Excerpt from “Poetry and Amber” by Axa Lee, part of the anthology Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors: Erotic Romance for Women by Delilah Devlin
I woke naked under furs, the smell of wood smoke and water from the river in my nose, one leg slung over the waist of a Northman. our hair mixed on the pillow, his bleached bone, mine like fire, our skins equally pale. He slumbered on, the great, long, scarred body all smooth, warm muscle against me. I loved the long length of his back. Since the first moment I laid eyes on him, I could become entranced watching him bend and flex or sluice himself with salt water for a bath. It’s the feature that won me to him. A long back, strong arms, and shocking eyes—raptor sharp and the color of a changing sky. That was ten years ago.
Shouts outside rose in alarm then subsided.
Tartars were still frightened of us in this part of the world. While they might attack and slaughter caravans, they remained cautious about attacking Rus ships.
I couldn’t help myself and curled in closer along the line of his back, so that my body traveled the length of his. His heat suffused me and I wanted him again, that cock filling me, wanted to put more nail marks along the lovely pale plane.
Outside our tent, the camp stirred. Thralls and younger women with small children stirred the fires and carried water from the river. We were a loose camp of maybe a dozen ships, returning west from our new settlement, summoned back by the king of kings. We’d been ten years in the east, carving out an outpost for trade in amber and furs, creating peace so trade might flourish, extending even as far south as Constantinople.
“How do you create peace?” I’d asked him.
Buliwyf had laid his hand on his sword in answer.
The warrior beside me stirred. Still half-asleep, he rolled to his back and hauled me against him. He said he liked how I felt against him, the size of me. One of his wives had been so small he’d worried about hurting her. But he and I were of a size, my eyes level with his nose, and we were, I imagined, a striking couple.
“What do you see?” Buliwyf asked, voice thick from sleep.
“Your cock in my mouth,” I might have said, as I often did. Or, “You fucking me, with my cunt so wet it’s as though I’m crying.” Instead, what I said was, “Trouble.”
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