The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

48. Avina

48

AVINA

December 21st, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

T hroughout the streets, revelers persist in various stages of merriment. Some stumble about clutching ale horns while others dance and sing to the many musicians scattered throughout the city.

No one glances at Prince Sigvid or Queen Avina as they wind toward the longhouse. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end the closer their path takes them to Thrain’s home. Despite the Solstice celebration on full display, she hates knowing that Thrain can interrupt them anytime.

Once they arrive at the closed longhouse, she is pleasantly surprised to find silence when he unlocks one of the side doors.

“Hold on.” He lights a few sconces, illuminating the darkened space that is at least warmer than the streets.

“What are we doing in here?” Her voice echoes off the rafters.

He leads her to the throne at the end of the cold hearth.

“This is my father’s throne. Six kings have sat in this seat, and if you look to the back, what do you see? ”

She crouches, tracing the carved words. “Sigvid’s Throne?” Jerking upright, she turns to him for understanding.

“Thrain did that when we were children. He used it to cause further discord between Father and me.” Sigvid sighs, running his hand along the carved words.

She sadly believes Thrain would instigate a situation for the sole reason of causing discord.

Sigvid deserves to be King.

He must sense her unease as he tugs her by the wrist until she is in his arms. “I bring you here to reassure you that Thrain has always sought to stir hostility. I also have it on good authority that my brother is visiting a brothel at the other end of the city. He will not disturb us.”

“As we speak, a dozen Drengr have followed us since we entered the city walls. Another twelve stand between us and him at all times. My love,” he kisses her forehead, “he will not take you from me. I promise.”

Her tense back muscles finally seem to unclench under her warrior’s words. “I am calmer.”

“Go lock the doors.” He commands.

Sigvid settles onto the throne, his legs spread apart and his cheek resting on his fist, almost bored. His piercing eyes intensely track her while she checks the lock.

She spins on her heels and is about to return to his side when his command halts her progress. “Crawl to me.”

Her heartbeat kicks up. Her throat goes dry as the command swirls through her mind, tugging at the arousal between her legs. The burning desire to fulfill his request grips her body as if she is a puppet for his fancy.

“Drop to your knees and crawl to me, you filthy cock worshiping whore.”

Her knees connect with the floorboards, and then her palms. There is no hesitation, no question. She keeps steadfastly focused on her warrior upon his throne—the only man who deserves to be King.

Knee. Palm. Knee. Palm.

She moves unbearably slowly, no matter how desperately she wants to reach him. Her gaze lifts to see his lips tip upward in a smirk.

“Good girl.” Sigvid’s hungry gaze follows her every movement with a possessive desire that has her dripping for him. She can see his bulge in the confines of his pants, and she quivers with desire.

Once she stops between his legs, she hears a jingle as he removes a leather strip from his pocket.

“Sigvid.” She breathes as he wraps the leather around her column, buckling the clasp at the back of her neck. “Is this…is this the collar you sent me?”

Did he steal this among my belongings in Timber?

“Yes. Stand.” He orders.

She acquiesces as if his words sink into her bones, compelling her to obey. She rises to shaky legs, the rough ground of the longhouse having scratched her kneecaps. Sigvid’s hard eyes trace her curves while his fingers pet her upper thighs.

The rough sensation of his finger slipping under her lace undergarments has her breath hitching. She hears the fabric tear as his finger rips them off. He inhales her still-lingering scent before stuffing them in his pocket.

She catches a glint of steel before he cuts her dress to shreds. The beautiful fabric falls away, and the strips of material settle around her feet. Her bare breasts fall heavily upon her chest in the low light.

Why commission me so many gowns if he plans to destroy them all? She giggles to herself until his thumb and forefinger roll her sensitive nipples in a feeling that is painful yet pleasurable.

Avina hardly realizes he removed his belt until the soft leather encircles her wrists at her abdomen. “I could bind you into a helpless state every moment for the rest of my life and never tire of your beauty at my mercy.”

His words burn hot under her skin, warming her blood to boil. She whimpers in anticipation of his sadistic mind and sending her into that blissful high.

“Kneel again and suck my cock.”

She falls to her knees once more, struggling against her bindings while he undoes the strings of his trousers at an agonizing pace. At last, his thick cock fully extends just out of reach of her mouth.

“Does my slut want my cock?”

“Yes, please.” Avina whines.

“Beg for it. Who is your Master?”

“Please, please, I wish to pleasure you, Master.” Her words sound pathetic, searing her cheeks with sensual indignation. When he presses his shaft within reach of her mouth, she licks her lips and takes his tip onto her tongue. Sigvid grumbles low in approval as she licks up and down his shaft along his pronounced vein.

“There is nothing quite like your mouth,” Sigvid’s hand knots in her curls and forces her further down his shaft.

She savors his member as if pleasuring him is the single most vital task in her existence. Her tongue salivates, licking from his balls to his head. A primal grunt erupts from her chest as she takes half his length into her mouth with a gag.

Somehow, he hardens further down her throat. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks against his shaft, desperately trying to relax to take more of his length.

He clutches the back of her head and guides her further onto his cock. Her eyes burn with tears. When she chokes a second time, he brushes her hair from her face. “Breathe. Relax.”

She blinks up at him while focusing on her inhales. Sigvid’s snarl is feral as his grip on her hair tightens.

He fists her curls, angling her head away from his cock to shove a scrap of fabric from the gown into her mouth. “You are not finished. Suck my cock again, slut.” He pushes her head down to his rigid member and rubs her lips along his shaft.

With the gag filling her mouth and pressing her tongue down, she can only wiggle her lips along his thick length. She whimpers at her helplessness.

“Such a good little cock slut,” he lifts his member and twists her head until her lips ghost across his balls. “Pleasure these, whore.”

She shakes her head, allowing her lips to caress the sensitive skin. The lack of being able to touch him fully drives her toward insanity. Her arms shake against the belt, and she mumbles through the fabric stuffed in her mouth.

“Stand, I need your tight pussy gripping my cock.”

She struggles to her feet. Already, her mind is cloudy by Sigvid’s dominance. The collar presses against her skin, an ever-constant reminder of who owns her body.

“Sit on my lap. Let me check to see if you are ready for me.” He pats his thigh.

Avina collapses onto his knee. Lazily, he roams his hand between her legs, feeling her arousal with his fingers. He grunts when he slides between her lips.

Her needy moan echoes through the longhouse. He traces streaks of her wetness onto her leg until she is a sticky mess of apprehension. Her head lolls onto his stiff shoulder.

When his light touches hold her prisoner at the precipice of a release, the leather belt slips from her wrists. Sigvid shifts her so she sits naked, save the boots, on his familial throne while he stares down at her trembling form.

“You are going to kneel on my ancestors’ throne.” His thumb strokes her bottom lip. “Who owns you, Avina?”

“Sigvid.” She mumbles through the cloth.

“Rise.”

She complies, only for him to roughly seize her wrists and bind them with his belt behind her back.

“Kneel on the throne.”

It is a struggle, but she manages to face the back of the throne with her cheek pressed against the carved designs of the worn wood. Sigvid’s footsteps fade away into the longhouse. At first, she fears he has abandoned her until his returning steps echo closer.

“Did you fear I left you?” He barks.

She nods. There is no use hiding her feelings from Sigvid anymore.

He curses, and the next thing she feels is his fingers spearing her core. “Did my confession of love mean anything to you?” He growls in her ear. “You will die at my side. Does that frighten you?”

She doesn’t hesitate and nods emphatically.

Of course, that terrifies her.

Sigvid’s love, obsession, and possession are nothing she has ever felt. He is the darkest part of her soul, the bottomless chasm that makes her embrace the blinding light of day. His fierce support forces her into the strong woman she refuses to accept.

He is a danger, threatening her with an unknown, far more deadly than any of the men she has faced before–a confidence in herself.

Even with her back to him, she can hear him smirk. “I am your axe in the dark—the man who protects you from all the terrors. You need only fear me and what I will do to you in the darkness of our bedchamber. Every other horror you can conjure in that lovely mind is nothing to you anymore. Your life is mine, and there is no other woman for me to defend but you.”

She squirms, bucking on his fingers.

“Avina, I have not touched another woman since our kiss at the Sapphire Palace.” His lips whisper against the shell of her ear.

His revelation has her moaning through the gag. Firm lips press against hers, held hostage by the fabric in her mouth.

“I could get off on your noises alone. Be a good girl and scream for me.”

Sigvid tugs her curls while he mounts her, pressing his hardened muscles against the soft skin of her back. He continues to pull her head back by her hair as he pounds her from behind, thrusting his hips faster and rougher.

Her eyes lull back into her head from his assault on her center. When his head strokes the pleasure spot deep inside her fleshy walls, she screams, the fabric muffling her cries.

“Scream for me. You filthy slut!”

Her body shudders when his hand connects with the fat of her backside. Six more strikes in quick succession blend with the pleasure of his cock and the pang from his grip on her hair to lull her into a dissociative state. He smooths out the pain with his hand, only to repeat the spanks. Sigvid’s pattern continues until drool trickles out of the corner of her mouth, and she pants with need.

“Does my whore like this?” He taunts.

She nods as another primal grunt escapes her lips, echoing to the rafters of the longhouse.

“Fuck, Avina.”

Each of his thrusts bounces the tops of her heavy breasts into his large, calloused hands. One of his hands slides down her front to her swollen clit. He circles her bundle of nerves counter-clockwise, evoking breathy whimpers.

“You obey so beautifully.” His tongue licks her lips.

Sigvid lets out a low groan and cradles her in his arms. He carries her to a discarded table and lays her on her back, pinning her bound arms to the rough slab. He grabs two strips of her dress and ties her legs to opposite ends of the table, keeping them apart.

“Do you want to be able to move?”

She mumbles her desperation to feel him.

“Not yet, little one. You will touch me if I allow it.” Sigvid’s beard tickling between her legs is the only warning she has before his tongue brushes her clit.

Her frantic moan is delirious with built-up desire. Her hips gyrate, desperate for Sigvid’s tongue to release her torture. She thrusts against his mouth, grunting for more of his touch. She needs his cock to fill her as much as she requires his tongue to continue lapping the arousal from her center.

She feels a single finger gently slide inside her, and then another joins, pressing against her walls.

“How does this feel, my little Queen?”

She elicits a needy moan as his hands play her body like an instrument that is soon to burst if he strums much longer.

“Good fucking girl. I need your moans.” He increases his speed until her primal pleasure sounds echo in the longhouse. Just before she releases, he pauses.

Avina sobs through the gag, confident he can understand none of her mumbled pleas. Her thighs crush together from the denial. “Please! Please!”

“You want to cum? Beg me!”

She implores, leaving only whimpers and groans to come through the gag. She can feel the head of his member brush against her opening, igniting her beseechings.

“I cannot understand you.”

“My King!” She manages out through her hazy submission.

In a firm thrust, his shaft spears her core just as his fingers abuse her swollen bundle of nerves. She cannot hold out any longer, and she comes undone.

She screams through the gag, convulsing in the bindings as he plows away. Only when calm ebbs over her pleasure does she feel him pulse inside of her, pumping his seed into her belly.

“I have always wanted to fuck you on a throne.” Sigvid undoes the belt and removes her gag.

“I am certain your fantasy involved my Timber throne.” She answers in a breathy whisper.

Sigvid wraps her in his arms, kissing her cheek. “I would have bound and abused you. Only it would have been before the entire Timber Court, my little Queen. You should know everything I have done to your body since the Arena has long festered in my mind. You are my dream manifested. Had the gods made you in their image, I could not have crafted a better woman or partner.”

Avina wraps her arms around his chest. “I am yours, Sigvid Thordsson. I am yours.”