Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Sven raised the goblet to his lips and took a long sip, his throat working as he swallowed the golden mead. He sat back down into his chair, looking around the table with clear approval of what he saw. Then, to my surprise, he lowered the cup to my mouth.
“Drink, lille en,” he murmured.
I parted my lips, allowing him to tip the goblet slightly. The sweet, honeyed liquid flowed over my tongue, its taste unlike anything I’d experienced before. It was rich and complex, with hints of fruit and spices I couldn’t identify. The alcohol burned pleasantly as I swallowed, warmth spreading through my chest.
Sven set the goblet down and turned his attention to the trencher before him. He tore off a chunk of the dense, dark bread and dipped it into the savory stew. The aroma made my mouth water as he brought the morsel to his lips and took a bite. Then, to my astonishment, he held out the remaining piece to me.
“Open,” he commanded softly.
I obeyed without hesitation, allowing him to place the bread on my tongue. The flavors were very welcome in my mouth after such a long fast: the earthy richness of the bread, the complex spices of the stew, all mingling together in a symphony of taste. As I chewed, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me.
This act of being fed by my master’s hand was profoundly intimate. It emphasized my dependence on him, my subservience, in a way that even the sexual acts we’d shared hadn’t quite managed. And yet, instead of feeling demeaned or angry, I felt… cherished. Protected. Cared for.
I glanced around the table, wondering if the other girls were experiencing similar emotions. My eyes landed on Camille, kneeling beside Erik. Her face was flushed, her breathing slightly uneven as Erik held a piece of fruit to her lips. Despite the troubled furrow of her brow, I could see the way her body leaned toward him, the unconscious tilt of her head as she accepted the morsel from his fingers.
Even Camille, fierce and defiant Camille, seemed affected by this ritual. I watched as she swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if savoring not just the taste, but the entire experience.
Amélie, Sophie, Yvette, and Fleur all seemed to be in various states of blissful surrender. Sophie’s eyes shone with adoration as she gazed up at Aksel, while Amélie’s cheeks were pink with what looked like pleasure and embarrassment in equal measure.
I turned back to Sven, finding his intense blue eyes fixed on me. He smiled, a small, private expression that made my heart race.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice pitched low.
As the meal progressed, I found myself falling into a rhythm with Sven. When his goblet ran low, I would rise gracefully to my feet, go to the keg, and carefully refill his cup under Mor Inge’s watchful eye. Each time I did so, he would reward me with a gentle caress or a morsel of food from his own hand.
The fare was simpler than what I was accustomed to, but hearty and satisfying. The stew’s meat, slightly chewy, had a flavor I’d never known—venison, I thought, perhaps—and the root vegetables nearly melted on my tongue. The bread was as dense as it looked, and chewy, with a slightly sour taste that complemented the savory stew perfectly.
Sven alternated between feeding me bites from his own trencher and allowing me small sips of mead from his goblet. The sweet, honeyed alcohol warmed me from the inside out, making my head spin pleasantly. I found myself leaning ever further into his touch, craving his approval with an intensity that both thrilled and frightened me.
The meal seemed to stretch on for hours, yet I found myself wishing it would never end. I found something profoundly satisfying about serving my master in this way, about being fed and cared for like a cherished pet. The voice of resistance had not faded entirely, but the good food and drink, and the care the Sons of Odin showed for their bed thralls, lulled it to a drowse, if not asleep.
Finally, as the last of the food disappeared from the trenchers and the mead ran low in the goblets, Sven pushed back his chair and stood. The other Vikings followed suit, their powerful bodies looming over us kneeling girls.
“Brothers,” Sven’s voice rang out, “I believe it’s time for our thralls to have their dessert.”
A ripple of anticipation ran through me at his words. Sven’s large hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, and I felt an answering heat pool low in my belly.
CHAPTER 15
Mary
As Sven turned his chair to face me, I felt my heart begin to race. His powerful hands moved to the laces of his trousers, and I watched with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as he slowly undid them. The rough fabric parted, revealing his massive cock, already half-hard and growing rapidly.