The Norse King’s Daughter (15 page)

“I knew you were depraved, but this passes all bounds. You toad. How dare you? How . . . oh! Oh my gods!”

He had just pressed his tongue against the secret bud of pleasure all women had, and he knew without a doubt, he had her now. “Dost like that, Drifa?”

Her only response was a gurgle, but her legs went limp, and she allowed him to spread her farther.

“I must be the best explorer in the world, Drifa. Mayhap I will go exploring with Erik the Red to that new world beyond Iceland. Mayhap I have discovered a secret waterway to paradise. There are all these shoals, of course, and hidden channels, but mayhap there will be a dam up ahead. Never fear, my longboat can make it through, that I assure you.”

“Mayhap, mayhap, mayhap. If your longboat gets any longer, it will be stuck in the shallows, of that
I
assure you,” she countered.

“I love a woman who can make jest in the midst of bedsport.” And that was the gods’ truth. Life was too hard and unmerciful at times. Laughter and smiles eased a man’s life path.

“That was no jest. That was . . . Frigg’s foot! . . . What are you doing now?”

“Just using my paddle to explore the water.” He laved her with his tongue in long stokes. He flicked certain parts with the tip of his tongue. By the time he began to kiss her sweet spot, she was arching off the bed. He could not have that, so he looped her knees over his shoulders and suckled her bud as he had her nipples.

She peaked and peaked and peaked. He could feel it against his mouth, if he hadn’t already come to that conclusion by her almost continuous moaning.

“No more, no more,” she protested as he moved her back up the bed and laid himself over her.

“Shhh,” he said, “I will take care of everything.” He pushed the stray strands of hair off her face and kissed her lightly.

“That is what I’m afraid of. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Oh really? How is
it
supposed to be?”

“Quick.”

“Quick is good betimes. At others, ’tis best to make the journey last a long time, to enjoy the scenery along the way, to prolong the bliss.”

“My scenery is supposed to be private, and I do not think I can stand any more bliss. Must you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Rub your chest hairs across my nipples. It is . . .”

“It is what, Drifa?

“Unsettling.”

He did a mental punch in the air of triumph. “That is because your body yearns for more.”

“You are making that up.”

He rose up a bit and made more of a production of rubbing his chest hairs over her nipples. When her eyes glazed over, he said, “See. But now it is my turn. Wrap your legs around my hips.” He put his hands under her buttocks and raised her up, positioning himself at her woman-portal. “This might hurt the first time, sweetling. Do you want it fast or slow?”

“Fast.”

That was all he needed to hear. She was more than moist enough, but she was tight. Very tight. It took three thrusts before he breached her maidenhead and was in as far as her body could take him. He was the one who moaned then, so intense was his pleasure. And not just the tight fit. Her inner muscles were clasping and unclasping him in welcome.

When he was able to speak above a whimper, he rose up on extended arms and looked down at her.

She appeared stunned, her eyes huge and unblinking. Her mouth formed a little circle of astonishment.

“Are you all right, Drifa?”

“I think so.”

“Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. “It pinched at first, but now it just feels odd. Are we done?”

Was she really this naïve? Must be. “I am just waiting for you to recover.”

“Recover what?”

He tried to smile but found he was unable to, so consumed was he with another activity. Moving out slowly, he relished the drag of her inner muscles that resisted his withdrawal. Then he thrust back in again. This time he went in a little farther.

Surely the way women were built for men was a gift from the gods.

Surely the sex act was a gift from the gods.

Surely Drifa was a gift from the gods.

She blinked up at him and said, “Do that again.”

Definitely a gift.
He did smile then. “With pleasure.”

Drifa might have been a virgin moments ago, but she soon learned the rhythm. She met him thrust for thrust until he was embedded in her to the hilt, and they were both panting on the climb toward what he hoped would be a joint peaking.

For the next three short strokes he made sure he hit her sweet bud, and suddenly she was convulsing around him down below and screaming with joy up above. It took the most painful discipline for him to pull out and spill his seed onto her thigh.

As his breathing slowed and his heart no longer felt as if it would burst from his chest, he realized that he lay heavily atop Drifa, who was surprisingly silent for once. He should move. But he hated what he knew sure as sunshine would happen next. Drifa would begin to berate him for this and that. He was not yet ready to spoil what had been the best swiving he had ever engaged in, and being one and thirty, there had been plenty.

He was also not quite ready to examine what had just happened. Surely it was more than sex. What that more might be, he feared to think. Not with Drifa, with all her secrets. Not with Drifa, who might kill him in his sleep.

The witch surprised the spit out of him then by biting him on the shoulder and instead of saying something like
Are we done yet, you loathsome lout?
, she purred. She honest-to-gods purred. And she bloody damn licked the inner whorls of his ear.

Chapter Fourteen

A Viking cowgirl?

W
ho knew? Drifa certainly hadn’t. And why had none of her sisters explained, in detail, exactly what would happen in the sex act, and how mind-melting pleasurable it would be? Even with a dolt like Sidroc. She would have a thing or two to say to them when she returned to the Norselands.

“Did you like that, Drifa?” the dolt inquired in a drawl that reeked of male satisfaction as he rolled off her and wiped her thigh with an edge of the bed linen. Then he had the audacity to kiss her thigh on that very spot. Insufferable man! As if sensing her imminent rebellion at his lewdness, he tucked her into his side with her head on his shoulder.

She bit his shoulder, just to show she was not that enthralled by his talents. “I swear, if you smirk, I will . . .”

“What? Hit me over the head with a pottery jug?”

“Mayhap.”

“Admit it, Drifa, you enjoyed your first sexplay?”

“Of course I did. Damn the Norns of Fate who made it be with you.”

“Be careful when maligning the goddesses. They may just destine you to repeat the act, over and over and over.”

If he meant to imply that would be a punishment, he was in for a bigger surprise than she planned.
Time to show you, Varangian troll, just which woman you are with at the moment. I will not be your sex puppet.
“So, this exploring business . . . does it go both ways? Does the woman get to explore, too?”

Sidroc stiffened and turned further to stare at her. “Are you suggesting . . . ?”

She shrugged.
Let’s see how you like having a woman pull your erotic strings.
“I might have a yen to go exploring myself.”

“A yen?” he choked out.

’Twas a good sign that she could make him choke, Drifa believed. “Yea. The only problem I have is that I have no expertise with steering a longship over the seas. Methinks I would have to explore mountains. Aha! What do I see here? A forest.” She ran her fingertip over the silky chestnut-colored hairs on his chest, same color as on his head. She ran her fingers through the curls and was gratified to hear his sharp inhale.

She had to admit, he was a fine specimen of a man, even for a Viking. He was long, and lean and well-muscled, with a smile that the jester god Loki must have graced him with to beguile women.

“Drifa,” he cautioned with that damn beguiling smile. “Be careful when putting your head in the lion’s mouth.”

“Betimes lions are just big cats, you know.”

“Do not underestimate me.”

I already did. Otherwise I would not find myself in your bed with my woman-dew weeping for another bout of sexplay.
“Would I do that?” she inquired sweetly, glancing meaningfully to his manpart that was already rising again. Fool thing! Tempting fool thing, she immediately amended.

“Lie still and let me explore,” she ordered.

“Whate’er you say, m’lady.”

After that she spoke to him in her most sexual voice, if in fact she had one. Her discovery of a gully in her travels, midway between his waist and his thighs. The two immense boulders covered with moss through which emerged a tree, its trunk straight and true. The thick veins that protruded were its bark and the bulging top was a mushroom, she declared, the kind that sometimes emerged out of tree trunks.

By that time, Sidroc was laughing and enjoying her attention immensely if the size of his “tree” was any indication.

“Methinks your exploration on this mountain is getting too tiring for you,” he said finally. “You need a horse to ride.” With those words, he lifted her so that she straddled his hips. He put his fingertips to her cleft and declared in a raw voice of wonder, “You are wet for me Drifa.”

“ ’Tis just your leftover seed, no doubt.” Her heated face had to be flaming.

“Nay, your fjord overflows to ease my longboat’s passage.”

“Enough with your fjord longboat nonsense!”

“It means you are ready for me. Come, Drifa, take my longboat . . . uh, thirsty tree in hand and guide it inside your body where it may be quenched. That’s the way, dearling, lower yourself slowly.”

Longboat, tree, staff of torture, it was all the same to her. If anyone had told her hours ago that she would do such a thing and sigh with the bliss of being filled by the lout, she would have laughed. Now she could scarce breathe.

With hands on her hips, he guided her. “It really is like riding a horse, isn’t it?”

He grinned.

If there was anything more tantalizing than his smile, it was his grin.

“How are you at galloping?”

Are we having fun yet? . . .

Sidroc sat on a shallow ledge of the bathing pool across from Drifa, who had her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. As if she could escape his attentions so easily!

It was a small pool; he could touch her with his toes if he stretched out his legs. The pool was filled with warm or cold water, or emptied, with the mere flick of a lever. Right now the water was slightly warm and soothing to the overused muscles. And he had overused some of Drifa’s muscles, for a certainty.

“When will you leave for your mission?” she asked, her eyes closed, her head resting on the lip of the pool.

“Early morn. I will meet Finn in the stables of the tagmata.”

“And when you return, you will leave Byzantium. For where?”

“I am not certain. Finn and I will surely discuss this very subject whilst away. I have a longship that has been beached outside the city. It will be made sea ready in my absence. Mayhap the Orkneys. Mayhap somewhere in the Norselands. Mayhap even some estate near Stoneheim.”

Her eyes shot open, and she glared at him for bringing up the subject he’d promised to avoid.

“Just teasing. Just teasing.”

She gave him an extra glare for good measure and closed her eyes again. Sinking deeper in the water, she sighed and ran her fingers through the waters. She was relaxed. Too relaxed.

“You are not to worry, dearling. We will still have nights together on my return.”

“But not forty-two. Rather forty-one.”

“Come, Drifa, you have rested enough. Time to dry off and try something new.”

Her eyes were open now, and wary. “New?”

“ ’Twill be a surprise.” He rose from the water and used a long linen for drying himself, taking extra care as Drifa studied his body, despite herself. Then he walked to the other side and drew her upward. As he dried her body, he admired and commented on the various parts.

“Your skin is softer than Byzantine silk,” he said.

“But it is ofttimes grimy when I am gardening,” she said.

“Your breasts are the size of pomegranates and twice as sweet,” he said.

“More like overripe melons, squishy,” she said.

“Your maiden hair is like the combed fleece of a golden-haired sheep.”

“There is no such thing as a golden-haired sheep. Besides, raw wool is coarse and rough.”

“Your buttocks make me breathless.”

“Buttocks! Enough!” she finally protested. “Next you will be making praise odes to my toenails.”

“Now that you mention it . . .”

She groaned.

He smiled. And he knew, because she’d told him so in a weak moment, that his smiles made
her
breathless. “Come, Drifa, there is something special I have planned for you.”
For us, actually. For me, particularly.

He led her to the far side of the bathing pool where there was a wall panel that could be pushed inward. When it revolved, a massive slab of polished brass was on the other side, now facing them. It was taller than a man and twice as wide.

She gasped in wonder. “I have ne’er seen a brass mirror this size afore or one so highly polished as to be like a mirror.” Momentarily, she forgot that she stood nude before it. He knew the moment when she realized the state of her undress. “Oh, good gods!” She tried to cover herself with an arm across her breasts and a hand over her groin.

“Nay, Drifa, put your arms down. See yourself as I see you whilst I gather some things.”

Though continuing to gape at the wondrous mirror, she was still trying to cover herself when he returned with several oil lamps, two fat candles, and a small carved olivewood chest, inlaid on top with an ivory longship.

If she only knew, the view from the back was almost as good as from the front. Her legs were long and muscled from all her gardening, no doubt. Her buttocks were high and deliciously round. The curve of her hips accented her small waist, and the small of her back was indented and lovely. Sidroc had a particular fascination with the small of a woman’s back.

He lit the candles and lamps and arranged them on either side of the mirror, which added to the moonlight streaming into the room. It was almost as good as daylight.

“Dost think I would be able to purchase one of these brass mirrors here in Miklagard?”

She might not want a reminder after this night was through. “Probably, but it would cost a fortune.”

“I have a fortune.”

He shrugged. “ ’Tis time to try something different,” he said then.

Drifa jerked, having just realized he stood behind her, very close. “How different?” she squeaked out. “Will it be perverted?”

“Drifa, Drifa, Drifa, what is it with you and perverted?” He forced her arms to her sides and wrapped his arms around her waist. “But, yea, this time it will be perverted, by some people’s standards.”

She made a small whimpering sound, but did not argue with him. She’d learned that he liked overcoming her arguments.

“Look how nice we look together, Drifa.”

“We are naked!”

“That is the best part.”

“I do not think I will ever forget the things you made me do tonight.”

“Uh-uh! You do not get away with blaming it all on me. I may have led you on a sensual journey, but you were with me in the end. Besides, I like the memory pictures we are creating.”

“You would.”

“Lean your head back to my shoulder and put your hands behind your back,” he said then.

“Why?”

“And do not talk. You are my sex thrall, remember. You must do as your master bids.”

She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. Before she realized what he was about, he tied her wrists together with a scarf.

Her posture caused her back to arch and her breasts to push forward. The nipples were flushed and erect from his earlier ministrations. Still, he pinched them, then soothed them with soft caresses of his palms.

“The thing I would have you learn in this bout of sexplay is that there is a fine line betwixt pain and pleasure. When you are aroused, as you are now, your breasts and other erotic spots on your body respond to both. For example, I am about to put some jewelry on you which should demonstrate perfectly.”

He reached down to the chest at his feet and took out two small gold rings. They were made of gold so thin it was malleable. He put one on her right breast and pinched it tight, and then tighter so that the nipple was encircled totally by the wire, leaving a small loop below.

“Ouch!” she said, and tried to struggle out of his arms, which caused her breasts to bounce and the pressure on her nipple ring to dig in farther.

“Some women, and even men, have their nipples pierced to hold the rings, but I would not do that to you.”

“You’re hurting me,” she complained.

“Shhh. It will be fine in a moment.” He did the same to the other nipple before she realized what he was about.

“You look beautiful, Drifa. Look how much bigger your nipples are now, and red as cherries.”

“First pomegranates and now cherries. What next?”

“This,” he said, “a little syrup for your cherries.”

He took a stopper from a small vial of oil and dribbled it on her breasts, then worked it in with his fingertips. “How does that feel?”

She refused to answer but her beautiful eyes were glazed and her nostrils flared with rising enthusiasm. His enthusiasm was rising, too, and pressing against the cleft of her buttocks.

“You can wear these nipple rings when I am gone, under your
gunna
, to remind you of me.”

She made a snorting sound that translated to
Not in a Norse lifetime
. He would wager she would be tempted, though.

“Let me show you something else,” he said then.

“Oh gods, is this not enough?”

“Not nearly.” He chuckled and attached several dangling beads from both rings, giving them weight, and added titillation, he hoped.

Her only response was a whimper and leaning her head back farther on his shoulder, exposing her neck and arching her breasts even more.

“How does it feel?” he asked against her ear.

“Wicked.”

“And wonderful?”