Dominated By The Viking

By Eloise Snow

Eva swears she'll never give in to a Viking.
What she doesn't count on, however, is just how good giving in feels....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salacious Stories
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023

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Dominated By The Viking

Eloise Snow

Copyright © 2016 by Eloise Snow

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Chapter 1

Distantly, the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer coming down upon its mark could just be heard, like thunder rumbling on the horizon. Just above that were the stirring sounds of life; even in the hush of morning, people were moving from their homes, into the mist-damp alleys between thatch-roofed residences, voices an unintelligible murmur, a low hum that sat, consistent and unbroken, just at the edge of hearing. Morning brought the rising sun, but no relief from the chill that gripped their world; the cold would not break so easily, and wouldn’t release them until spring began to wane, and summer approached.

Morning brought, too, an increase in foot traffic outside, and the booming shouts of shop owners proclaiming their wares, and with it, wakefulness for those that had managed to not be roused previously.

John.

A figure shifted where it lay, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, pale feet peeking from beneath one tattered edge.

John.

Starting suddenly, the blanketed shape flailed, a tangle of thin cloth and gangly limbs. John blinked, dark lashes rising and falling in a rapid flurry of motion, brows knitting some as his mind struggled to adjust to sudden consciousness. Sunlight streamed through the hastily cobbled shutters, cracks in the wood allowing both light and cold to creep in. Neither intruder was quite so unwelcome as the scowling face of Remi. John’s distant cousin, a product of his mother’s family, and one John fervently wished he’d never met. Younger by several years, Remi had the face of an angel, all fair skin and blond hair, and a decent build; peasant life was harsh, and only those who worked got to eat. John pushed his fingers through his own hair, dark and limp and in need of a wash, dust from his brief excursion into the fields yesterday still caked onto his cheeks.

Next to his cousin, it was easy to feel inferior, and easy to see why other people might see him as such. John stood, and swore he could feel his skin where it clung closely enough to his ribs that he could count them, were he to lift his ragged shirt high enough.

You were supposed to be in the fields -

Go away, Rem.

I am trying to stop you from ruining yet another opportunity for yourself.

You are succeeding in making my head hurt.

Another ugly scowl twisted that pretty face, and the younger boy huffed.

I will not keep defending you when the others call you worthless if you keep proving them right.

John’s hand waved vaguely, an annoyed, dismissive gesture, as if to shoo away one of the many insects that would swarm them come the summer. He hadn’t asked Remi to defend him. He didn’t need Remi to defend him. Or anyone else to defend him, for that matter. What was there to defend, after all? He was one more gaunt face among the countless others that populated the coastal line. Their village was one of many in the Duchy of Normandy; one of the men from the Church had once told him that he should be proud to live under the rule of their great King Charles, but what had that far-off King ever done for him?

Nothing, he assured himself bitterly as he exited the home he shared with too many prying family members. If it wasn’t Remi, it was one of the others badgering him to go work in the fields, to run errands, to rise while the sky was still dark and board one of the fishing ships, only to return well after the sun had disappeared again - none of these ideas appealed to him. None of them felt right. There was something out there, he knew it, something that wouldn’t leave him miserable, something far from the mundane trudge through life he’d experienced so far. There had to be; to believe otherwise was a misery he wasn’t ready to resign himself to just yet.

Any time he started to question whether or not he should just give up on it all, he found reason to hope for something better; this hope almost always came in the shapely form of a woman named Ellen.

Rough night?

Her voice came from his right, a teasing undercurrent to her tone, and he turned; even dusted in flour, Ellen was unmistakable. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, the color of wild honey. He had only seen honey once, in a delicate glass jar, and when the afternoon light had passed through it, he’d thought of the woman now standing in front of him. Her lips were full, soft and unbitten, a far cry from the rough, chapped surface of his own mouth, and they were a shade of pink so pale it hardly differentiated from the softness of her skin. That she could remain pale at all was a symbol of status, a sign that she, unlike so many others, did not have to tend the fields or work outside.

Isn’t every night rough?

Ellen’s lips pursed in a disapproval that couldn’t hide the amusement in her eyes; no matter how she tried to hide it, John could always make her laugh, and laugh she did when he continued, dryly, When my sheets of Chinese silk come in, you will be the first to know.

It was the wink that followed that did her in, along with the shameless grin; despite her best efforts, laughter toppled from Ellen’s mouth, startled and bright, briefly drawing the attention of those passing the two of them by on their way about their business. A small victory in the scheme of things, but absolutely one he considered worth the dark look that came after the laughter; Ellen’s arms crossed over her middle, hip cocking to one side.

You’re going to get me in trouble, hanging about here.

Isn’t that what strays do? I could grovel and beg, if you would prefer.

A flush rose high in Ellen’s cheeks. Another victory.

Don’t you dare.

One knee hit the dirt almost before the words had finished leaving Ellen’s lips.

John! Stop, get up, you’re making a fool of yourself -

Isn’t that what he’s best at?

A new voice cut through Ellen’s hushed, urgent protests, and it sent a spike of dread and loathing down his spine to settle in his gut. Unlike the girl in front of him, the man behind John was making no effort to quiet himself, and instead seemed to be attempting to garner even more attention for the scene unfolding in front of the bakery. John could see the color drain from Ellen’s already pale face, until her features nearly matched the dusting of flour on her apron as she took a quick step back, eyes dropping to the ground.

Mack, don’t…

I’m not doing anything. I don’t have to. John seems happy to humiliate himself without my help.

John shifted where he was still propped on one knee, tilting