her lover had taught her that she could endure more pleasure and pain than she thought possible.
Testing her limits, and trusting him to know them, had strengthened their bond. The word was poised on her tongue when he slowed his ministrations long enough for her to catch her breath. Then, she felt herself climbing again. This time she did not hold back, but gave her passion free rein, moving her hips in a wanton dance. When she was at the brink, he moved until he was kneeling between her thighs. She looked down and saw him grasp his hardness then rub the engorged tip over her wet entrance.
He circled the rosy head over her still-throbbing pearl until she begged him, “Please take me, husband.”
Without further coaxing, Bjorn positioned himself on his target and rammed into her. Kadlin gasped as his thickness stretched her wide. He plunged into her four times more then rose up, reached behind himself and unbound her ankles. Pushing her knees up, he thrust wildly, and the sound of their bodies slapping together rung out in the chamber. With her arms still outstretched, Kadlin grasped the leather ties that bound her wrists to the bedposts and braced herself against his powerful advances. The energy gathered at the place they were joined, and each stroke brought her closer to the brink.
She grunted in time with his movements until her moment came, and she cried out, “Yes! Yes! Oh, gods, yes!”
Her insides quivered and clamped down around him. He threw back his head and let out a feral snarl. She felt him swell within her before his rod jerked and knew he had reached completion.
He covered her face with sweet kisses, released her hands from their bonds then slumped against her. She stroked his back and listened as his breathing became deep and even. This time when he slept, he was peaceful and still.
* * * *
Kadlin’s sweet voice, weakened by fear, had pulled him out of the nightmare. Husband, please. He had stopped himself before bringing his fist down, but the damage had already been done. The horror in Kadlin’s eyes had hurt Bjorn more than his phantom attacker ever could. Bjorn’s throat ached, and his mouth was dry. He supposed he had been crying out in his sleep again. Kadlin said she could never make out his words, and he could not remember them. He had covered his face, ashamed that he had no control over this curse. It was a foolish thought.
If Mara chose to run through a man’s sleeping mind, no mortal could stop her. Knowing what the demon was capable of was little comfort. Bjorn groped for answers through the fragments of nightmare that bubbled up from the depths.
The dreams always began with him standing before a mirror. The blurry reflection was him, and yet, it was not. The image rippled as if he were staring at himself in a pool of water. He seemed smaller somehow, and his features were finer. The man that stared back from the glass was dressed in clothing much grander than any Bjorn owned. The beads and braids that he so proudly wore were gone, and his hair was pulled back tightly and gathered neatly at the nape of his neck. But it was the expression on his face that frightened him most. The wild-eyed sneer was full of desperation and hatred. What was this part of his being that haunted his sleep? By day, he was filled with gratitude for all that he had. His land was rich, and his livestock fertile. His woman was strong and beautiful, and he trusted her with his life. They had a clever, healthy son and loyal friends to work beside them. He thanked the gods every day for his many blessings. And yet, at night, he became another man—a man plagued with doubt and anger.
It seemed he was always tired, yet afraid to sleep. Fearing that his fatigue would drive him mad, Bjorn had resorted to stealing away to make offerings to the dark goddess of dreams. The others who lived with them said nothing when he struck out into the forest with a lamb over his shoulder then returned hours later empty-handed.
Testing her limits, and trusting him to know them, had strengthened their bond. The word was poised on her tongue when he slowed his ministrations long enough for her to catch her breath. Then, she felt herself climbing again. This time she did not hold back, but gave her passion free rein, moving her hips in a wanton dance. When she was at the brink, he moved until he was kneeling between her thighs. She looked down and saw him grasp his hardness then rub the engorged tip over her wet entrance.
He circled the rosy head over her still-throbbing pearl until she begged him, “Please take me, husband.”
Without further coaxing, Bjorn positioned himself on his target and rammed into her. Kadlin gasped as his thickness stretched her wide. He plunged into her four times more then rose up, reached behind himself and unbound her ankles. Pushing her knees up, he thrust wildly, and the sound of their bodies slapping together rung out in the chamber. With her arms still outstretched, Kadlin grasped the leather ties that bound her wrists to the bedposts and braced herself against his powerful advances. The energy gathered at the place they were joined, and each stroke brought her closer to the brink.
She grunted in time with his movements until her moment came, and she cried out, “Yes! Yes! Oh, gods, yes!”
Her insides quivered and clamped down around him. He threw back his head and let out a feral snarl. She felt him swell within her before his rod jerked and knew he had reached completion.
He covered her face with sweet kisses, released her hands from their bonds then slumped against her. She stroked his back and listened as his breathing became deep and even. This time when he slept, he was peaceful and still.
* * * *
Kadlin’s sweet voice, weakened by fear, had pulled him out of the nightmare. Husband, please. He had stopped himself before bringing his fist down, but the damage had already been done. The horror in Kadlin’s eyes had hurt Bjorn more than his phantom attacker ever could. Bjorn’s throat ached, and his mouth was dry. He supposed he had been crying out in his sleep again. Kadlin said she could never make out his words, and he could not remember them. He had covered his face, ashamed that he had no control over this curse. It was a foolish thought.
If Mara chose to run through a man’s sleeping mind, no mortal could stop her. Knowing what the demon was capable of was little comfort. Bjorn groped for answers through the fragments of nightmare that bubbled up from the depths.
The dreams always began with him standing before a mirror. The blurry reflection was him, and yet, it was not. The image rippled as if he were staring at himself in a pool of water. He seemed smaller somehow, and his features were finer. The man that stared back from the glass was dressed in clothing much grander than any Bjorn owned. The beads and braids that he so proudly wore were gone, and his hair was pulled back tightly and gathered neatly at the nape of his neck. But it was the expression on his face that frightened him most. The wild-eyed sneer was full of desperation and hatred. What was this part of his being that haunted his sleep? By day, he was filled with gratitude for all that he had. His land was rich, and his livestock fertile. His woman was strong and beautiful, and he trusted her with his life. They had a clever, healthy son and loyal friends to work beside them. He thanked the gods every day for his many blessings. And yet, at night, he became another man—a man plagued with doubt and anger.
It seemed he was always tired, yet afraid to sleep. Fearing that his fatigue would drive him mad, Bjorn had resorted to stealing away to make offerings to the dark goddess of dreams. The others who lived with them said nothing when he struck out into the forest with a lamb over his shoulder then returned hours later empty-handed.
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