Epilogue
Three years later
Kristin flinched at his touch, though Nyle’s fingers were gentle on her naked breast, his caress feather light as he stroked her distended nipple.
“You are tender still, sweetheart?” His breath whispered across her cheek and the shell of her ear as Nyle leaned forward to rest his cheek upon her bare shoulder.
“A little,” she confessed. “‘Twill pass, I am sure.”
“Aye, soon enough. Your breasts are beautiful, especially now when they are swollen and aching because you are to bear our child, but we have no wish to hurt you.”
“I am fine, just a little—”
“Lie back, my love. Lean against me and spread your legs. Bowdyn will pleasure you and I shall whisper my own thoughts on the matter into your ear whilst he does so.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she protested. “Both of you.”
“And you know that will not be your choice. Until this babe is born we will treat you as though you were made of the finest spun silk.”
“This is ridiculous. I am not delicate, I shall not tear apart.”
“There will be time, soon enough, for the rough lovemaking you appear to favour.”
“And you,” she retorted, indignant.
“And us,” agreed Nyle, “but that time is not now. So, you will obey. You will take your pleasure, then you will sleep for a while, inside, here in the shade, until the sun is less intense.”
“I cannot sleep the day away. I have work to do.”
“No, you do not. Now you will please cease this arguing and spread your legs.”
“But—”
A gentle hand covered her mouth. Nyle kissed her hair. “You know we will not spank you for your disobedience, not for a while at least, but do not imagine we will tolerate it either. Unless you wish to be brought to the brink of your release and left unfulfilled, you will be silent apart from those rather pleasant little gasping sounds you make as your arousal builds.”
Kristin opened her mouth, the urge to dispute, to argue, not one she could ever truly overcome. Nyle’s warning growl against her ear gave her reason to pause. They would do it, she knew. Her Celtic masters were not above teasing her to the very edge of ecstasy then abandoning her to her frustrations, forbidden even to complete the task herself. It was a formidable punishment, and if she was honest one that had a far more salutary effect on her attitude than the threat of a spanking. And really, the prospect of lips, tongue, knowing fingers intent upon giving her delight, was altogether too alluring.
Perhaps, just this once, she might take her ease whilst the sun was at its highest. It would be much more comfortable to complete her daily tasks this evening, when it was cooler, more pleasant to be out of doors. She relaxed in Nyle’s arms.
“I believe our Viking has seen the sense of our arguments.” Bowdyn knelt at the foot of the straw pallet in the sleeping chamber the three of them shared.
Both her Celts were fully dressed and she was naked. They had entered their home just as she completed her bath and had insisted upon helping her from the tub. Somehow, she had ended up here, her back and shoulders resting against Nyle’s broad chest while Bowdyn settled himself between her legs. He placed his hands on her knees and parted them still further, pushing them up toward her chest as he did so.
“My brother, perhaps you could assist by holding her legs up, like this?”
Nyle looped his arms under her knees to hold her in place, spread out for his brother’s perusal and access. “Like this?” he enquired.
“Yes. Exactly.” Bowdyn lay down, propped on one elbow. His free hand explored her delicate folds, already damp. He traced the outer edge of her nether lips as though discovering their existence for the first time. “So lovely,” he breathed, “so pink, like a cherry.” The pad of his thumb grazed the very tip of her clitty and Kristin jerked in Nyle’s arms.
“I think she likes that.”
Bowdyn merely smiled, then used his thumbs to part her sensitive lips. He leaned forward and Kristin tensed, knowing what was coming. Her body stiffened, rigid with anticipation. Bowdyn new full well how she felt, how much she longed for his touch, but he made her wait for it. She was shaking, every muscle and sinew taut with need by the time he finally drew the tip of his tongue along the length of her slit.
Kristin let out a strangled moan and grasped at Nyle’s forearms.
“Does that feel good, little Viking?” Nyle whispered the question, his breath fanning her cheek. “Do you want more?”
“Please…” she managed.
“Please what? Tell me what you desire, and I shall make sure it is delivered.”
“I want… I want…”
“Do you want his fingers inside you? Or his tongue?”
“Yes. Yes!”
“Which? Fingers? Tongue? Or cock?”
“All,” she ground out. “I want it all.”
“Greedy little Viking,” he admonished, his tone soft and seductive. “We shall have to see what we can devise for you.”
Bowdyn chose that moment to drive one long finger deep inside her. Kristin writhed and squirmed and the hard bulge of Nyle’s erection nestled between her buttocks.
“I want you. I want both of you. Inside me. Now.”
“We can accomplish this without harming her or the child, I believe.” This from Bowdyn. “After all, we have had considerable opportunity to practice.”
“Yes,” agreed Kristin. “Yes, you can. Just… just do it quick, and—”
“No, not quick. Long and slow and gentle,” corrected Bowdyn. He plunged his finger back inside her again, then added a second one. “She’s ready.”
“Almost, I grant you.” Nyle nipped the lobe of her ear. “Roll over onto your knees, little Viking, while I prepare you for this.”
Kristin’s throat swelled with lust. She lowered her legs when Nyle released them and moved to kneel on the mattress. Nyle slid from behind her and padded from the small, curtained sleeping area. Kristin watched him over her shoulder.
“He will be back in a moment.” Bowdyn was also on his feet, but he was not going anywhere. Instead, he tugged his tunic over his head and loosened the ties on his trousers to let them slither to the floor. Naked, he again settled beside Kristin. “If this hurts, even a little, you will tell us.”
“Of course,” she agreed, though privately she found the pleasure tinged with pain part of the unique allure of having both her holes filled by her men. The intensity, the stretch and the burn of it, all combined to send her to a place where pleasure and pain were one.
Bowdyn chuckled as Nyle re-entered the chamber carrying a small pot in which he had scooped a generous knob of butter. “Our little she-Viking is already melting with desire. I suggest we do not delay in providing the comfort she craves.”
Kristin could only moan her agreement.
Nyle sat down behind her. “Part her buttocks for me.”
Bowdyn’s fingers were firm but gentle as he spread her cheeks to expose the puckered entrance that nestled there. Kristin groaned, drew in deep, soothing breaths as Nyle smeared the butter first around the outside of the small ring of muscle, then started to work the lubricant into her tight rear hole. Just his fingertip at first, then, as her entrance loosened to accept him, he pressed his finger forward until the first knuckle disappeared.
The sensation was one of wicked delight. No stranger to this form of penetration, Kristen still felt the same rush of vulnerability and helplessness she had on the first occasion when either of her Celts inserted their fingers into her arse. This was possession at its most raw, submission at its most absolute. And she loved it, relished it, adored the sense of being taken, owned by her masters, used by them both at once. Outside this room she was the strong, independent Viking noblewoman, a trader, wealthy in her own right and powerful in their community, but here, in the confines of this chamber, she was theirs. Utterly and completely.
“Ready,” Nyle pronounced.
Bowdyn rolled onto his back and Kristin knew that she must straddle him. This was the easiest way, the quickest, but when she attempted to shift her limbs were as lead. Nyle scooped her in his arms and set her down on top of Bowdyn, who had grasped the shaft of his cock in readiness to drive it into her. Nyle set her in the correct place and used his fingers to spread her lips around the swollen head of his brother’s cock.
“Sink down,” he urged her. “Slowly.”
Kristin lowered herself onto Bowdyn, sighing in delight as she impaled herself on his solid erection. Her body parted to accept, to wrap itself around him. She closed her eyes, savouring every inch, every rub and scrape of friction as she planted him deep within her channel.
“Lean forward.” Nyle’s palm between her shoulder blades prompted her to settle upon Bowdyn’s chest, her tender breasts aching as she pressed them against him, but she was beyond caring now. She let out a small mewling sound when Nyle again inserted his finger deep in her rear hole, then slid a second in alongside it. He thrust in and out several times, twisting his hand to further open her and prepare the way. She held her breath when he withdrew his digits. The round, bulbous head of his cock nudged her, ready to breach her rear hole.
“You will tell me if I hurt you.”
“She already promised me,” said Bowdyn, his fingers tangling in her hair, “But even so, I shall be vigilant too. Look at me, little Viking.”
He lifted her head, but Kristin’s eyes remained closed.
“Open your eyes, Kristin. Look at me,” Bowdyn insisted.
She must obey. Kristin knew that. She forced her eyelids to open, convinced that nothing had ever felt heavier than they did at that moment. It was only by sheer effort of will fuelled by pure lust that she managed to meet Bowdyn’s dark brown gaze.
He smiled, his stern features softening. Kristin’s inner channel convulsed around him, causing him to grimace.
“Sweet Mother of God, that feels good,” he muttered. “Shall we get on with this while I still can?”
Kristin gasped as her rear hole parted under the insistent pressure of Nyle’s rocking hips. Gently but inexorably he nudged inside, easing his cock into her tight rear channel inch by cautious, careful inch. Kristin longed to push back, to take more of him, all of him. But he held her hips still, forcing her to wait for him. He would set the pace.
She stretched. The burn peaked. Kristin could not stifle the small whimper that escaped her lips. Nyle stopped.
Bowdyn combed his fingers through her tangled locks, his dark gaze intent as he looked into her eyes, into her very soul. Long seconds passed, then he spoke. “She is doing well. Continue.”
Nyle pressed forward again. The hardest part was now over, he was inside, her entrance fully breached, stretched tight around the thick girth of his cock. Moments later the light brush of hair against her buttocks signalled that he was fully seated within her. Kristin let out a relieved, grateful sigh.
“So beautiful,” Bowdyn murmured, then lifted his body from the mattress in order to kiss her mouth.
Nyle slid his cock partway out, then back again. Kristin grunted, the heady blend of pleasure and pain shattering her senses. She was impossibly full, stretched around two huge cocks, sandwiched between two men that she adored.
Nyle repeated the thrust, firmer this time as her body adjusted to accept him. Bowdyn, too, started to move, ploughing to and fro in perfect synchronisation with his brother. As one drew back, the other plunged forward, filling one channel, then the other.
Kristin knew this would not last long. The intensity of the sensation, the sheer force and power of the emotional and physical connection between them was overwhelming. She convulsed, her body shuddering as her inner walls contracted around both erections.
“I cannot… I… oh… oh!” Waves of pure, undiluted ecstasy rippled through her to reach every muscle, every bone and sinew. She was limp, yet rigid, totally relaxed yet taut as a sail in a full-blown hurricane. She reached for something… anything, and grasped Nyle’s hand. Her gaze locked with Bowdyn’s, her fingers interlaced with Nyle’s, she rode out the tempest of her release.
Bowdyn swore in his native Gaelic tongue. His cock lurched inside her and the warmth of his semen flowed from his body into hers. Moments later, Nyle stiffened, his cock swelled and her rear hole was similarly awash with wet heat.
She had her men, and they had her. They needed nothing more.
* * *
Hours later, Kristin ventured from her dwelling into the soft warmth of the evening. She wore no cloak, rarely did she need such a garment now, and her feet were bare but for the soft sandals she wore to protect her from the heat of the ground. Never had she ever imagined that the earth itself might feel warm underfoot, but it did. Here, in this island paradise they had found, where the sun baked the land, the soft rain nurtured their crops, and the azure blue seas yielded both food and fortune.
They had sailed south when they left England having defeated Leidolf but had passed the ports of Flanders and Normandy without stopping, leaving behind the kingdom of the Franks. They had landed in Castile to replenish their supplies but had not tarried long. Torsteinn and Mathios were eager to reach their destination, to start to set down roots. Nyle and Bowdyn, too, seemed distracted, unsettled somehow and they had not put into port at all in the kingdom of Portugal. Throughout their journey the odd convoy was regarded with suspicion and varying degrees of apprehension by other seafarers. The fame of the fearsome dragon ships had gone before them and none sought to impede their progress.
The Viking travellers were not seeking conflict. They avoided other ships as much as possible, while still hugging the shoreline. They rounded the tip of Portugal and sailed east, through a narrow strait to arrive at another expanse of water. Here the seas were clear and tideless, surrounded by land on all sides. The sun was hot, bathing the sparkling waters in a soft, balmy warmth. Under Torsteinn’s direction they sailed north, anchoring briefly in the Balearic Emirates where they were able to purchase fresh fruit, wines, fine fabrics. Kristin would have been content to remain there, but Torsteinn insisted this was not their final destination, though they would return frequently since the trade was so lucrative. Their next stop was in the port of Genoa, where they spent their first winter away from Agnartved, though Kristin would hardly have described the wet and balmy weather they encountered as the least bit wintry. Still, the respite was welcome, and most of the families travelling with them were ready to pause their journey for a while. The months spent on the northern shores of the Italian peninsula passed quickly, however. Soon, the gentle warmth of the emerging spring beckoned them back out to sea. This time they travelled south.
Torsteinn told them that their new home was on the island of Corsica—untamed, mountainous, a land waiting for them to settle and make it their own. The existing inhabitants were few, and Mathios was able to convince them that the Nordic newcomers meant them no harm and that the island was large enough to accommodate all. Thus, they established their first settlement on the eastern shore, constructing their homes in a style reminiscent of the Viking longhouses that were familiar to them but using the clay and rushes available in their new land. Warmth and weatherproofing were less important in this climate; now they craved shade and airiness, and of course proximity to fresh water.
From their new settlement their knarrs ploughed the seas, establishing trading routes in every direction. It seemed there was no end to the goods to be had, the bargains to be haggled over, the purchases sealed. The Vikings were more than content with their farms, their fishing, their hunting, and their trade.
Kristin had never been happier, especially now that she knew for certain that she was expecting another child. She smiled when she spotted her firstborn, named Lofn for her father, tottering toward her, his small hand gripping one of Rowena’s fingers to hold himself upright. He made his unsteady way, blond hair tousled, his brown eyes sparkling with childish delight, and held out the mushy remains of a fig.
“Mama,” he babbled, his gift to her squished in his palm.
Kristin crouched to take it from his sticky fingers. “Why, thank you, my baby,” she crooned. “Did you save that one for me?”
“He wanted to bring it to you himself,” Rowena explained. “He knows how much you love them. There are plenty more…”
“This one is just wonderful,” Kristin assured her son. “See?” She pretended to eat the ruined fruit, to the delight of the small boy. “Now, do you know where your papas are?”
“They are at the harbour, with Merewyn.” Rowena replied on behalf of her charge, gesturing toward the beach. “I expect they are planning another trading expedition. I heard them mention Genoa, then the Papal States.”
“Ah, yes,” agreed Kristin. That would be it. Her men never ventured far from their home when she was unable to accompany them, and they absolutely refused to allow her to put to sea when she was pregnant. Genoa was but two days away, Rome even closer. The trade here in the Mediterranean lands was good. It was not necessary to travel far in search of a fine bargain. They had prospered in the years since they left the Norseland.
Kristin shaded her eyes against the lowering sun and could just make out the three figures standing close together on the shoreline. Nyle, Bowdyn, and Merewyn stood together on the beach, clearly deep in conversation. The sound of laughter reached her, the soft, feminine tone accompanied by the deeper timbre of the men. One of the brothers—Bowdyn, she thought though it was hard to tell from here—pointed out to sea. Nyle appeared to agree with whatever was proposed as he nodded. The three turned, started to make their way back up the gentle incline toward the village they had called Nyagnartved, in remembrance of their former home.
“Do you miss the old country?” Kristin asked on a sudden impulse.
“Sometimes,” Rowena replied, “though not often. The mountains, the landscape, harsh though it was at times. I believe I may even miss the snow. What about you?”
Kristin laughed. “I hated the snow.”
“Yes, but what of the rest?”
Kristin shook her head. “No, I do not miss it. Not any of it. I have all I need, right here.”
The End