Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Giovanna buckled the collar at the back of my neck, and then she stepped back.
“Nymphobus,” she said quietly.
The man she had called Oceanus moved to the coffee table. With a swallow I noticed something about the table I hadn’t seen before: it had fittings, clips attached to retractable straps that the huge man drew out a little way and then clamped in place.
He turned to me and rose. His hands were on me an instant later, not unkindly but with the same expertise with which he had positioned my elbows on the chair seat. I cried out as he hoisted me into the air with no apparent effort, and then I found myself on my back on the low leather-covered table with my legs raised and held apart by the cuffs at my ankles and thighs that the nymphobus had quickly connected to the table’s straps and clips.
He secured my waist to the table with more straps, clipped to my belt, and then my wrists to the belt.
I stared at the ceiling. My legs were spread and raised and I could feel the air everywhere that air had never been, in any context involving another person’s presence, in the entire twenty-four years of my life. The welts on my bottom, my virgin pussy, even my cringing anus, all so visible that hot waves of mortification seemed to travel from my toes to my scalp.
I blinked, and my lips parted without a sound as above me, upside down in my vision, Giovanna hiked up the narrow skirt of her linen suit and reached below the hem. Her movements were calm and unhurried. I heard myself let out a tiny, whining noise from the back of my throat as she drew her lacy black panties down. She stepped out of them and set them aside, and I had one moment of absolute incomprehension before she moved over the table and lowered herself onto my face.
She was waxed smooth, down there. That was the first thing I understood, in the sudden, total intimacy of her warm, wet pussy settling against my mouth and nose. I couldn’t breathe except through her, and the sound I made against her—muffled, involuntary—seemed to cause her no particular concern.
Giovanna’s pussy smelled and tasted so… so naughty that it made me feel faint. Dark and briny… it reminded me again of the Viking cavern, and my own scent mingling with the air from the sea. The wrinkly lips felt so warm on my tongue that I knew with a needy clench of my own sheath that she had gotten aroused when whipping me and restraining me.
Then her hand found its way between my legs. Even through the shock of my position and the pressure of her above me, the touch of her fingers against my pussy made my hips jerk against the restraints. She explored with the same impersonal expertise she had brought to the fitting of the leathers, and I heard her make a small sound of what I could only interpret as professional satisfaction.
“Lovely,” she said conversationally, as though commenting on the quality of an objet d’art. Her fingers moved with a lightness that was almost worse than pressure would have been. “Completely intact. And so very responsive.” A pause in which I felt her shift her weight slightly above me. “You’re very pretty here, columba. The master who fucks this little cunt first will find extreme pleasure inside you.”
Then she ground herself against my face, slowly and thoroughly, and the world contracted to the leather of the table beneath my back and the warmth above me and her fingers, still tracing their light, maddening path.
She lifted. Just enough. The air came back.
“Tell me,” she said, her voice entirely unchanged from its normal register, as though she were asking me about my research interests at an academic reception, “how you found the cavern.”
CHAPTER 8
Henrik
The Sicilian heat hit me as I exited the Sons of Odin’s Learjet onto the tarmac. I felt like I’d run headfirst into a wall of bricks fresh from the kiln. An air-conditioned black Mercedes waited for me only a few steps away, but by the time the driver had closed the passenger door behind me I could already feel the sweat cooling on my skin.
How did the Normans survive this? I wondered idly. My brain clicked through a series of answers as the car started to move: maybe the climate had been cooler in the eleventh century… maybe they had gotten used to it on the vastly more time-consuming journey from Normandy…
Maybe they went home after a hundred thirty years, not because the Germans conquered them, but because it was just too hot here.
Went home, leaving a sanctuary behind. Unused, but not forgotten: once a decade the Sons of Odin sent a pair of my brothers to maintain the ancient longship and, since the 1970s, the sensor array. The last visit had happened nine years ago. We had no illusions of reconquering Sicily for the North, but the Sons of Odin valued tradition and continuity.