Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (18 page)

“Dance? What are you talking about?”

“I saw some Eastern women in a harem who used scarves to dance about on soft carpets. Except they were in a tent, not a wooden keep like this.”

“A harem, huh?” she said skeptically. “No, I’m not going to dance.”

“Too bad for me.” He put on an exaggeratedly sad face.

“I’m going to tie you up.”

“Really?” He brightened at that news. “Why?”

“Because this time when we make love, it will be
my
way. I’m making sure of that.”

“And you thought I would object to your way. Why?”

“Oh, not object, per se … just take over. As you said, you’re accustomed to being a leader instead of a follower. It’s about time you had the tables turned on you. Are you game?”

He nodded hesitantly.

And so Alison, who hadn’t had sex for five years and was making up for it bigtime, tied the big guy’s arms to the headboard posts and his spread legs to the side boards.

His half erection was no longer half.

“Come here, my dear,” said the fox to the pigeon …

Women were so simple. For the love of Frigg! They believed everything a man told them, no matter how outlandish.

I mean, really! Even a halfwit knows that a man’s body is designed to lose control at the slightest provocation. A maiden’s smile. The twitch of a curvy arse. Breasts, legs, woman-fleece, the small of a slender back, softness, hardness, toes, eyelashes, just about anything turns a man’s brain to porridge. I remember the time Torolf’s sap started running just from watching Dagne Hildedottir eat a carrot.

Ragnor smiled to himself as he observed Alison preparing to make him lose control. He’d baited the trap and lured her in slowly with his subtle dare. Not every man would have been able to succeed at such. But then, he was a Viking.

In truth, he could break these bonds in an instant, if he wanted … which he did not want. It wasn’t that her knots were tied inexpertly. But he was strong. He could pull the bed posts out if necessary.

“So, do you engage in bondage often?” he inquired lazily.

She smiled as she tied the last of her knots on his left ankle. “Hardly. Like, not ever.” Then she asked him, “And you?”

“I can honestly say that no one has ever tied me up afore. Not an enemy in battle. Not a woman in bedplay.”
But I am willing to try anything.

“A first for both of us, then,” she said, clapping her hands together with mock exuberance.

“And I have never tied up a woman either, in case you are interested in that information,” he added.

She blushed prettily, though she pretended his comment did not disconcert her. “Maybe later.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky, that is what I am tonight. Thor must be paying me back for that lost battle.
“Have I told you how much I like your body?” he asked. She was wearing scant undergarments, including the chastity belt on top. They were erotic in the way they called attention to her womanparts.

“About five or ten times,” she said, clearly pleased by his compliment. “I like your body, too.” She blushed some more at that admission.

Well, who would not?
“Really?” He knew he had a good body, but it was always nice to hear it. And it was especially gratifying to hear it from Alison. He wanted to please her, in all ways.

“How do you feel about peanut butter and honey?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?” How did they get from good bodies to
food? “I mean, I like honey well enough. As to that other, I do not know. Why?”

“You’ve never had a peanut butter and honey sandwich? Aaaaah, you are in for a real treat. I suspect you’re a sugarholic, like me, if your appreciation for Lillian’s cake was any indication.”

She left the bedchamber and soon returned with a tray, which she placed on the bedside table. First, she broke off a piece of the sand-witch. It contained two slices of soft white bread with a brown paste and honey inside. He wasn’t so sure about that brown paste, which resembled something a babe might emit into a nappy. But before he could voice that concern, she shoved it in his mouth.

He sighed. “You are right. It is surely an ambrosia of the gods.”

“Hmmm. Maybe I need a taste.”

He thought she would take a bite of the sand-witch, but no, she reached for a glass container and dipped her finger inside, coating it heavily in the brown paste. Then she proceeded to drizzle honey on top from a miniature bear with a nozzle in its head. Next, she proceeded to spread the combination all over his lips. And these substances, unlike what had been on the sand-witch, were warm and liquidy. They must have been heated in her kitchen.

This is not much of a sex game so far.
“I thought you said you wanted a taste. Oh.”
On the other hand…

She leaned forward and began to lick at his mouth. Wide swipes of her tongue at first. Then nibbles. Then, without warning, she plunged her tongue inside to taste him. If he could have, he would have shot up into a sitting position, so intense was the pleasure-shock of her invasion.

For the first time, Ragnor began to wonder if he was the fox or the pigeon in this game.

“How does it … rather I … taste?” he asked as calmly as he could. He hoped she didn’t glance downward because then she would see just how uncalm he was.

She did.

He moaned inwardly.

She winked at him. The saucy wench. Then said, “I’m not sure how it … rather you … tastes. Perhaps I need more of a taste.”

And the wily wench knelt on the mattress between his spread thighs and slathered both of his nipples with the gooey mess. The bed linens and their bodies would be sticky with the concoction by the time this exercise was finished, but not to worry! She made quick work of licking him, and biting him, and then—Help-me-gods!—sucking him over and over and over till he nigh bolted against his restraints.
Yea, Thor is really, really sorry for not coming to my aid in that battle.
Meanwhile, maintaining self-control was proving harder than he’d expected.

“How’s your self-control?” she asked, peering up at him from his wet nipples with the seeming innocence of a born siren.

What self-control?
“Just fine,” he lied. “How’s yours?”

“Fair to middlin’, honey. By the way, how many times did I ‘embarrass’ myself before?”

“Three,” he answered hesitantly. “Why?”

“Tit for tat, skippy,” she hooted gleefully.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, sweetheart, that you are going to come three times before I’m done with you.”

“Three times!” He tried to laugh, but it came out as choking. Finally he managed to say, “Sweetling, I am good but not that good. Oh, wait. I already peaked once, so two more times. Easy.”
Holy Valhalla, when did I become such a braggart?

“Easy, huh? Sounds like another dare to me. Baby, you have never lost control the way you will tonight.”

A little tremor of something approaching fear went through Ragnor then, especially when she made a line with the warm peanut butter and honey from his chest down to his navel and farther still. In fact, she chuckled wantonly before combining a huge gob of both substances on her fingertip and spreading it up one side and down the other and all around the knob of his most appreciative cock.

He tried desperately to say something intelligent, but all he managed was, “Glubfh, glubfh, glubfh …”

“Lost any control yet, cupcake?” she asked as she sucked the remaining substance off her finger with a finesse that would do a harem houri proud. Then she began to lick her way to paradise. Paradise to him, leastways.

In the end, she took him in her mouth. And wasn’t that just about enough to make his manpart explode and his brain melt? Just before he spurted his seed, she drew back and watched him surrender his self-control.

“Two down, one more to go,” she announced triumphantly.

He would have said something brilliant if he could have spoken above a whimper.

While he wheezed like an aged warhorse, she stood and waved jauntily at him. “I’ll be right back, sweetie. Don’t you go anywhere.”

As if he could! He was no doubt stuck to the
mattress by the honey-nut paste. He should get up and strip the bed of its linens. He should go into the showering room and wash off the mess. Later, he decided.

She is going to pay for this indignity … a mind-boggling, wonderful indignity but indignity nonetheless. Yea, she had “embarrassed” herself three times, but she was a woman. That was different. He must show her that he held the upper hand. But how?

Hmmm.

He smiled when an idea came to him.

Tit for tat, Viking style …

Alison was in the bathroom. After cleansing herself of the peanut butter and honey paste residue, she prepared a soapy washcloth, a wet rinsing cloth, and towels to take back to the bedroom. Time to clean up the boy before moving on to Round Three. She would get fresh bed sheets from the linen closet on the way.

She looked in the medicine-cabinet mirror, well pleased with herself. Her red hair was a mess of curls. Her cheeks were flushed. Her erect nipples pressed against the thin lace of her bra. She was excited beyond belief at how she’d been able to make Max lose control and what was yet to come … pun intended.

She hadn’t had so much fun in years.

“Your friend Lillian came home.”

She jumped at the voice behind her, and saw Max leaning against the jamb of the open doorway … a door she had specifically shut before coming in here moments ago. “What … what did you say?”

“I said that Lillian came home. You probably didn’t
hear her or the barking dog because the water was running in here. She popped in to get Sam and tell you she would lock up.”

“Did she see you?” she asked, glancing pointedly at his bare body, particularly one part.

He just grinned.

Strolling past her, he whacked her on the bottom with an open palm, then proceeded to spread his legs and pee into the toilet.
Men! They have absolutely no modesty.

Afterward, he shoved her aside with his hip and washed his hands in the sink, then used the washcloth to wipe off his mouth, and the trail her peanut butter and honey journey had followed. The whole journey!

Meanwhile, she just stood there like a dunce watching him. Belatedly she realized that he’d freed himself from her scarves … easily, considering how soon he’d followed her into the bathroom. The implications of that realization seeped in slowly. Finally she said, in a choked voice, “You let me do all those things to you when you could have gotten untied at any point along the way. Didn’t you?”

He shrugged.

“Why?”

“Do you need to ask, sweetling?”

“Now I’m really embarrassed.”

“Me, too.” He was wiping his hands on a dry towel. “Ready to try for three?” he inquired lazily.

Which would probably mean four for me. Holy cow!

Back to leaning against the door jamb, he clearly intended to block her exit in case she tried to bolt, which she was considering.

“Actually, Max, it’s oh-three-hundred. I’m thinking you’d better head on back to the base before you get into trouble.”
Not that I want you to. Nope, I’ve got visions of sugar in my mind, and I don’t mean plums.

“I don’t have to leave for at least an hour,” he contended. “There’s a lot to be done before then.”

Okay, time to call the Macho Man’s bluff. “Like what, hot stuff?”

“Like showing you the famous Viking S-Spot.”

“Don’t you mean G-Spot?”

“Nay. The S-Spot is a Viking invention, far better than the G-Spot.” He made a face of mock lasciviousness at her. Or maybe not so mock.

“Is it on the man or the woman?” She pretended indifference.
Like I’m fooling anyone!

“It is
in
the woman, but only a Viking man can find it. With his tongue.” He smiled lazily at her.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Dost think so? Is that a dare, milady?”

“No, no, no! I wouldn’t dream of any more dares tonight. I’ve had enough dares for one day. In fact—”

But it was already too late. Max picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the bedroom, whispering wicked, wicked things in her ear the whole time.

Exactly one half hour later, Alison discovered that the Viking S-Spot was indeed better than any mere G-Spot. And she “embarrassed” herself for the fourth time that night.

But then, Max hit three and a half—
who knew there could be half an orgasm?
—which he’d declared was
not
a record for him. Six had been his top performance,
or so he claimed, but he’d been eighteen at the time and trying to outdo his brother. A dare, you could say.

God bless dares.

Not a bad performance for a thousand-year-old man! …

Ragnor sat at the kitchen table, fully dressed, eating the rest of the chocolate cake, washed down by a can of mead. After a night of strenuous sex play, there was naught better than a hearty meal.

While he ate and drank, he studied an odd parchment document he’d found hanging from Alison’s cold box. The sheets were attached to each other with the individual pages divided into numerous blocks with numbers that had a significance he could not comprehend. Although he was getting better at understanding the Saxon English spoken here, much of the written word still puzzled him.

Alison was fast asleep in her bedchamber, thanks to his fine work. And it had been his finest work, he thought with a grin. She had an S-Spot for sure, and he’d had the pleasure of helping her discover it, over and over. The gods knew what they were doing when they blessed men with the occasional uninhibited woman. He grinned some more.

He heard a rustling in the bedchamber and the padding of feet to the bathing chamber. “Oh, my God!” he heard her exclaim. She’d probably looked in her mirror and seen what he’d seen … the face of a woman who had been good and truly tupped. Bed-mussed hair, whisker-rasped cheeks, and chin, bruised mouth. Every man’s fantasy lover.

“What are you reading?” she asked, walking into the kitchen a short time later. Her short hair had been wetted down and combed off her face. She must have applied some tinted ointment to hide the redness of her skin, though there was no hiding the kiss-swollen lips. Barefoot, she wore a big, thigh-length tea-ing
shert
with the words “Navy Brat” on the front.