Dark Viking (19 page)

“It was one-sided, dammit.”

“Best you watch your language, m‟lady. And, for your information, that was not one-sided at all.” He pointed downward, where his penis was rising to the occasion, already dripping pre-come.

“Release me. The next time I come, I want you inside me.”

“Nay, we do it my way.”

“Yeah, you and Frank Sinatra. I mean it, release me. Right now. Aaarrgh! I‟m going to have my witch friends put a spell on you. Your penis will probably shrivel up. You might lose all your hair. Who knows . . . if you don‟t release me right now, you might get struck by lightning.”

He laughed. “I enjoy your fierceness. Yell at me some more.”

“Okay, let‟s make a deal. You get ten more minutes to do your thing, and then you release me.”

“I am not exactly certain how long ten minutes is, but it sounds too short to me. How about two hours?”

“Are you crazy? What are you going to do for two hours?”

He smiled down at her. A wicked, wicked smile. “I told you afore, Ree-tah. I plan to go exploring.” He waved the fan in her face. Then his gaze swept her body from scalp to toes, especially taking note of the Brazilian wax, which seemed to fascinate him. Noticing that she noticed where he was looking, he told her, “I am saving that exploration for last.”

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled whooshily and said, “Okay, Marco Polo, do your thing.

Let‟s see if your
long
boat is going to be able to go the distance.”

She went a-Viking in a whole new way . . .

Steven prided himself on his staying power in the bedsport, but Rita was right when she questioned whether his “longboat” would be able to stay the course. Hah! He would make sure that it did. Bracing himself on his left elbow, he began to examine her body. For a soldier, or soldier in training, she had no battle scars. Instead, her body was smooth and soft, even those areas where she had muscles, like her upper arms, abdomen, and thighs.

A sex flush heightened the color of her cheeks, neck, and chest. Whether it was from the peaking she had already experienced or anticipation of the next, he was not sure. Who the hell cared! By the time he was done with her, the flush would no doubt be deeper and brighter.

He used the fingertips of his right hand to trace her upraised arms from wrists to underarms, which were also bare of hair. She shivered at his light caress. Assuming she was sensitive there, he repeated the caress.

She closed her eyes and seemed to be bracing herself against another arousal.

“Open your eyes, sweetling, I would see your pleasure.”

She told him to do something very crude to himself. And she declined to open her eyes.

We shall see about that, you stubborn wench.

He used a feather to vibrate against one of her pale rose nipples, which was already standing to attention or rather begging for his attention.

Her eyes shot open.

Definitely an erotic spot for her.

And so he began a thorough exploration of her breasts, which were not overly large, but they were not small, either. The areolas surrounding the pert nipples were a slightly darker shade of dusty rose. He palmed them from underneath. He traced them with his fingers. He flicked the tips with his tongue. On and on he fondled her until her whimpers became almost cries. When he judged her ready, he took one nipple into his mouth and began to suckle rhythmically, playing with the nipple of the other breast with his free hand. The whole time he watched her face for reaction.

Even so, he was surprised when she screamed.

He was about to rise, not wanting to hurt her, when she hissed at him. “Don‟t you dare stop now.”

And he didn‟t. Giving equal attention to one breast, then another. Alternately licking and suckling. The intensity of her peaking was a joy to watch and almost his undoing. He took his cock in hand, near the base, and squeezed, hoping to forestall his own peaking.

“You are killing me, Steven,” she finally said when her breathing slowed down to a pant.

“Good killing or bad killing?”

She smiled at him, which he took for a good sign. “Is there such a thing as a good killing?”

“In the bedsport, yea, I think so.”

“Would it do any good for me to ask you to release me?”

“Not yet.”

“Even if I said please?”

“Even then.” He rose up from his reclining position at her side and knelt between her widespread legs. Leaning forward, he kissed her flat belly and was pleased at the instinctive clenching of the muscles there. He had feared she was too depleted of sensation for him to continue his journey right now, but, praise the gods, apparently not. “Tell me again how you did this?” he asked, examining her bare mons up close.

She explained some procedure involving hot wax and stripping of the hair out by the roots.

“Did it hurt?”

She nodded. “Especially the first time. Not so bad after that.” He could not fathom why a woman would put herself through such agony, but then he knew a Viking, Evin One-Eye, who had his second wife shave the hair on his buttocks betimes. With a shiver of distaste, Steven decided that he would no doubt do the same if he had hair
there
.

He put his hands under her buttocks and raised her slightly so that he could see where the hair had been removed along her cleft as well, a cleft that was slick and glistening with her woman dew. He could not wait to touch her there.

“Oh, good Lord! Do you have to be so close?” she complained.

“Yea, I do. The better to see you, my dearling.” He sat back on his heels, letting her lie flat again.

“That Big Bad Wolf routine is getting old.”

He grinned at her, then began to explore the entire area with his calloused fingertips. With fascination, he discovered that a woman‟s mons had so many nerve endings ripe for a man‟s touch, which were not discernible under the usual woman-hair.

He was not sure he preferred his women this way, but it certainly was different.

By the time he dipped his fingers in her moist cleft, she was keening her arousal with one continuous, “Aaaaaahhhhh!” He had never seen a woman be so wet for him, but then he had never tied a woman to his bed and pleasure-tortured her to the point of madness. And she was weeping, as well.

“Dost cry, Ree-tah? Am I hurting you? Shall I stop?”

She opened her eyes, which had been clenched shut. “Yes, I hurt, you idiot. I hurt so good.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding as idiotic as she had called him.

He touched the moistness experimentally at first, then with more relish. He could actually see how plump the folds were, and near the top, that bud of a woman‟s pleasure stood out like a pearl nestled in silk. “I had no idea it would look like this,” he remarked. “Truly, more men should get this close-up view of a woman‟s parts. ‟Tis fascinating.”

She made a choking sound around her keening. He was not sure if it was because of his comment or because he now had one, then two, then three fingers inside her body.

“Methinks you are ready,” he observed.

“Methinks you are the moron of the ages. I was ready about an hour ago.”

“Savor the anticipation, sweetling.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

If her hands had been free, she would no doubt have hit him. In fact, she appeared about to tell him to savor something entirely different, except he had arranged himself on braced elbows above her, and without warning, thrust into her female portal where her spasming muscles gave him a hot welcome. The next thrust brought him in more. On the third thrust, her body expanded to accommodate his size, and he lunged in totally.

Was there any pleasure in the world greater than this?

He gritted his teeth and tried not to move, despite the clasping and unclasping of the channel that attempted to milk his cock. Nature‟s way of ensuring that the man‟s seed erupted in the right place, he supposed.

“Open your eyes, Ree-tah,” he urged.

When she did, he saw that her blue eyes were unfocused with excitement beyond anything he had ever seen before. In truth, she was almost delirious with her need for completion.

Mayhap it was due to the long period of self-denial she had alluded to earlier. Or mayhap it was just him. He hoped so.

“Soon, dearling,” he murmured. “Soon.” The only sounds in the room then were the wet slapping sounds of flesh upon flesh as he rode her hard, plunging into her with punishing slams as his raging lust took over. He might have keened himself then, so intense was his pleasure. He lost count of how many times she peaked.

In the end, when he ground himself against the heart of her, spurting his seed into her womb, they peaked together . . . a peaking so powerful he could swear their hearts beat as one. Every sexual experience he ever had in the future would be measured against this high standard.

Once his breathing slowed, he gazed down at her. She was staring up at him with equal wonder at what had just happened to them.

“Heartling,” he whispered. That one word expressed all his emotions.

Where’s Spot? . . .

In the middle of the night, Rita awakened from a warm slumber to find herself unrestrained and Steven making sweet love to her. A gentle stroking and rocking that was no less potent than his other erotic assaults.

“Shhh. Do not move,” he crooned. “I will do all the work.”

“Hah! That‟s got to be one of the most famous lines of men through the ages. Right up there with, „You can‟t get pregnant if I put it in just a little bit.‟”

He stilled for a moment. “You can? Get pregnant when . . . what you said?”

“Of course.”

He looked horrified, then shrugged, resuming his previous activity.

“Besides,” she continued breathily, “it‟s not like I could lie still when you do . . . yikes!

What was
that
?”

“The Viking S-Spot. Have you ne‟er heard of it afore?” He looked up at her from where he was doing something unusual down yonder. “Nay, of course you have not, since I am your first Viking.”

And hopefully the last.

“It is a special spot on your body that only a skilled Norseman can find.”

He was skilled, all right. And not even a little bit humble.

Rita wondered if a woman could die of too many orgasms. But then she thought,
What a
way to go!

Steven was fascinated with her body, like a boy with a new toy, partly because she was still a mystery to him . . . her appearance, where she‟d come from, her uninhibited enjoyment of sex . . . but also because of the no-risk of pregnancy. “You mean I can do whatever I want, and my seed will not take root in your womb?” he asked several times.

“Define „whatever I want,‟ ” she inquired.

And he told her. In graphic detail.

This boy is far ahead of his time. Perhaps too far.

Afterward, he carried her, wrapped in a linen sheet, out to the bathing house, where he carefully washed both her and himself, followed by another bout of sex. Rita wasn‟t usually so passive, and, energized by her short nap and the bath, showed him what a modern woman could do when she wanted to.

“I did not know that women could do that,” he exclaimed as he panted like a quarterback attempting to catch his breath after being sacked by five two hundred-pound linebackers.

She looked up at him and arched her brows, unable to speak at the moment. “Well, I knew they could. I just did not know they would.”

She disengaged. “So, you think I‟m a slut.”

“Must we talk now?”

“Yeah, I think so!” She attempted to stand.

He pulled her back. “A slut?”

She explained.

“Ah, a wanton. Yea, you are a wanton. The best kind. A lady wanton. And do not get all huffy. That was a compliment.”

“A left-handed compliment, I suspect.”

“Left, right, the best,” he assured her. “Now, resume your wanton acts.” Afterward, he said, “I am not sure I can walk.” Immediately followed by, “Can you do that again?”

Later, they lay in bed, she on her side, with him tucked behind her, spoonlike, a light blanket over them both. He kissed her shoulder and said, “We still must needs talk.”

“
Now
. You want to talk
now
?”

“Not now, sweetling. In the morning. I cannot wait to hear where you were all day and why you are associating with witches.”

He yawned loudly, and, like many men after sex, fell into a deep sleep, his warm, even breaths feathering against her hair, one arm on the pillow they shared, the hand of the other arm pressed against her belly.

She kept her eyes open for a long time, too hyped up to sleep. So many questions. So many problems. And the biggest one was plastered against her back, snoring softly in her ear.

How could so much have happened to her in such a short time? Had she really time-traveled? If so, was it a God miracle kind of thing, or some wrinkle in the stratosphere science kind of thing? And what if she couldn‟t go back? That would take a huge readjustment for her, and she wasn‟t sure she could ever accept such a destiny.

That brought her back to her biggest problem.

She wasn‟t sorry she‟d made love with Steven. It had been too delicious, and that was an understatement. Despite his chauvinism and primitive thinking, she felt an odd, irresistible connection with him. Not love. Of course, she wasn‟t in love with him. She barely knew him.

But what if he was “the one”? Presumably there was a soul mate for every person on the planet. And what if she had to leave him? Or worse, what if she was given the choice to either stay with him or go home?

Wiggling her body to get more comfortable, she decided to take one day at a time. If this day had turned out so well for her, she couldn‟t wait to see what was in store for her tomorrow.

Their lovemaking had to be a turning point in their relationship.

Would he waken her with kisses?

Or would he want to stay in bed all day?

Turns out, neither was on his damned Viking agenda. 

He enthralled her . . .

Steven was sated and happier than he had been in years. That‟s why he hated what he was about to do, but it had to be done.

Besides, it was important for a man to let the woman know what was what, right from the beginning . . . to start as he intended to go on. There were rules of conduct, unwritten but important nonetheless. A woman did not make a man look the fool in front of his comrades without some repercussions.