Viking Ecstasy (34 page)

❧

Tanaka rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hand. She felt gloriously well-loved, complete, whole. Tabor was everything that she had ever hoped he would be, and though she could not explain why she was certain of it, she knew —simply knew—that she and Tabor had conceived a son.

She did not feel cool at all, despite the evening breeze. Tabor's loving had heated her and it felt good now to spend a few moments alone, by herself, so that she could concentrate and be one with her feelings.

Tabor leaned against an upright stone, inspecting it. He was naked, his body glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration from their lovemaking in the moonlight; the nickname "Son of Thor," fit him perfectly as he pushed against the boulder, testing its mammoth weight.

She felt a stirring in her soul, and this surprised her since Tabor had so recently satisfied her passion thoroughly.

If I stopped looking at him, I wouldn't be such a wanton,
Tanaka thought with a certain amount of logic. She did not, however, look away from her husband for even a second.
He's my husband. I can look if I want.

He disappeared behind one of the pillars, and when he reappeared, he stepped back away from the rock, smoothing his long blond hair away from his face and placing his strong, gentle hands on his hips to study the stone.

Curious man.
Tanaka thought, pleased that he was so.
A man of action and a man of thought. Such an unusual combination of traits.

He turned slowly—pirouetting —to look at the entire collection of stones. She tensed her buttocks against the stirring within her, pressing her pelvis harder against the fabric of Tabor's cape. A smile curled her mouth as she watched Tabor inspect another of the numerous boulders at the temple.

She pushed herself to her knees, suddenly cool, the residual heat of their ardent lovemaking at last diminished.

I am a wanton woman.
Tanaka thought as she tossed Tabor's cape over her shoulders and tied the drawstring at the neck. On Tabor, the cape came down to his knees. On her, it fell to her ankles. Beneath her bare feet, the cool grass, tickled her arches. She approached her husband slowly, renewing the excitement of their pleasure.

"Any conclusions?" she asked, pulling the robe around her.

He shook his head, his eyes exploring the gigantic boulder. Tanaka could almost hear his mind seeking the purpose of the temple and its ancient design.

"Aren't you cold without anything on?"

That brought a half-smile to Tabor's lips, pulling his mouth to the side so that his dimple showed.

Without taking his gaze from the stone, Tabor asked, "Does my lack of modesty offend you in this place of worship?"

"Quite the contrary," Tanaka said with a purr.

The sensual timbre of her voice drew Tabor's attention away from the boulders and to his wife. She slipped her hand inside his, delightfully devilish. He knew that look and liked what it promised.

"What are you thinking?" Tabor asked, though it was clear his wife had mischief on her mind.

"Nothing." Tanaka moved her shoulders slightly so that one breast peeked out through the opening in the cape.

"Why don't I believe you?" Tabor faced Tanaka directly. He loved it when she revealed this impish spirit.

"Because you're the suspicious kind," Tanaka replied.

Tabor bent low then to kiss her, and he was surprised that she did not kiss him back with matching ardor.

Tm a little sore" she explained. "Your loving was . . . energetic."

She saw his expression change. It disturbed him whenever her body ached from their lovemaking, even though she had told him he should not feel guilty.

"Don't!" she said quickly, placing her fingertips against his mouth to silence the apology before it was spoken. "You were wonderful. You are wonderful."

He smiled with mixed emotions. "I don't like to hurt you, that's all."

Tanaka could tell that Tabor's attitude had changed. He had wanted to make love to her again, but now he'd quashed his desire.

"I know you don't," Tanaka said, her fingers tightening around Tabor's hand. "I also know that you want me again." She moved closer to the large boulder, pulling him with her.

"I will survive without enjoying your charms again this evening. Weren't you the one to teach me that patience has its own rewards?"

Tanaka took Tabor by the shoulders and turned his back to the boulder. She ran her hands boldly over his chest and stomach, her eyes locked with his.

"Yes, I taught you to be patient," she said in a husky purr that promised a sensual reward. "And you taught me many things. But tonight, here in this special place, we have created a child." She slipped the cape out of the way. "And tonight, your passion runs hot in your veins." She took his manhood into her hands and sighed when she felt it return to life, awakening from its sated slumber, thickening once again. "Just because I am unable to maintain the pace that you have set for us doesn't mean that you should be . . . deprived."

Tabor reached for Tanaka's breasts, but she took a step away from him, quickly releasing him from her grasp. "No, you mustn't touch me," she whispered, her eyes now aglow with excitement. "Don't even look at me."

Tabor's roguish-smile was incredulous. Tanaka, I can't keep my eyes off you when you're clothed. How can you expect me to look away when all you're wearing is my cape and even that hides nothing?"

She placed her hands on her shapely hips, elbows akimbo to keep the robe behind her, blatantly exposing herself to Tabor, fully aware of the influence she had over him and relishing it.

"Are you going to trust me or not? I have yet to guide you wrongly."

Even though Tabor could think of some instance where she had been wrong, he did not disagree. After all this time together, Tanaka continued to excite and tantalize him.

"Well?" she prodded, her expression firm, the nakedness of her body seemingly forgotten, though Tabor knew she intentionally flaunted her charms.

"Yes, High Priestess, I will do as you say," Tabor at last replied with solemnity.

"Good. Now look at the moon."

"What?" Tabor exclaimed. It was hardly the request he anticipated, especially when he had seen the fiery passion that simmered within his wife's soul shimmering in her eyes.

"Look at the moon. Perhaps, if you look at the moon, you will understand the majesty of this place." Tanaka moved closer, her steps light and tentative, her heartbeat accelerating.

"You are more beautiful than the moon. Can't I just look at you?"

"No. You must do as I say."

Her authoritative tone brooked no dissent. She was the only person in the world who dared use that tone of voice with Tabor. She took him into her hands again, cradling the length of him lovingly, gently in her palms.

"Look at the moon, Tabor. Experience its power."

Her voice was a purr. She leaned forward to kiss his chest, her tongue tasting his flesh, salty from the exertion of their lovemaking. He tasted like a man recently active, and his scent washed her with memory.

She stroked her hands back and forth along his rigid length, feeling his heart pumping blood into him. The heat of his manhood burned through her palm, heating her own blood.

"Look at the moon, my darling, and feel its power," Tanaka whispered, looking up to see that Tabor had tilted his head back, resting it against the boulder as he stared at the moon. "Feel the power of the stone against your back, of the stones around you."

She kissed his chest, his throat, the hard ridge of his ribs as she bent her knees, moving intently lower. She placed a hand flat against his stomach, feeling the solid muscles beneath the thin layer of smooth flesh, felt the faint flutter beneath her fingertips that signaled the intensity of Tabor's emotions.

Tanaka settled at last, her knees pressing into the cool grass of Stonehenge, her buttocks taut against the backs of her heels. Tabor's magnificence filled her hands, and she stroked him slowly, wondrously, her gaze alternating from that which she held to the face of the man she loved.

I will never tire of pleasing him,
she thought resolutely, but for an infinitesimal second she recalled the women that her husband had known before he fell in love with her.

She cast the disquieting thought aside and gave Tabor a smoky, sensual smile. "The moon, you barbarian" she whispered, her breath warm against his inflamed flesh. "You're meant to be looking at the moon."

Tabor's self-control was strained. His powerful body was an interwoven mass of taut muscles flexed and bulging beneath his pale Scandinavian skin. He grasped a lock of Tanaka's hair, twirled the ebony strands around his forefinger, and rubbed them with his thumb, savoring the satiny texture.

"The moon, darling, the moon," Tanaka whispered, wanting Tabor's attention directed elsewhere, self-conscious despite her courage and determination to please her husband.

She waited, but still Tabor continued to gaze at her, his huge chest swelling and contracting with his deep, uneven breathing, his icy blue eyes barely open as he struggled for control against the raging passion that seared his veins. Tanaka kissed the tip of his shaft, and the resulting groan told her that she pleased him.

She tasted him then, her tongue flicking out experimentally. Tabor groaned again and stared, unseeing, at the moon.

Gratified that he followed her request, Tanaka did not realize that he had done so because if he had continued watching her his control would have slipped away. In a slow, sensual dance, Tanaka gauged her husband's sensitivity. Deliberately, she drove him to the edge of ecstasy and the brink of madness.

Leaning back, she looked at him with as much objectivity as she could manage and decided that her husband was a physical marvel, the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. His thighs were hard and flexed, veins bulging as he fought to hold his passion back. Tanaka ran her hands up and down his legs, touching every inch of him, ignoring his manhood so that he might regain control lost to passion. When she looked up into his face again, frantic wildness burned in his eyes.

"I'm not stopping," Tanaka whispered and, to emphasize the point, dragged her tongue along his length. Sensual, confident, she moaned with satisfaction.

Unwrapping her hair from his finger, Tabor reached for Tanaka. "I must love you," he said through teeth clenched with strain.

But she would not be denied the pleasure of pleasing. Tanaka caught Tabor's hands as he reached for her, then slowly, gently, laced her fingers in his. Then, trapping his hands, she leaned forward and kissed the center of his passion.

"But you are loving me," she whispered, her feline eyes glinting in the moonlight, wickedly magical and supremely confident. "And I cannot stop. I mustn't stop. . . . and you don't want me to stop."

"You must," Tabor whispered, his control at the breaking point.

She held his hands tightly, not caring that he squeezed her fingers with near-bruising force. Then, her gaze still holding his, she said, "I could stop, but I'm not going to," and took him deep within her mouth.

Tabor closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her descending over the length of him. He struggled for will power he no longer possessed; and, even as he felt the onrushing tide of his passion sweeping him away, he was distinctly aware that his wife created in him a hunger that only she could satisfy.

T
he smell of smoke and burning flesh was in the air, but it afforded Ingmar little pleasure. As the village burned and his men attacked the last remaining strongholds of resistance, Ingmar stood twisting a battle-axe slowly in his hands.

Tabor's axe. Throughout the winter, it had been his most prized possession. He knew the value that Tabor, Son of Thor, placed on the axe. By taking it, he had defeated his lifelong enemy.

Except rumor said that Tabor's defeat was not permanent, that he had been seen sailing near Kaupang in a two-ship fleet of boats unlike any ever seen on the Scandinavian seas.

Ingmar heard a familiar shout, and he looked up to see his brother Hugh signaling to him. Ingmar turned his back. Whatever source of entertainment Hugh had found, Ingmar wanted no part of it —or her, as was more likely the case. There were more important problems to worry about than the conquest of yet another comely wench.

It had only been the previous summer that Ingmar had tricked his Danish nemesis. When he closed his eyes, Ingmar could still see how he had aimed at Tabor's back —and how his arrow had missed its mark when the Egyptian woman intervened. Throughout the winter, Ingmar had convinced himself that his arrow, which had pierced Tabor's biceps, had eventually killed him. But then there came the rumor that Tabor had returned, as fit as ever, the Egyptian woman still with him, and his ships manned by a dark-skinned crew that spoke a strange and alien language . . .

"He couldn't have gotten her people to sail with him," Ingmar said aloud.

But what other explanation was there?

A short time earlier, Ingmar had raised his deadly axe against a village elder.

"You can kill me with Tabor's axe, but the Son of Thor is back and he will kill you!" the white-haired old man had said.

Those words had taken away the pleasure he had gleaned from the destruction of the village.

What if Tabor were back? Ingmar had seven ships. That would be enough against Tabor's two.

Ingmar the Savage would keep his ships and all his men close to him. No longer would he allow them to sail on their own and return with stolen goods to share with him. He wanted all his men around him because he knew that if Tabor were back, the Viking would want to exact his revenge. Personally.