"Taking my cock so well, aren't you, little bird?" My voice drops to a predatory growl, satisfaction surging through me as she tightens around my length.
"Yes—please—don't stop," she pants, her composure shattered. "Harder, Erik... I need it harder," she demands, that last word breaking into a desperate whimper.
I snap.
One hand fists in her platinum strands while the other grips her hip. I spin us around to the opposite side of the shower, pressing her against the cool marble. Her palms slam against the wall, seeking purchase as I claim her with punishing thrusts. Water cascades over us, steam rising as I mark her as mine—here in my sanctuary, surrounded by my scent, taking her exactly how she begs for it.
Something primitive awakens between us, shattering restraint. My beast snarls in satisfaction as she takes everything I give her, claiming her deeper, harder. Each stroke marks her as mine, drawing those sweet, desperate sounds from her throat.
My control fractures as hunger claws through me. Fangs pierce her throat's delicate skin, drawing a carnal moan that vibrates against my lips. Her blood floods my mouth—honeyed fire and forbidden pleasure—as I pound into her from behind. Each brutal thrust drives her against the marble, our bodies meeting in savage, echoing slaps. Her inner walls suddenly grip me with devastating force, pulsing around my length as she comes undone, her cry of release echoing through the steam.
Her release triggers mine, pleasure ripping through me like lightning. I bury myself deep, roaring against her throat as I fill her, marking her from the inside out. Each pulse of my cock draws another tremor from her body, our pleasure feeding off each other in an endless loop of ecstasy.
Her legs melt—no longer able to support her, so I hold her up, my body a pillar of strength. My cock remains embedded within her, pulsing with residual desire. One arm wraps around her slender waist to keep her steady while my other hand cups her chin, turning her face to claim her lips in a searing kiss.
Even as our tongues tangle, I continue to pour myself into her, marking her with my essence. Each kiss and breath carries the taste of completion, of absolute satisfaction.
I guide her from the shower, wrapping her in a plush towel before retrieving one of my black shirts from the dresser. The fabric engulfs her, hanging to mid-thigh and slipping off one shoulder. Something stirs in my chest at the sight of her draped in my clothing, my scent.
Her damp hair leaves dark patches on the fabric as she wanders my room, fingers trailing over unfamiliar objects.
"What's this?" She approaches the sleek rectangle mounted on my wall, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Television." I lift the remote, pressing the power button. The screen flares to life with vibrant colors.
Bryn leaps back, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn't there. "By the AllFather!" Her battle stance while wearing nothing but my oversized shirt sends heat pooling low in my abdomen.
"It's harmless," I assure her, fighting a smile. "Moving pictures. Stories contained in a box."
She approaches cautiously, reaching out to touch the screen. "How do the people get in there? Are they trapped?"
"They're not real people." I open my laptop next, the blue glow illuminating her fascinated expression. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitant yet eager.
"This is... magic?" she whispers, watching the cursor move as I demonstrate.
"Technology. Mortal ingenuity."
Her eyes widen further as I open a browser window. "All the knowledge of your realm... contained in this small box?"
"Much of it," I nod, enjoying her wonder. "This little box holds more knowledge than all of Odin's libraries," I explain, typing a search that brings up images of Valkyries from mortal mythology.
"They got our wings all wrong," she scoffs, but her fingers hover reverently over the screen. "This magic... it's extraordinary."
But nothing compares to what I show her next. She circles the toilet with the reverence of a scholar examining ancient artifacts.
"You mean to tell me," she says slowly, "that mortals no longer use chamber pots or outhouses? They just..." She presses the handle, gasping delightedly as water swirls and disappears. "By the gods! Your realm has mastered indoor waterfalls?" She pulls the handle again, watching the water swirl with childlike fascination. "This is... this is magnificent!"
She flushes it three more times, each with increasing enthusiasm. "Erik! Look at it go!"
The sound that escapes me startles us both—a deep, genuine laugh that feels foreign. I can't remember the last time I laughed like this.
Bryn turns, eyebrow arched, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well, well... the stoic warrior does have a voice beyond growls and commands." She saunters toward me, my shirt slipping off one shoulder. "I like that sound." Her fingers trail up my chest. "Perhaps I should make it my mission to hear it more often, silfrhár."
Her fingers trace my jawline, eyes sparkling with mischief. "After all, I've already conquered your bed. Your laughter seems like the next logical territory."
A groan rumbles through my chest as she presses against me. Her scent has transformed—no longer just her own, but a heady mixture of us both. My body responds instantly, hardening against her despite our recent release.
"A warrior with a worthy quest," I murmur, tracing the exposed curve of her shoulder. "I think I could surrender to this invasion, little bird." My fingers tangle in her damp hair, tilting her face to mine. "Though I should warn you—making me laugh might be harder than making me come."
