Valhalla Virus by Nick Harrow (best management books of all time TXT) 📕

She grabbed him again, her hand slipping up and down with urgent, feverish strokes. Mimi moaned against Gunnar’s neck, her hands reaching around to tug on the pointed tips of his nipples, pinching and twisting as she bit him, sucking his skin past her teeth. Bridget turned his face to her and kissed him, sucking his tongue deep into her mouth, her pulse matching his.

The bodyguard reached behind him to tease the sopping slit between Mimi’s legs until her thighs trembled and his control nearly slipped.

“Now,” he moaned and pulled Ray to him with his other hand. Years of familiarity guided him, and his cock found her slippery hole with ease.

Ray moaned, and the other völva raised their voices with her. She pressed her hands against Gunnar’s chest. “Slow, slow,” she said. “Slow.”

Gunnar raised his hips to meet her, hanging onto his senses by the barest of threads. The velvet vise of Ray’s tight, wet tunnel squeezed around him. His fingertips dug into her thick thighs as he held on, stretching her around him until she had all of him.

“God,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and low. “My jarl, Gunnar, please.”

Her hips rocked against him and he let her set the tempo. She leaned back and he raised his knees to support her. Her hands glided over his chest, then rose to her own. Her dot shifted to gold and she tweaked her nipples, pulling them hard, harder, until Mimi’s voice rang out. Cold fingers traced the line of Gunnar’s sternum and left frost trails that melted in the heat of his passion. Gunnar watched those same thin, white lines follow the inner curves of Ray’s thighs, to open her lips and reveal the swollen pearl between them.

Gunnar couldn’t hold back any longer. He stroked her exposed button in circles, drawing cries from her throat, urging her to go faster, harder until their bodies crashed together with the ancient power of shifting seas and turning seasons. For a moment, the four of them were the only things in the world, a tangle of flesh and spirit devoted to the hunt for the ultimate pleasure. They soared like ravens above the chaos and madness of the world, burying their thoughts in the dark, wet places of each other’s bodies until all that remained was the sweet friction of flesh on flesh.

The völva moaned in unison and Gunnar clung to Ray’s hips as she bucked and writhed atop him. She met his thrusts with eager motions of her own, a wordless grunt exploding out of her as they slammed together. Her sex convulsed around him and she leaned forward, her forehead pressed against his. Her heavy breasts brushed against him, their pointed tips seeming to burn his skin with every touch.

Gunnar grabbed the back of Ray’s head and kissed her, his tongue deep inside her as his control broke. Their breath mingled in harsh gasps. Ray’s hands hung limp over his shoulders, her body quaking with seismic waves of pleasure. Gunnar exploded inside her again and again, each spasm more intense than the one that came before it. The presence of the other völva surrounded the pair as their motions slowed and their breaths became ragged, exhausted pants. They hung onto one another for long minutes after the others retreated. Ray finally raised her head and brushed Gunnar’s hair out of his eyes.

“You need a barber, big boy,” she said. “And a shave. You look like a barbarian.”

“You’re one to talk.” Gunnar’s fingertip followed a bead of sweat as it plunged from the hollow of Ray’s throat to the deep shadow of her cleavage. “You look like an extra from one of those old Ray Harryhausen movies. One Million BC or something.”

Her deep, smoky laugh filled Gunnar with joy. It had been too long since he’d heard her so relaxed. Her guard was down, and the pure light of her soul shone through. This was the Ray he loved. Losing her had almost killed him.

“Hey.” She smiled and snuggled up against him. “Promise me something?”

“I just promised you something,” Gunnar said with mock annoyance. “What now?”

“Make it hurt when you kill Arthur,” she whispered, her voice dark and eerie as a winter wind through dead tree branches. “For me.”

Chapter 22

BOGIE COULDN’T BELIEVE this shit. He’d found Hilda’s lair after the bitch told him to get fucked. He’d expected Arthur to tear the rebel a new asshole, at the least. But when the growing jötunn army under Arthur’s control had shown up at their new digs, Hilda was practically sitting on the boss man’s lap. The two of them had spent the whole night in deep conversation. When Bogie had woken at the ass-crack of dawn to oversee the clean-up operation, he tried to approach Arthur.

“Not now,” the boss said irritably. “I have to prepare for the ritual tonight. The Behemoth fucked up, so it’s down to me to fix this mess. Get the bodies out of here. I want this place presentable when Hyrrokkin arrives.”

“Sure,” Bogie said, his stomach churning with anger.

He hadn’t bent the knee to Arthur to be treated like shit. Bogie was a warrior, and he deserved respect. Cleaning up a mess—one that Arthur had made—wasn’t his job.

Bogie found a cluster of jötnar sleeping in a pile near the Boneyard’s gate. He kicked one of them in the chin and spat on another. “Get up, you lazy fucks,” he snarled. “Gotta job for you.”

The kicked jötunn shook his head and dragged his sorry ass up onto his feet. He spat out a chip from his tooth and a glob of blood. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Bogie’s golden pistol appeared in his hand as if by magic. He rammed the weapon up under the monster’s chin so hard his jaw clacked together and chipped another tooth. “Listen, asshole,” Bogie snarled. “You and your little buddies here need to get up and drag the dead outside. Burn them. Then clean the rest of the Boneyard. Arthur wants it