Ravished by a Viking Read online

  He’d been irritated then, but was furious now for the distraction. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to put space between them, he might not have wasted time scouring the ship top to bottom.

  Still, the search hadn’t been a complete waste of time—it had taught him much about the crew and the workings of the ship, and the exacting nature of the woman in charge.

  Dagr slowed his pace as he approached her now. He hardened his expression, flexed his fists and his arms.

  The large, unusually skilled man whom he’d fought on the bridge stiffened and started to rise when he saw Dagr’s direction, but his cousin Grimvarr clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder to hold him down. “This is not your fight, Outlander.”

  When Dagr stood inches from the woman, he glared down his nose. “Where have the men been taken?” he asked, adding a razor edge of tension to his softly spoken words.

  The deepening furrow on her forehead said she didn’t like having to lift her gaze so high. But she didn’t step back. “What men?”

  Dagr gave a low growl and crowded closer to her body. “We can play this game, but you will not win. Save yourself unnecessary pain.”

  She arched a brow. “Will you beat me? Do you want an answer that pleases you or one that is closer to the truth?”

  Blood pounded in his ears, and he tightened his fists, wishing she were male because he wanted to trade blows. But there were other ways to conquer. Ones that appealed more than they should.

  The glint of stubbornness in her golden brown eyes decided him. When was the last time anyone had defied him?

  “Before you interrogate her,” Cyrus said, his tone dry, “you’ll want the communicators removed from all the crew’s uniforms.”

  Dagr’s head whipped toward Cyrus. “Communicators?”

  “I think the patches on their collars are radios. They don’t wear utility belts anymore, so I wondered where they put them. Check the patches on their collars. They’ll be set to allow the crew to talk among themselves and to the ship’s systems, but they can be reprogrammed to access an external channel.”

  Dagr jerked his blade from its scabbard and held it in front of the woman’s face. Her skin whitened, but again she didn’t flinch. When he tucked his finger beneath her collar to drag it open, the pulse at the side of her throat leapt. He pressed his finger against the spot and noted the quickening of her heartbeat.

  Her glare was withering, which amused him.

  He glided the finger under her chin and raised it, then fisted the banded collar and carved out the small patch, taking more material than he needed, baring her throat and the top of her chest. Holding the fabric between his fingers, he dropped the collar on the floor and crushed the patch beneath his boot.

  “Give the order,” he said to Cyrus, not tearing his gaze from the woman.

  Her cheeks were reddening, her body quivering. With anger now. Good. He ducked, shoved his shoulder into her belly, and lifted her off the ground.

  “Khasi-bastard!” she said, her fists swinging at his head and kidneys.

  “Cyrus! Check the computer. See whether another ship has docked here recently.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Cyrus shouted after him, laughter in his voice. “I’ll check the logs and the manifests while you’re ... busy.”

  The woman bucked hard, legs and arms flailing to escape, but he clamped an arm around her thighs and strode toward the maintenance lift at the side of the corridor.

  “Your cabin,” he bit out, nearly smiling because she wiggled harder than a black-headed eel. “Where is it?”

  “Find it yourself, bastard!”

  “Shall I take you against the wall, where anyone might see?” He didn’t mean it, but he wanted her nervous. He’d dull the edge of authority from her stubborn chin. Didn’t she know women were meant to be soft and yielding?

  “That’s right. Prove you’re a watyie pirate. Rape me!”

  When her toes slammed perilously close to his groin, he swatted her backside. “It will not be rape. We both know that.”

  The wriggling calmed, but only because she’d worked a hand beneath his wolf headdress and was pulling his hair. “I’ll fight you.”

  He grimaced. Her grip was fierce, and his scalp stung. “You’ll only make a show of it because you should, elskling.”

  The doors of the lift closed, and the conveyance slid downward. When the doors opened again, he stepped into a deserted corridor, narrower than the one that tracked along the spine of the bird-shaped ship. “Which way?” His hand rubbed her bottom, and she squirmed harder, trying to break his hold. “Make your choice. Will I take you here, where anyone might see us? Or in your room?” To prove his threat, he slid his hand between her legs and stroked her folds through the thin black skin.

  Her body stiffened, and her gasp echoed in his ear. “Damn you. End of the hall.”

  The corridor was barely higher than the top his head, and he pushed forward, crouching slightly but not caring that her bottom hit the ceiling here and there.

  Her hands clasped his hips to steady herself and he grunted, enjoying the fact she was already adjusting, adapting to his control although she likely thought she was only trying to avoid further injury.

  He came to the last door, pressed down the latch, and pushed open the oval metal hatch. He ducked inside and halted, remembering it from his search. The room was barely larger than the many closets he’d seen. The bed was little more than a shelf and too short for his body. Her furnishings were sparse—just the bed and a small built-in cabinet beside it with a gooseneck lamp jutting from the wall.

  There were no pictures, no art or even maps on her walls, which were no more than cabinet doors. Not a single note of color warmed the small, airless, gray room. No softness was betrayed whatsoever. And yet she was fully feminine. The curves surrounding his shoulder and digging into his back were proof.

  He set her on her feet, ignoring her as she sputtered and slammed her fists against his chest as any woman would when furious with a mate.

  Standing still, he waited while she regained control of herself. Her fists landed again, but froze on his chest, which rose and fell in shallow swells while hers billowed wildly. Her gaze flitted up, perhaps to gauge his expression and see whether she’d angered him.

  She hadn’t. He couldn’t be more pleased with her womanly tantrum. It revealed passion, and the hardness of her blows proved her wiry strength. She might be slender, but she wasn’t truly delicate. He could already imagine how tight her woman’s passage would be, how it would squeeze deliciously around his cock. A small, tight fit like the tiny space where she slept.

  Her furrowed brows remained set, shadowing her eyes, but her hands flattened on his chest. With her soft, shiny hair mussed and her mouth soft and pouting, she was lovelier, more tempting, than she should have been, dressed as she was in the ugly black skin-suit.

  He waited, letting the thud of his heart tell her of his attraction, his muscles rippling as she curled her fingers and pulled her hands slowly away.

  With slow steps, she backed up to the far wall, her eyes glittering with anger, but her body quivering with something else. Her intense arousal perfumed the thin, stale air of her cabin.

  Remembering that he did have a purpose for bringing her here, alone, he hardened his expression. “Where are the men your people captured?”

  “Not here. Obviously,” she said, her features neutral. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. She blinked.

  Dagr grunted, wondering why he enjoyed her defiance so much. He hoped she’d force him to take stronger action. “Why aren’t they here?” he said just as evenly.

  “Another transport arrived to take them away.”

  “I want the name of the ship.”

  Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe.”

  Annoyed now, he bit out, “You should. Your life and that of your crew depends upon my mercy.”

&
nbsp; “You and your men are criminals. The Consortium doesn’t negotiate. They’d sooner destroy the whole ship than see you reap a profit from this ... venture.”

  “So we are at an impasse ...” he said softly.

  “Looks like it.”

  Dagr shook his head, wondering at her mental state. She faced a foe who weighed easily twice her weight, and yet she wouldn’t back down an inch. Perhaps she needed a little softening first. He dragged off his wolf headdress, toed off his soft leather boots.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

  “What we both want.”

  “You just captured my ship, throttled my crew,” she said, her voice rising. “You threatened to cut off my head, you barbarian. You think I want you?”

  She did. He was sure of it. “Next time you decide to tell a man you don’t desire him, dress in a few more layers.” With deliberation, he dropped his gaze to her chest, to the nipples that spiked hard against the thin, oiled skin.

  Her gaze followed, then jerked back. “You arrogant ass! I don’t want you.” Her chin jutted upward.

  A gesture that was beginning to amuse him. He stepped toward her, crowding her against the wall she hugged, and stuck his hand between her legs, cupping her sex. “If you say it again, I will leave you here. And we will never know. This isn’t punishment. It’s not rape. We shed our clothes; we shed who we are.” A shoulder lifted in an easy shrug. “When we are done, we resume the battle. I find I enjoy your resistance.”

  Her mouth opened around ragged breaths. “I won’t be used. My surrender won’t be held up for you to mock later.”

  “Lady Captain, we will use each other. Whatever passion we share remains between us.” He held her stare, keeping his expression set, waiting for her to decide.

  Without breaking with his gaze, she squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand. “I’m not some pleasure thrall.”

  “Are you telling me this because you lack skill and fear I’ll be disappointed?” he drawled.

  “I couldn’t care less whether you are disappointed,” she spat out.

  He leaned closer and trailed his lips across her forehead.

  She jerked and turned away, her chest trembling around her quickening breaths.

  “Why do you resist me? We can both seek our pleasure. You are as aroused as I am.” He pressed his fingers harder against her sex.

  Her head swung back. Stark longing mixed with rage were reflected in her amber gaze. “You are my enemy.”

  “Then treat this like another form of battle.”

  Her jaw tensed, her lips firming, but she rolled her hips, a slight, shallow movement that ground her pussy against his palm as moisture soaked through to wet it.

  He held her there, giving free rein to his arousal. His heart beat like a skin drum, pulse quickening at his temples and his groin. He strummed his fingers over her clothed folds and moved in to trap her chest.

  Her hands came up to push at his shoulders. “I fight because I should,” she whispered.

  Dagr gave a curt nod, then bent to cover her mouth, plunging into moist heat. She tasted exotic, smelled of musk and sweat, not too pungent, but tantalizing enough to capture his arousal, full-blown and surging to rut against her.

  He clapped his hands on the wall on either side of her, afraid to touch her until he’d bridled his lust because he’d leave her skin bruised.

  His lips rubbed hers, his tongue probed, waiting for her to reciprocate the exploratory penetration. When she moaned her surrender and thrust her tongue into his mouth, he gave a rumble of approval that vibrated his chest against hers.

  He broke the kiss, clasped her hands, and slid them outward, pressing them against the wall to tell her to keep them there. Then he drew his knife again, stretched what remained of the top of her uniform, and inserted the blade, sharp edge outward, to slit it from her neck to low on her belly.

  Her shaky exhale brushed against his neck.

  When the edges parted, he stared at her nude breasts and abdomen. Her nipples were a rusty brown and large, the tips reddening as they elongated. Her belly quivered against the cold, blunt edge of the blade. He pulled the knife away and thrust it into the metal wall beside her head, then clutched both sides of her opened suit and ripped it the rest of the way off her.

  When her arms were freed, she wrapped one over her breasts, and hid the dark thatch cloaking her pussy with an open palm.

  Dagr let her have her false modesty. He stepped back and stripped off his tunic, trousers, and woolen socks, leaving on only his golden armbands and the black amulet.

  He gripped his shaft and pumped his fist up and down once, deliberately drawing her attention there, giving her fair warning of his size and his intent.

  Her eyes widened; her tongue wet her lips before she met his gaze again.

  Now her whole body shivered, and Dagr understood. He too was filled with excitement and a strange sort of dread. As though the moment was somehow bigger, maybe destined. And he didn’t want to feel the pull, wanted to keep this only about finding release inside a woman’s body, any woman’s body—but this slight, slender ship’s captain wasn’t like any woman he’d ever known before. She wasn’t eager to sleep with the clan-lord. Didn’t expect reward for her service to him. And she was equally appalled at her attraction. Her courage only enhanced her dark beauty.

  How odd was it to travel into the heavens and find the one woman he might have kept for his own?

  Honora leaned against the cool, smooth wall behind her because her knees weakened. Her pussy throbbed, the slow, deepening beat matching her heart’s pulse for pulse.

  The sight of him took away her breath, made her hot and wet. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t clad in thick ropes of muscle. His skin was pale. Sweat glistened on the swells, emphasizing their size, but he hardly needed the enhancement.

  Everywhere she looked was massive and covered with dark hair and fine white lines, like threads and poorly stitched patches, crisscrossing his tall frame. So many scars. Gods, they turned her on.

  A hint of a tat, wrapping around his narrow waist, had her wishing he’d do a slow turn so she could see it all, but then she’d have to drag her gaze from his Viking-sized cock.

  The hand covering her pussy pressed against her pubic bone, trying to trap the sensations flooding her sex, making her swollen. A single glide of her thumb over her hardening clit might be enough to make her come.

  Dagr took a step toward her, his expression dark and electrifying. “This first time,” he growled, dropping his gaze to where his hand glided along his shaft, “will be fast.”

  “First?” she breathed. Fuucck.

  At the end of one long pull, his thumb slid over the satiny, plush tip, smearing a drop of ejaculate.

  She couldn’t help it—she licked her lips.

  “Remove your hand.”

  Honora wondered how’d she’d come to this. How she could even consider surrendering so quickly to the barbarian. It wasn’t as though she were sex-starved. She turned to Baraq for sex when her needs clamored for relief.

  Perhaps she was her father’s daughter after all. This weakness of the flesh could be an inherited flaw—one unleashed by the excitement of battle and the melting heat of his glance. Maybe it was just curiosity about the power he wielded in his large frame. She’d never before encountered a man as large and intimidating as this pirate.

  Or did her subconscious allow her to fold because deep down she truly feared him and hoped cooperation might earn her some lenience?

  Her arguments dried up. She knew she was only fooling herself. Her attraction was inexplicable but so powerful she couldn’t resist it.

  “Remove your hand,” he repeated, this time his voice grinding.

  She was beyond pretending resistance to his commands. She dropped the hand between her legs that she’d used to shield herself from his view. Then she lowered the arm crossing her breasts and stood as naked as he did, waiting while his gaze swept
her slowly, head to toe and back up.

  What did he see? Was she too petite, too lacking in curves? Did he prefer creamy white to her own darkly tinted flesh?

  Dagr closed in, reaching out with one hand. He touched her with only his fingers, sliding them between her folds to test her arousal. Silky, creamy heat coated his digits. She knew, because he used the moist tips to swirl gently over her clit.

  The choice of the first place and how to touch her surprised her. She’d thought the savage marauder in this pirate would dig his hands into her flesh and force her quickly onto his cock. Not that she would have complained. Her pussy made succulent, smacking sounds as he continued to fondle the tiny, turgid knot.

  “Wider,” he whispered, sliding closer, one hand bracketing her shoulder, one side of his chest pressing against a soft, round breast as he leaned into her curves.

  Blood sang through her veins. She parted her thighs tentatively, giving him just enough room to thrust his long middle finger inside her, while she looked away and tried to preserve a little of her tattered pride. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mons while he continued to swirl and tunnel inward.

  All the while he probed, he watched her face. She felt his gaze move over her, his breaths gust against her cheek.

  She tried valiantly not to let her excitement show, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was close to complete capitulation.

  But her nostrils flared as her ripening scent surrounded them. Her eyelids dipped with the added pressure he applied to her clitoris as he stroked toward her core. With his other hand, he tweaked her clit, causing her to jerk her head toward him.

  The corners of his mouth kicked up.

  She wanted to look away again, but then he’d think her a coward. “Thought you said fast ...” she muttered.

  “I would see to your pleasure first.”

  She raised her chin. “Why do you care whether I come or not?”

  “Because I would command you.”

  She glared, meeting his ice-hard gaze. “You think that if you make me come, I’ll melt every time you crook a finger?”