a few precious hours before dipping out of sight and plunging everything back into the shadows of long night.
                  Sigrun paused to watch the setting sun, deep orange against a purple sky. She had never seen a sky so purple. She wondered if it was always this way. She had not been in this place long enough to tell whether it had seasons, or whether it was anything like the human world. She looked out over the frozen landscape. Nothing but snow. She had come from a place of rock, made her way down from its jagged spires and treacherous fields of scree out onto these snowy plains, and she couldn't decide which was more menacing, there or here.
                  It was bitter cold. Even her dragonskin clothes, made from the most impermeable, protective material in the world, could not completely withstand the bite as the temperature dropped with the waning daylight. She pulled her heavy fur cloak more tightly around her neck, glad that her lined helmet protected her head and much of her face from the wind. She pulled off a glove and concentrated on her hand, willing something, a spark, a flame, to appear. There was nothing. Not even the slightest flicker. She sighed. She just couldn't conjure it like that. No control. But that's why she was here, out in this snowy waste. She was looking for the one who could teach her.
                  She pulled her glove back on, flexing her fingers to restore some of the warmth lost by exposing them. She had to keep moving. A long, hard day's walk once she'd left the spires, she'd been told. She hoped she hadn't lost her bearings. She shuddered at the thought of spending a night out on this frigid, windswept place. Surely she must be getting close.
                  She was heading south, chasing the dwindling light. It felt like the darkness was looming behind her. Ready to devour her. It was a good thing she wasn't prone to panic. Still, when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, just out of sight and coming up the other side of the rise she'd just begun to climb, she felt a flood of relief. There was someone else out here, too. She wasn't alone in the vastness. The sight, however, of the massive tusked snout cresting the hill made her rethink those feelings. Maybe alone wasn't such a bad thing.
                  She froze as the rest of the creature came into view.
                  A boar.
                  It was a huge boar. Giant. Easily three times her size. Probably more. Tusks sharp and gleaming. Sigrun's hand went up to the hilt of the sword slung across her back. But she paused before drawing her blade.