Anger fills me instantly at her declaration. It shouldn’t. If she was gone, I could find a girl half her age to marry and carry my heirs. I could have a dozen children, instead of perhaps one or two. But the idea of her leaving me, the thought of her wishing to voluntarily walk away from me—that makes me enraged.
“Nei,” I bark.
“Why, no? You don’t want me. It’s clear,” she snorts.
Dipping my chin, my lips are so close that they almost touch hers. “It has nothing to do with want, víf. Absolutely nothing to do with want.”
Slanting my head, I touch my mouth to hers. Our talk is finished. She is my wife, she will carry my heirs, she will not leave me. Never. Gripping the fabric of her dress, I slide it up her legs, gathering it at her thighs before I rip my mouth from her and bring it completely over her head.
Liv stands in front of me wearing nothing but her undergarment gown. I can see every part of her body. The rosy nipples and skin that surrounds them. The darkened area between her thighs, once smooth and soft, now smatters of hair growing there as a woman should.
“Stop,” she murmurs.
Lifting my gaze to hers, I notice that her cheeks are tinted pink with embarrassment. “Why? You are fagr.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but please, don’t,” she whispers.
Shaking my head, I reach forward and tug the string at her chest, watching the fabric fall to her feet. “Your beauty is so rare, Liv. It is like nothing I have seen before,” I admit.
“You don’t have razors here, my legs and everything else is hairy. You don’t have makeup like we do at home and don’t even get me started on your lack of mirrors and sexy underthings. I’m a mess, Aaric and like you said, old.”
“You will not ever stop bringing that up, will you?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, her eyes widening and I know that she won’t. My lips curve up into a grin, shaking my head, I wrap my hands around her waist and without even a pause, I pick her up and toss her onto the furs.
Liv bounces once, then twice and lets out a cry when she does. I can’t help but shake my head and chuckle. “Aaric,” she sighs.
I hum as I begin to undress myself. I watch as her eyes darken just a single shade. When I’m completely bare, I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke myself to the sight of her. I hear her labored breath from the bed, the sound of her panting filling the space around us.
She licks her lips as she shifts to her knees. Liv lifts her hand, touching her palm to the center of my chest. “How old are you?” she breathes as her fingers dance their way down my muscles.
I hum. “Thirty-five, sváss.”
“So, I’m younger than you, seriously?” she snaps.
Laughing, I shrug a shoulder. “It’s different for men, you know this, do you not?”
She rolls her eyes, then brings them back to meet my own. “Some things don’t matter what world you’re in,” she mutters. “Men always get hotter with age and they always want someone young and perky.”
“Liv,” I call. She lifts a brow and waits for me to speak. “I do not want someone younger. I want you.”
“You lie,” she hisses.
Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek. “I wanted to keep you for myself, to make you mine, the second that I saw you. I was surprised by your age, can we cease discussing it now and move on?”
“Are you going to be screwing all those little girls that were showing off their goods to you last night?” she quips. Her hand slowly moves down my stomach, her fingers wrapping around my length.
My hand falls from my böllur, she begins to move and suddenly I cannot remember her question.
“Aaric?” she asks.
Lifting my head, I look down at her. “I don’t know what that question means, Liv,” I rasp.
“This, will you be doing what we do in bed with anyone else?” she asks softly, as she lowers down on the furs, her hand still working me.
I try not to laugh, or toss her to the side like a ragdoll. I know what she is doing. She’s asking me to make promises to her while she manipulates me. Women do this, I know. However, my wife will not be one of them.
Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I halt her movements. She looks up at me, her lips almost touching my böllur.
“Nei, Liv.” I bark. She opens her mouth, no doubt to ask me something. Shaking my head once, I peer into her eyes. “Nei, Liv. You will not manipulate me with your hand, eyes, mouth, or skjede. That is not the way I operate as konungr or as a man.”
She has the decency to look ashamed of her actions. Nodding my head once, I jerk my chin down to my böllur. “Continue, víf.”
Surprising me, she opens her mouth and without protest she takes me inside of her sweet warmth. Gripping the back of her hair, I keep my gaze focused on her as I fundr her fagr mouth. I do not spill my release down her throat, even if I want to do just that.
I won’t.
There is only one place where I will spill myself, and that is deep inside of her womb. She will be with child as soon as humanly possible and if she isn’t, I will contact Runa to make it so. Her world is not the only one where a woman can become with child more than one way.
LIV
Lying on my side, I watch as Aaric walks over to the door. He lifts the wooden bar up, opens the door bare assed and bends down to grab a tray before locking us back inside again. I can smell the distinct scent of fresh bread and my stomach grumbles yet again.
Sitting up, I lean back against the wall and pull the sheeting across my chest, tucking it tightly with my arms. Aaric, completely unashamed with his body, laughs as he places the tray beside my hip before he sits down next to me.
He reaches for the bread, tearing a chunk off, then holds it up and against my lips. Opening my mouth, I allow him to plop the warm bread inside of my mouth. Letting out a moan, I chew the delicious food.
“Your name, is it Liv in its entirety?” he asks.
Nodding. “Liv Shelby Collins,” I inform him.
He hums, reaching for some dried fruit, once again touching it against my lips. Opening my mouth, I allow him to feed me, again. Honestly, I kind of enjoy it like this.
This moment between us seems so intimate.
“Do you know what your name means?” he asks. I shake my head, taking some more food from his offered hand. “Protection.”
“That’s kind of cool,” I mutter with a smile.
“I’m not sure what the rest of your name means. It’s quite a few names for only one person. Strange that in your world a single person needs more than just one name.”
Licking my lips, I part them again as he holds a bit of cheese that’s been dipped in what I assume is a type of fruit jam. It’s beyond delicious, more along the lines of decadent. I let out a small moan, unable to control myself, it’s that good.
“You don’t have a last name?” I ask. “A surname?”
Aaric frowns. “I’ve heard of these. Some of the people in other countries go by names like yours, three sometimes four of them. My people do not. We have a singular name. Then our children will carry on our name with an addition to the end.”
“For example?” I ask.
He grins. “Aaricson, for our son. Aaricdóttir, for our daughter.”