I need to Shave

Thyra:

Flinching back against the rhythmic drums pounding away through the silky darkness, twirling around in the black liquid inhaling the crisp oceanic breeze. The rhythmic strikes of the drums growing louder, heavier like a pulse. Thunder cracked loudly through the rippling darkness, standing firmly inside a dimly lit drinking hall adorned with hand-carved benches, chandeliers made from antlers with dripping white candles, numerous fur pelts, and a long stone firepit in the center.

“Velkommen Skjold-jomfru Thyra av Black Claw klanen. (Welcome shield-maiden Thyra of the Black Claw clan.)” A timbered voice spoke coldly from the shadowy cover, scanning the large hall decorated in a traditional Nordic theme.

Focusing on the shifting shadow trailing their hand along the studded leather partition, behind what looked to be like my grandfather’s old hand-carved chair, the roaring bears head at top and extended clawed arms for the armrests.

“Hvem faen våger å kalle meg ved det navnet? (Who the fuck dare calls me by that name?)” Clenching my fists tightly, exhaling slowly examining the drinking hall as the chuckling humor bellowed from the shadowy figure, stepping out from behind the leathery disguise.

His piercing orbs of jade sliced through the heavy shadows, sparking a fiery whoosh to engulf the flickering candles and firepit into blow torches of screaming embers, staring into those haunting eyes emphasized by the dark reddish locks braided and twisted into a Viking hawk.

“I mean no disrespect. It’s not everyday the King of the Dead gets to meet a shield-maiden.” His stony features softened into a playful smirk, swinging his legs over the armrest, sliding down into the massive monstrosity my grandfather once sat upon. Realizing I was back home in the drinking hall of my mother’s old clan.

We would visit every winter; my father had forbidden my mother to continue her visits right around my tenth birthday. Not sure why, but mama cried every winter in the privacy of her room. I would hear her heart shattering sobs, and the snickering taunts of my father from his study when the seasons began to turn cold.

“My grandfather raised my mother and her brothers in the old ways, so it was only natural for me to be raised as a shield-maiden for the Black Claw clan. My father despised the old traditions but had no problem taking my mother as his mate. Why are we here anyways?” Sitting down on the stone ledge of the firepit, stoking the embers to life with a crackling fragrance of spruce and roasting cranberries.

Tasting the smokey sweetness across my heated tongue, moaning out a chesty hum, curling my fists into my thighs as the pulsating warmth trickled down my spine, pooling heavily between my clenched thighs.

“Thirty years ago, destined paths were manipulated by outside influences. That unknown influence started a very unique domino effect that has come full-circle with the awakening of a very special vessel.” His authentic Viking attire only added to his mystic as those piercing jades side-glanced over his shoulder, his plush lips lifting into a tilted smirk of entertainment.

Mentally snapping my fingers as to why he seemed so familiar.

“I love the ‘Ragnar Lothbrok’ look, Seth.” Cocking my head to the side in amusement as his bouncing foot stopped mid-air, snapping those fierce eyes at my recognition of his former self. Seth Whitetail, Gamma of Demon Wolf, the former mate to the Lycan Royals and my baby brother.

“Well! Thyra Moirana, you certainly deserve what is coming to you. I wish you the best in this next stage of your life, and Max is lucky to have a sister like you.” His smiling persona misted away into a swirling dance of green and white wisps, gasping loudly as the swirling jets of mist slammed into my body. Thrusted through the snowy skies into the silky embrace of darkness, sensing the significance of keeping his identity quiet.

“Jeg holder øye med deg. (I’ll be watching you.)” His chuckling voice swirled through the darkness as Norway spruce and cranberries filled my senses. Laughing brightly with his cheeky attitude, hearing the hollowed echo of water shutting off not that far from my groggy haze. Smiling from the cozy embrace of sleep as Rocko’s cheerful whistling grew louder with his bare feet thudding against the hardwood flooring.

“Thyra. Little lady, wake-up sle…” His cheerful voice cut short with a sharp inhale of air.

“THYRA!” Jerking upright with the surprised tone of my name, running my paws over my face, but something felt weird.

Pressing my paws to my face not feeling my twitching whiskers, or the protruding teeth that stuck out from under my cute pink nose. Snapping my groggy eyes open, staring at trembling hands inches from my face, brushing away the sandy brown locks that hung like heavy drapes around my face. Running my trembling hands along my bare ivory skin, inhaling sharply as my eyes slid up to the stunned man standing with bright green eyes and a sexy tilted smile.

Scrambling from the bed, tripping over the tangled sheet, fumbling with my footsteps toward the bathroom as Rocko stood frozen in the hallway. The full-length mirror revealing knee-length sandy brown locks that needed combed, smokey gray eyes emphasized by long lashes, dusty pink lips, an hourglass figure that displayed years of non-physical activities but not sickly, and hair.

Hissing at the grotesque growth along my legs and private region.

“Thyra.” Rocko’s voice rasped out in a deep huskiness, turning toward his tensed stance with a raging hard-on tenting the towel wrapped around his hips.

Hiding my grin behind my hands, squeaking out in shock as his muscular physique lunged down the hall in three sturdy strides, scooping up my trembling body with those python’s for arms. Basking in the heated flesh that brushed and caressed my naked body, giggling in delight as his nose pressed into the tender cove of my neck and collarbone trailing his hot breath along my sensitive neck, pressing his strong jaw gently against my earlobe.

“Kamerat (Mate).” The whispered growl in our native tongue sent my trembling body over the edge, cupping his chiseled jawline, staring into those swirling glacier greens slipping my fingers through those silky sandy-blonde locks.

The man was breathtaking before, but now, he was a walking, breathing, hot-blooded God of raw masculinity and muscle. Shivering against the chesty growl that vibrated through my body, frowning against the hair tugging against his towel covered erection. His flexing muscles halting my attempt to break free from his hold, guided back slowly with each stride as our gazes stayed locked on one another.

“Rocko.” Whispering his name as the cool glass tile pressed along my backside, forgetting how to breath or blink as his hand reached out, turning on the shower with a chesty snarl.

“You’re more beautiful than the day I laid my eyes upon you. I dreamt for thirty years, for just one more chance to see you, to hold you, to claim you as mine. And here you are in the flesh.” Sucking in a sharp breath as his goliath hand slid up my neck, cupping the back of my head smashing those plump lips down over my trembling lips.

Lost in the universe of ecstasy, floating, sailing along in the gentle turbulence of euphoric chaos. Curling my fingers into his taut pectoral muscles, savoring the twitching heat that snapped along my fingertips as his smoldering lips caressed and guided my mouth into a flurry of mewling moans. Breaking away for much needed air, whimpering in delight as his sweltering lips roamed along my trembling jaw, down my throat with gentle nips of his teeth.

Thankful for the tepid water cascading over my blazing flesh, reaching down, slipping a finger under the edge of his soaked towel, pulling just enough to disengage the tucked material letting gravity do her job with a watery flop of heavy material.

“That’s not the only thing soaking wet.” His gravelly voice vibrated along my tensed neck muscles, melting into his sculpted chest with a snarling moan tracing the tanned flesh stretched over the glorious mountains of defined muscle. Gasping as his strong fingers cupped the soft flesh under my ass cheeks, hoisting my shivering body up into his snarling chest guiding my legs around his taut hip muscles.

“I need to shave.”

“Later. I like it natural.” His thumping erection pressed tightly between my pelvic muscle and his lower abdomen. Choking out a mewling moan as his hips pressed the bulging shaft along my weeping folds, stroking up and down in a tantalizing rhythm that had me seeing shooting stars behind fluttering lids.

“Thirty years Thyra, and I’m...not...letting go.” Inhaling sharply, opening my eyes as his hips pulled back dragging his throbbing shaft down my swollen clit, circling his engorged head enough to coat it with the slickness that seeped freely from my trembling body.