Owned by the Vikings by Isabel Dare Page A

an uncomfortable thought. But
these men, these incredibly tall, muscular, burly men...he was surrounded by them
all day, smelling their musky sweat, watching their muscles ripple as they
rowed. And whenever one of them brushed close to Edric, his pulse jumped.
    He wanted them to touch him. Even though
they were his enemies, his captors. He wanted to feel their cocks in his mouth
again, pounding up his arse, driving into him.
    Most of all, he wanted Thorvald to own
him. He wanted to serve him, on his knees, on his back, forever.
    It was easy to see why Thorvald was the
leader. Not only did he own the ship, but he was also the biggest of all the
Vikings aboard, a giant of a man with massive shoulders, with long braids so
blond that they looked white. He was the very image of a conquering Viking, and
Edric was powerless to resist him.
    Thorvald had more than the looks of a
leader; he was scrupulously fair, yet also possessed an air of complete
mastery. His orders were obeyed, even by this rowdy crew, even when they were
drunk. It was impossible not to feel that aura of complete command. Edric
certainly felt it. It raised chills all over his body whenever Thorvald looked
at him, or strode past him on his long legs.
    Thorvald was quite close to him now, but
seemed to be ignoring him. He was bent over one of the rowers, who looked to be
having some difficulty recovering his breath. All the men were tired, after
days of rowing; there was very little wind, and the great sail over their heads
barely fluttered.
    “Rest for a while, Leif,” Thorvald was
saying. “I’ll take your place.”
    The men cheered as Thorvald sat down on
Leif’s bench and began to row with huge strokes of the long, narrow oar.
    Leif stood bent over, breathing hard, his
face as red as his hair. He was not as wide-shouldered as most of the other
men, and he did not look like the long hours of rowing were agreeing with him.
    Leif seemed to sense Edric’s eyes upon
him, for when he finally straightened up, he glared in Edric’s direction.
    “Why don’t the thrall row with us,
Thorvald?” Leif asked in a hoarse voice, still breathing fast. “He’s no good to
us tied to the mast like a hog. Or are we planning to eat him like a hog?”
    Some of the men laughed, and Edric
shuddered.
    “Not enough meat on him,” someone called
out. “Fatten him up a bit first.”
    Thorvald shook back his long white braids
and answered Leif seriously, ignoring the laughter. “Thrall’s got soft hands,
and he’s not used to rowing for days on end. He’s better where he is.”
    “What, as an ornament? In that case,
let’s strip him and make him bend over,” Leif leered. “I wouldn’t mind another
look at that pink little arse.”
    There was a sudden silence.
    All over the ship, heads turned to Leif,
then towards Thorvald.
    Edric watched Thorvald, all his attention
focused on the big man. He saw the muscles of his jaw tighten, just a bit; saw
the tiny frown of his blond eyebrows.
    It might not be obvious to everyone, but
it was obvious to Edric, after weeks of being around these men, observing them.
Thorvald did not like what Leif was saying. Not at all. And yet he felt that
Leif’s complaint had some grounds, even though Leif was known to be a
troublemaker, and that it was just to let him speak.
    Another man, a bear of a fellow named
Arik, broke the expectant silence. “It’s been three days of hard rowing,
Thorvald, and our raids are long behind us. Will you not share your bounty with
us, now that we have but one thrall left, and he the prettiest of them all?”
    Thorvald stroked his white-blond braid
pensively, and did not answer. No one else spoke.
    “We all know the thrall is yours,” Leif
said persuasively. “No one will touch him without your permission.”
    Soundlessly, Edric exhaled. So that
possessive look of Thorvald’s was not just his imagination. Thorvald had
claimed him for his own, as a personal slave for himself and his household. A
warm glow