Read Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 3) for Free Online Page A

hair and her unobscured face. It was the slightest of pauses, but it was enough. She grabbed her helmet by the offended horn and smashed it against the side of his head. He fell back, dazed, and she straddled him, planting her knees on his thighs this time, again. She brought her sword up against his throat. Panting, she felt a grin spreading across her face. She also felt a distinct tingle in her loins. What a fight! She liked this hero. What a shame to have to kill him.
                  Her sword bit into the mail at his neck. Any moves, and he risked cutting his throat. He was panting too, staring up into her eyes. A wry smile flickered across his face.
                  "What a beautiful, deadly creature you are! Now do you mean to kill me?"
                  "I told you that it wasn't my preference, but you seem to have forced me to it."
                  "Perhaps we could renegotiate?"
                  His gray eyes glittered — with humor, or with something else? And then, in a move that risked all, an insane, death-defying gambit, he suddenly snaked his hands up beneath the blade and with a burst of strength pushed up against the flat of it, bucking Sigrun off him again and thrusting the sword away. This time it clattered from her grasp. They rolled over and over each other, both scrambling for the weapon. They came to rest, Beowulf atop Sigrun, both with their arms outstretched for the sword, which lay mere inches from their hands. They froze, their faces inches apart.
                  Her chest heaving against his, her pulse racing — from exertion or excitement? — she felt herself suddenly locked in the gaze of this powerful man. His eyes were bright, sharp, and, she realized with an odd shock, particularly given the circumstances, they were kind. Staring into Beowulf's eyes, Sigrun forgot about the sword. She reached up, pushed back his hood of mail, and plunged her fingers into his thick, dark hair, pulling his face to hers in a long, deep kiss.
     
                  With Unferth, Sigrun had always accepted his attentions, allowed him to do his best and offered little in return. She had never dominated him, ridden him like the feisty new Wealhtheow who had asserted her rightful rule as his queen. Nor had she ever labored to give him pleasure. With Grendel, too, she had given herself up to him. And her body had responded in powerful ways. With Grendel, she had felt her own power building and coursing through her body, exploding from her in orgasmic release, but as much as she recognized that power, she never felt that it was entirely hers to control. When she had taken up the giant-blade to defend herself, she had begun to feel control. Raiding Heorot to avenge Grendel had given her a strange sense of exhilaration. Now, kissing Beowulf, she felt a surge of excitement. She did this. She chose this. She wanted this.
                  They sat up, still kissing. She ran her fingers over his chain mail, feeling for openings and tugging at the fastenings of his arm guards. He stood up, pulling her to her feet, and stepped back. He shed his arm guards and pulled off the coat of mail. She unfastened the buckles of her breastplate and let it fall to the floor. Piece by piece, they both removed their various cuffs and straps. She peeled off her tunic, boots, and leggings, leaving only the thin fabric of her undergarments clinging to her curves. He smiled and pulled off his shirt, revealing a chiseled, hairy chest. She smiled back.
                  He pulled her into his arms, and she began kissing him again, kissing his face and neck, kissing his broad chest. She ran her hands down his sides to his waist and began unfastening his pants. Her fingers found their way inside to release his swollen prick. She felt a gush of her own juices as she took his big, beautiful cock in her hand. It was very big, the unnaturally large member