Page 49 of Ravager
She bit her lip seductively, feeling his thickness for a few meaty seconds before turning around on her knees so she was looking out of the cargo hold. Thankfully, she was facing the front of the ship and not the rowing crew. As much of an exhibitionist as they’d become, this was intimate to him, and he didn’t want the crew to see anything more than the back of their heads. The days of sharing Cherine were over.
Of course, they’d be able to hear every moan and grunt, but that fact only turned him on more.
He positioned her in front of him and started smacking his cock against her pale ass, closing his eyes to the satisfyingthwackit made as it made contact. She let out a small gasp, deliciously amused as she arched her back, asking for more. He complied, stroking himself and rubbing at her clit. From her musky, sweet perfume, he knew she was just as ready and begging for it as he was, and he wasn’t surprised to find her pussy wet and warm. He ran his slick fingers back and forth, alternating between light circles on the nub and fingering her deep.
She came immediately, head thrown back in ecstasy, her cries shooting out across the wooden planks of the ship, her muscles quivering from head to toe. He knew she was probably feeling a pinch of embarrassment now that the heady desire hadworn off, so he only took a break to spread her cheeks and press his cock into her.
He moaned from the sensation as her walls squeezed him tight, little after-pulses of orgasm still running through them. He reached around her, took one of her hands, and placed it down onto her sensitive clit.
“Pleasure yourself,” he ordered into her ear as he held her back against him. He licked down her lobe and shivered with delight. “You’re coming again.”
He manually moved her hand, making her rub herself until she started squirming, and kept it there. With his other arm held across her chest, he started pinching and squeezing her nipple, going hard and soft. Occasionally, he’d lick his fingers and slide over them, all while thrusting into her, like he was trying to nail her to the ship.
Their movements together matched the high seas, the swell of the waves, and the rowing of the oarsmen behind them. He pumped her steadily while she continued to pleasure herself and, together, they built up to an edge they so desperately wanted to fall from. He came hard, his hand digging into her breast, his moans filling the starry-night sky. She soon followed, little heartfelt gasps carried away on the chilled breeze.
He wrapped his arms around her, covering her sweat-soaked dress from the cold, and nuzzled his face into her neck, seeking her pulse and her warmth. His cock slowly slid out of her, but he held on, embracing her, hoping the seed now running through her would find life, just as they started their new one.
“Welcome to your new home.”
Erik and Cherine stood at the bow of the boat as it glided through the fjord to Møre. He could tell she’d never been so impressed before. Her fingers were up at her mouth, and she watched the towering white mountains, with their dramatic cliffs and slashes of rock, in pure wonder. The water around them was a silky green that matched her eyes, and seagulls darted to and fro, hoping to score leftover scraps from the decks.
It was freezing cold now that winter was in full-swing, and though the sun was setting at two in the afternoon, there was just enough light to see the dock as they approached it and the handful of townspeople gathered there.
Møre was a pretty town comprised of tiny dwellings framed by meandering creeks, overflowing gardens, and the mountains that seemed to gather it all in one place. It was the perfect home for someone as beautiful and deserving as Cherine, and Erik was tickled at her reaction to it.
The townsfolk, mainly fishermen, gave hearty, albeit surprised, greetings as the ship pulled into the harbor. Lines were thrown, oars were thrust back in, and excuses were quickly made. It wasn’t often that a single Viking ship, especially one with a small crew, returned home.
But Erik told them what was now the truth: he and Cherine would be getting married and starting a family. And everyone, especially his dear mother, who had honestly believed she’d never see him again, seemed pleased at the prospect.
Erik’s mother, Trude, was still a sprightly woman for her age, with the cheekbones and fair skin and hair she had passed down to her only son. She was stoic and serene but had a big heart, and it warmed Erik to see she embraced Cherine with open arms. It didn’t matter that Cherine didn’t speak Norwegian yet, or that she was a foreign peasant at one time. Erik mattered to Trude, and if Cherine mattered to him, she’d be treated like gold.
The gold treatment grew exponentially within a month. That was when, after she and Erik had settled into Trude’s home, Cherine told him she was pregnant. Suddenly, the whole town was bowled over by the thought of one of their bravest warriors having a child, and Erik truly felt he was on his way to a second chance. A wife and a family was something he never thought he would have, not when he lived the life he did. He’d learned to love Cherine with a strength that filled his heart, and soon, that love would expand to two.
Finally, he was on his way to redemption.
Chapter 24
Cherine
It was April when the snow first began to thaw. I had grown fond of the pure, white landscape outside our hearth-warmed home, but the sight of the first green shoots of grass stirred something deep within me. Soon, the days would be longer, brighter.
Not that I needed much brightness in my life. I was about four months pregnant and glowing every single day. Trude fussed over me endlessly, her no-nonsense manner softening only in moments of true care. She lectured me on eating habits, concocted juices I should drink, and always seemed to have something to keep me busy. I knew it came from love, and I was grateful for it, especially now that I was Erik’s wife.
We had gotten married soon after we learned of the pregnancy. Back in France, I would have been ostracized for such a thing, but here, in Norway, where they still believed in their pagan gods, it wasn’t looked down on as much. The people of Møre weren’t heathens, but they were not as fanatic in their faith as Rolf and many of the Vikings. Erik’s more experimental views on religion were shared by some, though they seemed to make others uneasy.
But for me, it didn’t matter. I had never been happier. I had no idea it was even possible to feel this way. Sure, the morning sickness was awful, and learning the language felt impossible at times, but the Norwegian town had embraced me in ways I hadn’t expected. They were strong, helpful people, not the savages I once imagined. The true barbarians, I realized, were the ones who had left the land behind.
The food here was remarkable too. Even in the dead of winter, there was fresh fish from the cold seas, with dense root vegetables that tasted better than anything I had back in France. Trude was a skilled baker, and I had learned to make Erik’s favorite potato pancakes and rye bread. I even developed a taste for the strong caraway-seed akevitt, which Trude insisted would chase away the pregnancy blues.
Erik was everything I had hoped he would be—strong, loving, and dedicated. His sexual appetite remained as voracious as mine, though living with his mother made it challenging when it came to privacy. Nightly visits in the garden, hidden beneath fur blankets, became our refuge. We no longer worried about prying eyes, and every night together made our bond deeper. Even pregnancy didn’t slow our affections for each other. Erik’s pride in our family grew with the curve of my belly.
But even in the bliss of our new life, I could still see the shadow of the past in Erik. He sometimes sat awake late at night, staring out at the harbor or the mountains. I wondered if it was the memory of Rolf that kept him awake, or something else entirely. I had never spoken to him about what happened at the manor, afraid it would reopen old wounds, but the nagging fear lingered. Had Rolf been killed? Or was he still out there, waiting for his chance at revenge?
Then, one night, the someone Erik feared appeared.
We had taken to walking in the evenings, mostly for my sake, to help me sleep. Our strolls usually took us down to thedocks and back, and tonight was no different. The weather was slowly warming, but the night air was still chilled as it swept in off the fjord, the moon bright enough to illuminate the entire landscape.
Erik, always prepared, carried his sword and dagger, even though there was no apparent danger in Møre. I had once pointed out that there was no need for such weapons, but Erik told me it made him feel like he could protect me and the life growing inside me. The sword he carried was the same one he had found back in Criolium—the one that had brought him to me in the first place. Perhaps it was a reminder of the luck it carried.