Authors: Sandra Hill
Viking Heat (34 page)
“That’s the beauty. You’re everything a man should be.”
He glanced downward, then lifted his head to wink at her.
“That’s not what I meant.”
As naked now as she was, he dropped to his knees at her side. “You are not to move,” he declared, “and you are not to speak.”
“More orders?”
“For your good.”
She laughed.
“For both our good, then. Now let me see all that I would. All the nooks and crevices you have hidden from me.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“Shhh! No talking. Just lie back and enjoy.”
And she did.
And so did he.
Lightly, with fingertips and gentles kisses, he examined her face, which was less than perfect, seen up close. Tiny lines bracketing her eyes and mouth. Brows that were a little too thin. Lashes too light. One side tooth slightly crooked. But, with all her flaws—and he was sure he had thrice as many—she was more attractive to him than the most comely, younger maid.
Moving to her ears, perfect shells that harbored whorls and depths with many pleasure points, he soon discovered. When he wet them with his stabbing tongue, blew her dry, or tugged on the lobes, she sighed her delight.
Her arms and legs got his attention then. Every bit of them. He delighted in her shapely muscles and womanly curves. Even her hairless underarms and definitely her hairless legs were touched and checked and rechecked. He discovered the backs of her knees and the arches of her feet were especially sensitive, and so he lingered there.
Her breasts were already yearning for his ministrations. He could tell by their fullness. Even the areolas were puffed out. And the nipples, they were hard, rose-hued pellets, begging for his suckling.
She saw where he was looking and bowed her back in invitation.
“Not yet, sweetling.” He skimmed her abdomen and waist and flat belly with his palm. Flicked a fingertip in her navel.
“Please, here,” she whispered, taking his hands and moving them upward.
Even then, he withheld his most ardent attention. He lifted her breasts from underneath. He pressed her breasts together from the sides. He massaged the whole breasts with wide, sweeping caresses of his palms. Only then did he touch the tips. Just barely.
She let out a keening cry and panted for breath. Her legs went stiff, and her hands fisted at her sides. He could tell she was fighting an early peaking.
He could not allow that.
Leaning forward from his still-kneeling position, he took one nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, over and over and over, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then sucking hard. His other hand was flat on her belly, holding her down as she shattered, thrashing her head from side to side. His mouth moved to the other breast, and under his palm he could feel the ripples of her woman pleasure.
She stared dazedly up at him. “You’re torturing me.”
“Nay, I am just whetting your appetite for the real feast.”
She tried to laugh, but it came out as a gurgle.
“But I do not like to eat unless I know what food is being put before me,” he said in a raw voice. All this holding back was having its effect on him, too, and not just his unruly cock, which was nigh to bursting.
Bringing several candles closer, he forced her ankles up to her buttocks, then spread her wide. Kneeling betwixt her legs, he got his first look at her woman parts.
“I’m going to get back at you for this,” she grunted out.
“I can only hope,” he said, leaning up to kiss her gently, and even that was an effort when he wanted to plunder her mouth hungrily and take all that she could give.
Sitting back on his haunches, he noted the glistening pearls of moisture on her fleece and in her female folds. “You weep for me.”
“Weep? If I do, it’s tears of pleasure . . . of anticipation.”
“To be sure. Yours as well as mine. Now lie still whilst I look closer.”
“Oh, God!” she moaned as he slid belly down on the furs so that he was raised on his elbows on either side of her thighs. He was so close he could smell her woman musk of arousal.
He used one finger to trace a line from her curls, down to her back, then up the other side. His finger now wet, he inserted it inside to be clasped tightly. In and out he moved the appendage several times. Glancing upward, he saw that her eyes were shut tight, her lips parted, and her chest heaving with barely restrained enthusiasm for the coming of her second rise to ecstasy.
’Twas not difficult to find the nub of her woman’s pleasure at the top of the cleft, which stood out, ruby flushed. He traced it carefully, vibrated it side to side, then leaned down to lick it with his tongue. Her eyes shot open, and she tried to close her legs to him, which he would not allow. Instead, he laved her several times more, then inserted not one, or two, but three fingers inside of her, just barely past his fingernails, with his thumb pressed below her nub of bliss. Then he waited to see what she would do.
She did not disappoint.
Holding his gaze, though her eyes were unfocused with her overwhelming need, she began to undulate against him. Rhythmic thrusts that drew his fingers fully inside and his thumb up to strum that other place. She was riding his fingers in the same way a man would ride her with his cock. In mere seconds, she began to convulse around his fingers, which he immediately withdrew.
“Wha-what?” she protested in a gasp of disbelief.
“Shhh. We will peak together this time, dearling.” Placing himself at her woman’s portal, he moistened the tip of his staff, then plunged in with a long-drawn-out groan of almost painful pleasure. Her muscles were clasping and unclasping him, but he could not dwell on that. With head reared back, he strived to bring himself under control. Which he did, barely. Then he thrust and thrust himself into her, unable to hold back. Forget long and slow. He was drawn almost against his will into wildly hard and short drives toward a peaking so powerful it shook him to the core and drained him to a boneless quaking of his limbs and thumping heart. He might have roared at one point.
Splayed over her, he could not speak at first. When he was finally able to raise his head, he saw she was equally stunned. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
“I did hurt you,” he said, thumbing away the moisture from her cheeks.
“No. I am just so overwhelmed. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”
“Nor have I, sweetling. Nor have I.” He kissed the sides of her swollen mouth. Her jaw. The curve of her neck where the pulse beat strongly.
And he realized, to his amazement and embarrassment, that his member, still inside her, was beginning to grow again. Her eyes widened as she began to notice the same thing. Then she laughed. “You’re kidding?”
I am as amazed as you.
“Dost think you can keep up with me, or are modern women too weak to match a Viking?”
“Dost think you can keep up with me, or are modern women too weak to match a Viking?”
“Is that a dare?” She arched her hips up against his and then wriggled from side to side.
“A double-dog dare,” he said, not really understanding what that meant, except that it usually prodded her into doing things she might not otherwise.
Pulling out abruptly so that he was kneeling once again, he took her by the waist and flipped her over. Her woof of breathlessness was soon cut short when he advised her to “kiss the fur.” With her face pressed to the fur, he lifted her hips with her arse upwards, knees on the rug but spread wide. Then, before she could ask what he was about, he entered her once again. But this time, he was able to proceed in a more leisurely fashion, fondling her hanging breasts, nipping her shoulder with his teeth, and rocking in and out of her slowly . . . very slowly.
This time their peaking was just as powerful but with a more gradual buildup, each level of excitement raising their yearning to a sharper edge. His enthusiasm had never raged so strong or high.
She screamed . . . she actually screamed . . . when the first ripples of her peaking began. Over and over she milked his sliding cock, trying to keep him in. Inside she felt like molten silk inflaming his staff like tinder. When he spilled his seed, it was with almost painful, unending spurts to her womb.
This time, he was the one spent and unfocused as he rolled over onto his back, splayed to her curious eyes as she leaned over him.
He reached up a hand to her face, caressing her jaw. There was so much he wanted to say, but all he could manage was a fierce whisper: “You are mine.”
Love means different things to different people . . .Okay, they weren’t the three magic words she wanted to hear. But they weren’t bad, either.
Joy stared down at this man who had become so important to her, the love of her life. Nothing had changed since their conversation about babies and slaves, but she had decided to take each day as it came. Until the end. And there would be an end, of that she was certain. The only question was when and how that end would come.
He kissed her, a quick, teasing brush of the lips, then stood in one fluid motion. For a man his size, he was easy on the feet . . . and eyes. He tossed another log on the fire, then stoked the embers with a poker.
Before he could turn around, she rose to her knees and said, “So, is it my turn now?”
Startled, he turned to find her face level with his belly. A very nice, flat belly with dark hair arrowing down to a limp part resting over a nest of dark curls and tight balls. Even as she stared at him, then licked her lips teasingly, she saw that part of him move. Just slightly, but enough to show interest. Which was amazing, after all the energy they’d both just expended.
“Joy,” he said cautiously, reaching for her.
She ducked and rose to her feet. “Uh-uh! My turn, remember.” Joy wasn’t a big fan of oral sex . . . either getting or receiving. It was such an extremely intimate act, which should be reserved for a love relationship, almost, none of which she’d experienced in the past. But she had to admit, she’d enjoyed what Brandr had done to her, and she hoped to make him as equally happy.
“Stand still,” she ordered and began to examine every inch of his body, starting with the back where she admired with caresses and kisses and just plain looking at his arms and broad shoulders with their planes of muscles. His back was pretty much hairless, but his underarms and legs were covered with curly black hairs, as was his chest and genitals.
When she stood once more in front of him, she caressed the strong tendons in his neck and nibbled at his flat nipples. When he attempted to take her in his arms, she shrugged him off. “Not yet, sweetie.”
“Sweetie!” he mumbled. “Sounds like you think of me as a boyling.”
She was down on her knees in front of him, where she chuckled. He was erect once again. “Hardly.”
Cupping his balls, she tested their weight and couldn’t help but notice his hiss of what she hoped was extreme pleasure. At least she assumed so, since he didn’t shove her away. Then she ran her fingertips over the top of his penis and remarked, “I’m not the only one who weeps.”
He smiled down at her, than jerked with surprise when she licked the bit of pre-come off the ruddy tip.
“Joy!” he cautioned.
“What?” she asked with sugary sweetness.
“You know what. By the gods, you do!”
She wrapped both hands around him at the base, and holy cow! Her fingers didn’t meet her thumbs, so big was he. “Show me how you like to be touched.”
He did, tossing his head back as she worked on him. His hands were fisted at his sides.
But when she took him into her mouth, all the way, then back out, sucking on the knob at the end, he roared out, “Enough!” Lifting her off of him, he walked them both the short distance to the bed, tossing her to the middle. He lunged after her and imbedded himself to the hilt before she could blink.
“Tease me, will you, wench? We shall see about that.”
She tried to tell him she wasn’t teasing, but his mouth was on her, devouring her with lips and tongue and teeth. Meanwhile, his hands were everywhere, caressing, pinching, tempting her to levels of excitement she’d never reached before. And the whole time he was plunging in and out of her, like a sex machine, wet, sucking sounds a counterpoint to her moans and his guttural sounds of deep, deep pleasure. Yes, that sounded corny as hell . . . sex machine . . . but it was the only way she could think of to describe what he was doing. Not that she was thinking much at all.
“Stop. Slow down. Too many things happening at once. I can’t concentrate.”
“Concentrate on this,” he shouted and slammed into her so hard, practically to the womb, his pubic bone against her clitoris, that he moved her across the mattress and up to the headboard, where she imploded into one nonending orgasm after another. It was incredible. Blood drained from her head and lodged between her legs. Her lungs burned with heavy breathing. Her heart was going a mile a minute. And then she crashed into a million pieces.
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