Disclaimer: Skyrim doesn't belong to me, nor do I intend to profit from this work of fiction.

She made good her escape, mentally congratulating herself as she strode towards the small home had purchased here in Whiterun. She had bested the handsome Nord, or should she say, werewolf. He now knew what she had suspected, and what rumor had said for years.

She locked the front door behind her, what Vilkas had said held some truth, a woman living alone, even a trained fighter such as herself, was still a target for some of the more unsavory characters in town.

She quickly shed her armor, and stowed it neatly away, and pulled on a thin tunic and leggings, preparing for sleep. She jumped in surprise when she heard a pounding on her door, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She unsheathed her sword, and stalked towards the door, her weapon at the ready, and swung the door open, preparing to attack.

Vilkas growled at her, and before she could lower her weapon, he advanced upon her, shoving her back into the room, kicking the door shut with a booted foot. He wrested her weapon from her fingers, glaring at her as she stood before the fire, he could see her every curve through the thin cotton of her shirt, and his thick erection ached to be buried in her slick sheath, and his beast blood demanded it.

"I am not your víkja," he growled low in his throat, holding himself rigid as he battled the compulsion of his animal nature. "I am not in charge of you, nor would I want to be. You are nothing but trouble," he snapped out, taking a menacing step towards her. "But need I remind you, it is you that comes to me looking for work?"

Her own temper flared, her blue eyes flashing as she struggled to hold herself back, whether to beat him senseless, or fuck him brainless, she wasn't quite sure. "So you don't like being víkja." She circled him, her tone dangerously low, the soft lilt of her voice more pronounced in her anger. "Shall I call you the Big Bad Wolf? It seems fitting," she smirked as her words had the desired effect, and she found herself thrust against a table, his armor biting deliciously into the soft skin of her thighs.

His hand circled her throat, but he applied no pressure, and his silver eyes glared daggers into hers. "You do not want me as an enemy, whelp."
He belated realized his hips were nestled between her thighs, her sleek legs tightly gripping his waist, and he bit back a groan as her scent assaulted his nose.

She sent him what could only be considered a predatory smile, "No, I have enough enemies," she rasped, and pressed a palm flat against his chest. He could feel the heat of her hand even through the steel plate he wore, "I wouldn't say no to a lover, however," she purred.

He scowled at her, "You wouldn't know what to do with a man like me, little girl." He trailed a finger from her waist to her breast, and flipped his hand to roughly cup her breast, rolling her cloth covered nipple between his fingers, and heard her breath catch in her throat.

"I can hear every beat of your heart," he rasped, kneading her breast firmly, his other hand sliding up her thigh, and he heard her soft moan of approval. "I can smell your arousal, earthy and musky and intoxicating," he said, his voice low and gravelly, and she suddenly found herself under his spell, his hand lightly stroking her hot center through the leggings she wore, and she nearly panted with anticipation.

He hooked a finger under the hem of her shirt, and pulled it over her head, revealing creamy flesh to him, and his beast blood roared for him to claim this for his own. "I could tear you apart, little girl," he murmured, "And you wouldn't want to stop me," he added smugly, confidently, as he jerked her legging down her hips, and laid his hand against her center.

He watched her heaving chest as she shivered in anticipation, and he growled low in his throat as he rubbed a thumb roughly over her soft folds, spreading her wetness, circling her clitoris to make her hips buck. She would have come off the table had he not pinned her down with his free hand. "Stay," he demanded roughly.

"I prefer to be an active participant," she ground out, struggling against his hand before her head fell back with a moan as he push a long finger into her molten sheath, slowly pumping into her, his thumb still stroking her labia in long, slow motions.

"Good girl," he rumbled, "Come for me," and she grasped at the edge of the table as an orgasm rolled through her. He smirked at her as her slick walls clenched around his probing finger, her hips undulating of their own accord against his hand.

"Vilkas," she gasped, and he just shot her a smirk, and dropped to his knees, giving in to the demands of his beast blood to taste her, devour her. His mouth fastened to her swollen lips, his tongue lapping at her essence, and he groaned against her sensitive flesh. She tasted better than he could have imagined, the salt of her skin mingling with her tangy essence. She jumped when his teeth scraped against her clitoris, and her hands fisted in his hair as a ragged moan left her lips.

Her pants and sighs where musical as he worked her, his skilled tongue stroking as his teeth nipped at her. Even the stubble on his cheeks played a part when he roughly shoved his tongue into her waiting entrance, and shook his head violently. The sensitive skin of her inner thighs was raw and abraded as a result, and all she could do was moan her enjoyment, unable to form coherent thoughts.

She cried out, and shot off the table, landing in a heap sprawled across his chest, scrabbling away from him as he sucked in a greedy breath before he narrowed his eyes at her and stalked his prey. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle, halting her escape, and jerking her roughly back towards him. He gave her a wolfish grin and hooked his arms around her legs and parted her thighs, and licked her folds, long and slow, making her back arch in response.

"Vilkas!" she cried out as his teeth scraped over her hyper-sensitized nub, and yanked ruthlessly at his hair as a second orgasm ripped through her. He pressed his lips to her in a surprisingly soft kiss, and pushed away from her, sitting back on his haunches as he watched her struggle to gather her wits back about her, her chest still heaving as she sucked in air, a sheen of sweat beading on her skin as she lay naked before him.

"Th-th-that was..." she stammered, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched him from beneath her long, dark lashes.

"That is why little girls like you have no business with men like me," he growled, his silver eyes never leaving hers.

She rolled her eyes, "Even the Big Bad Wolf needs an outlet," she quipped, and the low rumble of his chest met her ears. "Perhaps you would like to come with me," she continued, her tone soft and considering as she watched him sidle closer to her.

He narrowed his eyes at her offer, certain it was a trap, "Where are you headed, whelp?"

She shook her head, "Oh, here, there, and everywhere in between." He sat on the floor next to her, and handed her the tunic he'd removed from her earlier. "Thank you," she murmured and she slipped the garment over her head.

"Skyrim is a big, beautiful country, and though I am Nord, I've not spent much time in my own motherland. I intend to see it all. I have nothing holding me back, or tying me to a certain place," she said.

"Nothing, huh?" he grunted, and gestured around the room filled with her belongings.

"This is just a reason to keep coming back," she said quietly, and stared into the fire, "I like Whiterun. But there is so much more out there to see."

He could understand her wanderlust. He had it himself. So, even though he had already explored much of Skyrim himself, and had been hoping to move on to other adventures, "Very well, I will accompany you for a time. But a warning, little girl; I will not travel with anyone that does not bring honor to the Companions."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, a smirk gracing her lips, "Oh, don't worry. I'll be a very, very good girl."

víkja - subordinate