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

“We, uh, didn’t do that,” Gunnar said. “Exactly.”

Mimi raised an eyebrow. “Not even when she got in the shower with you? Because I definitely heard some noises in there. You were grunting like a warthog.”

“You’re one to talk,” Gunnar said. “We did other stuff, though. So, if that’s what you need...”

Ray asked, “You want me to stay, or should I give you some privacy?”

Mimi shrugged her shoulders and leaned back against the wall. “Stay. Your connection to Bridget can only help.”

Gunnar knelt down in front of Mimi. He was still a foot taller than she was and looked down at her upturned face with a hungry smile.

The völva opened her legs and hooked her heels behind Gunnar’s back to pull him toward her. She pulled at the fur clothes to reveal herself to him: the smooth stretch of her belly, the lower curves of her tits, the shadowed lines of her hip. A sultry smile twisted the corners of the völva’s lips and exposed the sharp white edges of her front teeth. Light from her forehead painted her face with golden warmth. Her eyes burned into Gunnar’s with a silent challenge, and she lightly raked his chest with her nails.

Her every touch stoked the growing fire within Gunnar. He braced himself, one hand on either side of Mimi’s seat on the bench and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, each of her cheeks, and her soft, plump lips. A spark leapt between them when their mouths touched, the sharp pain a thrilling contrast to Mimi’s soft warmth.

The völva gasped and her nails dug into Gunnar’s chest. Her pulse quickened along with her breaths, and a pink blush bloomed across her upper cheeks and throat. The tips of her nipples pushed against the fur-lined vest, and she tore her clothes aside to reveal their stiff lengths to Gunnar’s touch. Mimi whimpered as the jarl brushed the sensitive points with the pads of his thumbs. The circular motions he made inflamed her, and her legs tightened around him, pulling him against the swollen warmth between them. She rocked her hips, slowly, teasing herself as she ground against the ridges of his abdominal muscles. “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice rough and low.

“This,” he replied, squeezing her left breast, “and this.”

He drew a line from her chest down her belly, circled her navel, then went lower still. Gunnar’s hand slid under her skirt, and his thick middle finger slid down the seam between her lips. He cupped her in his hand, savoring her warmth, before parting her. He found her wet and eager, and slipped the tip of a finger inside, pressing his palm against the tender, eager nub above it.

Mimi moaned and pulled Gunnar’s head down to her. She kissed him, hard, then nipped his lower lip. “Then stop messing around and fuck me.”

Gunnar pulled his breeches down and breathed a sigh of relief as the stiff length of his sex burst free. He rubbed her juices from his fingers on the head of his cock. He slid himself up and down her cleft, grinding against her, until they were both shuddering with pleasure.

“Stop teasing,” Mimi growled.

“This is what Bridget wants,” Gunnar growled right back. With every slippery stroke, with every denied moment of consummation, his memories of Bridget burned brighter. He could almost feel the stinging needles of water pouring from the shower head and the firm curves of Bridget’s muscles under his hands.

The log bench creaked and groaned as their passion rocked the furniture on its sturdy legs. Mimi grabbed hold of the furniture with both hands to steady herself, her body quaking with every thrust. “Ray,” she moaned, “get over here.”

The other völva glided across the room and stood behind the bench. She leaned over her witch sister to kiss Gunnar, her arms hooked over his shoulders. Mimi took Ray’s hand, clutching her fingers to connect the three of them.

The jarl lifted Mimi off the bench, supporting her ass in one hand. He pulled Ray in close behind her with his other arm, his hand holding tight to the curve of her hip, squeezing Mimi between them.

Ray’s eyes held Gunnar’s gaze, binding them together with her smoldering stare. Her hand slid under Mimi’s arms to grasp the jarl’s hips. She took control of the rhythm, pulling him against Mimi again and again until both women were panting and moaning together.

Mimi leaned her head back on Ray’s shoulder, her eyes half lidded, lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. She seized Gunnar’s left hand and dragged it to her throat. “Here,” she pleaded. “I’m so close.”

She pressed against his thumb and forefinger with her much smaller hands, showing the jarl what she wanted. He followed her lead, slowly applying pressure as he slipped over her, crushing her against Ray with every thrust, goaded to go faster, harder, by her lustful groans of pleasure and the other völva’s hands on his hips. The golden radiance burst from Mimi’s forehead, coating the small room with a honey-colored light that revealed the Web of Wyrd’s illuminated strands all around them.

“There,” Mimi moaned. “Oh, gods, there.”

Her back arched, her jaw clenched, and her muscles squeezed around Gunnar, pushing him over the edge. Ray clung to the jarl, her body trembling as aftershocks rocked through the connection that bound the three of them together.

Mimi ground against Gunnar for moments longer, unwilling to let go of the sensation of their bodies working in perfect rhythm. But Gunnar held back, holding himself in check to keep the image of Bridget burning like a star in his mind.

“I found her,” Mimi said, a dreamy smile on her face as she slowed to a stop and clung to Gunnar. “Let me show you.”

Mimi reached up and caressed the jarl’s face.

The Valknut flared with golden warmth. A vision of Bridget flooded the jarl’s thoughts. The tall völva was in a cramped