Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (17 page)

He stood in front of her, forcing her to look him in the eye where he could gauge her honesty. “You are tingling, all right,” he pronounced.

Her face bloomed with color. “And you? Are you tingling, too?” she asked.

By the gods, I relish a woman with a mind of her own. No molding her to my pattern. She will be what she wants, and that is fine. More than fine.
“Like a bell.”

He picked her up by the waist and elevated her so they were of even height. “Anxious to move on, are you, wench?” He swept his hands down and behind her, cupping her buttocks from underneath, and touching the wetness between her legs with his fingertips.

She let loose a howl of surprise … or outrage … or just plain tingling, and tried to squirm out of his embrace. He laughed and launched them both onto the bed, which creaked noisily but held up under their combined weight. She tried to move so that she would be on top, but he pressed her back to the mattress.

Then he did what he had been yearning to do since
she’d walked through that water spray at the drinking hall. He put his mouth to first one breast, then the other, bringing the nipples to hardness. As he suckled hard and rhythmically on their pebbled tips, she arched high off the bed and keened out her pleasure.
If she was not tingling before, she is now, I warrant.

He was about to move lower, to skim his lips over the smooth skin of her abdomen and belly, but she grabbed hold of both his ears and held him fast. “Don’t … you … dare … stop,” she gasped out.

He tried to raise his head and tell her that her wish was his command, but not only did she press his face to her bosom, tightly, but she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him fast, also tightly.
Not a bad position to be in!

So, like any good soldier, he did as commanded. He wet her nipples. He blew them dry. He nipped them with his teeth. And flicked them with his fingertips. He massaged both breasts at the same time. He took practically a whole breast in his mouth and sucked her hard against the roof of his mouth.

The whole time she undulated her hips against him and whispered encouraging words, like, “Yes. There. Harder, dammit. Oh, my God! I think … I think … ooohhh!”

With a long wail of bliss, she reached her peak, just from his ministering to her breasts.
What a woman!

But now, after putting on such a wanton show, she buried her face in the crook of his neck like a shy maiden. He felt a wetness on his skin. “What? You cry for what purpose?”

She refused to let him draw back to look at her.

“I’m embarrassed. How pathetic you must think me. To come just by being touched a little bit.”

That was not a little bit of touching. That was a lot, milady. And if “come” means what I think it means, here I come … any second now. So enough talking!
“Hey, I almost peaked, too, and you haven’t even touched me … yet. Do you want to? Touch me, that is?” He jiggled his eyebrows at her.

And she did. The witch! She took hold of his member and tried to guide him between her spread legs. He closed his eyes for a second as stars exploded in his head.
What is it about women grabbing hold of my manpart? First Inga. Now her. Ouch!
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said, carefully extracting himself from her grip, which had actually been rather gentle. “Can you help me put on a cone-dome?”

“Huh?” she said.

And people in this land think I am dumb!
Without moving himself off her body, he leaned over the side of the bed and reached for his den-ham
braies
. From one of the side pockets he extracted the silvery packets and dumped them on the mattress.

Her eyes went wide before she hooted with laughter. “You brought ten condoms with you tonight? Are you sure that’s enough?”

How would I know if it’s enough? I do not even know how they work. Or if one or several are worn at a time.

“You expected to get lucky tonight? Talk about overconfidence!” A glimmer of teasing danced in her green eyes.

“I brought them ‘just in case,’ not because I expected anything.” His words sounded defensive, even to him.

She tore one of the packets open with her teeth. Then she did the most amazing thing. She rolled a thin sheath over his cock, like a second skin.

“Holy bloody damn hell and Valhalla!” he exclaimed at the intense pleasure that shot through him. He blew out a few short breaths to regain his self-control.

Then he did what he was meant to do … his destiny. He plunged inside her hot, clasping folds, to the hilt, and let loose with a wild Viking yell of victory, or defeat, or just plain wonder at the magic of the gods-given gift of sex. One thing was certain. He was tingling.

Meanwhile, she stared at him with horror that her insides were clasping and unclasping and clasping and unclasping him in welcome. The talented wench reached another peak, praise be to Frey.

He must be doing a wonderful job of pleasuring her. Or was the talent all with her? Either way, he couldn’t wait to see what he … or she … would do next.

Leaning down, he brushed her lips with his, then braced himself on taut arms over her. Still imbedded in her, he feared that any move on either of their parts would end the game too soon. “Do … not … move,” he warned.

“As if I could!” she replied on a soft moan.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of nonsexual things. Like smelly lutefisk. Like cleaning out his moats. Like Madrene’s nagging. Like an ugly boil he’d once seen on a bull’s arse. Like grains of sand blowing in a desert storm.

“What are you doing?”

“Counting,” he rasped out.

“My blasted orgasms?” she inquired with self-deprecation. “That’s just great!”

He opened his eyes. She stared up at him through eyes as green as a rare Norse pasture. Her red curls were tousled in wanton fashion. Her swollen lips bespoke his passionate kisses. Her inner folds no longer moved around his manpart, but they encased him like a tight glove.

“Your peaks are my pleasure,” he informed her. And that was the truth. If women only knew what a tribute their arousal was to a man’s ego!

“What a nice thing to say. But I think you’ve peaked me out.”

“You have not yet begun to peak,” he assured her.

“Please! That is such a macho thing to—”

He spread her thighs wider with his own thighs, then forced her knees up almost to her chest, thus allowing him to slide even deeper inside her.

She gasped and stared at him in disbelief. Reaching up with both hands, she brushed her fingertips across his nipples. He arched his neck backward at the extreme pleasure-pain that mere caress caused. Then he forced her hands away, holding them above her head on the mattress.

“You didn’t like that?” She cocked her head to the side in question.

“I loved that, but I am hanging by my fingernails from a cliff, sweetling, and I must needs control this bedsport. This time, leastways.”

“Oh, you
must needs
, huh?” With a choked laugh, she put her feet on the bed and arched up her hips, pushing him upward as well, which required great strength. Then she did the most incredible thing. Deliberately, she made her woman channel milk him.
Three times in a row she did this. His eyes nigh crossed in his head. No longer could he control the sap that ran hot and heavy through his body.

As slowly as he could, he withdrew from her, then thrust inside again, slowly.

She whimpered.

He did it again.

She whimpered again.

Over and over he rocked in and out of her tight channel till beads of sweat covered his brow and the wet sound of their slick coupling was like music of the most erotic sort.

“Faster,” she urged.

He went slower. “Do you like that?”

“Oh, yes! Just like that.”

He tried a different way.

“Again.”

He went back to the first way. ’Twas always best to remind a woman who was in charge in the bed play.

“Please.”

“Ah, I thought you’d never ask. Like this?”

“Ohmigod, yes! Do it again.”

He did, and then some. He continued to thrust in and out of her, long strokes that were becoming shorter and harder. She locked her heels around his buttocks, trying to get more of him. He had no more to give.

This time on his withdrawal, he paused, reached between their bodies, and lightly strummed that engorged bud buried in her woman-fleece. She screamed and began to buck wildly till he took her hard, hard, hard.

With a sort of hysterical irrelevance, he recalled being bored in the midst of swiving Inga and any
number of women the past few years. He recalled wishing it just to be over. Not so with Alison. Now he wanted it to last forever.

But alas and alack, he was only a man, and all good things must come to an end. He might have screamed then, too, but he could not be sure, so overpowering was his release. Over and over he spurted his hot seed till he became light-headed with ecstatic torture. Even then, his body continued to thrust into her with reflexive after-spasms.

For a long time, he lay atop the panting wench, trying to regain his breath. When he finally raised his head and gave her a quick kiss of thanks, he told her, “You were wonderful.” As an afterthought, he added, “I was wonderful.”

“
We
were wonderful,” she said.

And that was the truth.

She tied him up in knots … literally …

Max had fallen asleep almost immediately.

SEALs trainees learned special fast eye-movement exercises which allowed them to practically fall asleep at will, taking advantage of five-minute catnaps when necessary, even standing up. Still, the guy had to be physically exhausted from the sleep deprivation that was typical of SEALs training. Plus, she credited herself with some of the depletion that had knocked him out cold.

Snoring lightly, he lay on her bed, totally relaxed, as only a man who’d just been truly laid could do. His arms were tossed over his head in complete abandon. His legs were spread a bit. Even at rest, his penis was half erect.

He filled her bed—took it over, actually. Alison should have felt as if he’d invaded her space, now that the explosive passion had waned. But oddly, she liked the way he looked there. Truthfully, a foolish part of her felt as if he belonged there.

Would any man have done tonight? She doubted it.

She was happy, that was all she knew, and she had Max to thank for that unexpected bonus to her night out on the town. Not just for the sex, which had been spectacular; good heavens, the guy took staying power to a whole new level. Sixty-minute man, for sure! But that was not why she was so thankful … or not totally. Somehow, Max had helped her close a chapter on her old life by reminding her that she was a young, healthy woman. Five years of mourning were ended. Just like that. She would always miss David, but life moved on. Max had helped her see that.

She put her panties and bra back on and went into the bathroom. When she returned, he opened his eyes and said, “Come back to bed, sweetling.”

She smiled at the clear invitation in his eyes. He was still lying on his back, totally relaxed, with his arms upraised. Even the hairs on his underarms were attractive to her. Talk about total sex appeal!

She had something she wanted to say to him. So she sat down on the edge of the bed near the bottom, wanting to put some distance between them.

He grinned at her obvious distancing maneuver.

“Thank you, Max,” she said, wanting to get that out of the way right off.

He arched his eyebrows at her. “Thank
you
.”

“Not for that. I mean, yes, for
that
, but not exactly.”

He chuckled at her floundering. He probably affected lots of women that way.

“What I’m trying to say is that you helped me forget for a little while tonight. More than that, I’m finally going to be able to stop dwelling on the past and what might have been.”

He nodded his understanding.

“And while I’m thanking you, I also have to apologize,” she added, feeling her face heat up at what she needed to say. “I’m really embarrassed over my behavior with you. Jeesh! You must think I’m really pitiful. I mean, I never lose control. But I did tonight … more than once.”

“Three times,” he told her bluntly.
The cad!
“But you are not to feel bad about that. It is a woman’s role to lose control in the bedsport and the man’s role to maintain control.”

“That is the most macho drivel I have ever heard!”

“You do not believe that?”

“I do not believe that.”

“Well, I admit that some men … weaker men than we Vikings … have less control over their bodies. Not me, though.”

“You are so full of it!”

“I can prove it.”

“How?”

“There is naught you can do that would force me to lose control … unless I chose to do so.”

Is he teasing me? Setting me up? Hmmm. He appears to honestly believe his own hype.

“But do not feel bad about that, dearling. It is the way of the world. Men lead, women follow.”

She growled her displeasure at his words.

The clueless twit just rolled over onto his side and beckoned her to come to him with a wagging forefinger.

She considered giving him a different finger. “Listen, buddy, I grew up in an all-male house. My mother died when I was eight. There was only my dad and my three brothers. If there is one thing a tomboy like me understands, it’s the lure of a dare. Are you daring me to prove that you can maintain control … no matter what?”

“Of course not. I would not be so unfair.” He still beckoned her with his finger. His erect penis was doing some beckoning of its own. “I know that you could not win such a dare. The advantage is all mine.”

Ooooh, you are gonna get it.
“You are going to be so embarrassed,” she warned, moving over to her dresser, where she rooted through a drawer.

“What are you searching for, sweetling?”

“These,” she said, turning and holding up a handful of silk scarves.

“What? You are going to dance for me? As appealing as that may be, it will not cause me to lose control.”