Santa Viking (14 page)

“We shouldn’t,” she said softly, even as she pulled him closer and spread her legs wider in welcome.

“We should,” he insisted, nipping her neck and looping his hands under her knees, dragging her tush even farther out on the edge of the counter.

“I’ll be sorry later
 . . .
you’ll be sorry,” she moaned, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“No
 . . .
never,” he grunted as he eased himself into her tightness. She clenched him spasmodically, and he feared he’d come, way too soon. For long, long moments, forehead to forehead, imbedded fully, he waited out her first orgasm.

When she sighed, finally, he smiled and pulled away to examine her blushing face.

“Oh, Jessie, I love you.”

Her face paled with shock.

He hadn’t meant to say the words yet. They just came out.

“No. No, you don’t. You’re just like all men. You think you need to say
 . . .
o-o-oh!”

To stifle her protests, he’d pulled out, then stroked back in. Once, twice, three excruciating times.

“I love you, Jessie. Believe that.” This time when he filled her, he twisted his hips, side to side.

She began to keen with the beginning of another climax, but he wanted to slow her down. “Look at us,” he urged her. Her half-lidded eyes moved in the direction he pointed and widened with the same wonder he felt. Highlighted by the winter sunshine streaking through the single window in the pantry, fine red curls blended with his crisp, blond pubic hairs where they were joined, creating an erotic picture, like silken threads in a tapestry.

A tear slipped down her cheek. “We’re beautiful together,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed thickly, and allowed himself to succumb to the overpowering need he had for her. This time when he withdrew and plunged into her, she rippled around him. And each time he stroked, and stroked, and stroked, he repeated, “I love you.”

She no longer protested his love words. Maybe she believed him now. Then again, maybe she was as swept away as he was by the most explosive orgasm of his life. With blood roaring in his ears, and bells ringing, he reared his head back and cried out his release, pummeling into her one last time.

Jessie shuddered from head to toe and hung onto him fiercely, crying out, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
 . . . 
”

Even when the racking shudders no longer shook them both, Erik still heard bells ringing. He had to give himself a mental pat on the back. When he’d planned
wild sex,
he’d never imagined that it would happen so soon or that it would be as spectacular as what he’d just experienced
 . . .
bell-ringing and all that. He must be even better than he’d always thought.

“Oh, my God! It’s Aunt Clara,” Jessie said with horror.

“What about Aunt Clara?” he said, bemused, giving her luscious lips a quick kiss as he eased himself out of her body.

His first clue that he was in big trouble came when she punched him in the stomach, just before she slid to the floor and jerked on her panties and jeans.

“Ooomph!” he said in delayed reaction to her punch, although it didn’t really hurt. “Why’d you do that?” He decided to pull up his own pants, as well. Odds were against a repeat performance anytime soon.

“Because you seduced me, you creep. Because you made love to me in Aunt Clara’s pantry, for heaven’s sake. Because Aunt Clara’s bell has been ringing forever, and I’ve been down here engaging in a world-class wall-banger.”

Well, at least she has the good taste to recognize world class when it hits her like a ton of testosterone. Then, so that
’
s what the bell ringing was?
But he didn’t voice his thoughts. Instead, he remarked, “I wasn’t the one who dragged you into the pantry by the hair looking for wild sex. You seduced me, babe, not the other way around. Not that I wasn’t willing.”

He reached for her, and she slapped his hands away.

“Wild sex! That’s what you mentioned when we came in here. Yes, you did, you said something about wild sex just before you kissed me. I heard you. Don’t deny it. You deliberately seduced me.”

“Whatever.” He was in too good a mood to argue. “When can we get married? I mean, will you marry me?”
Oh, boy, I
’
m getting this love stuff all out of order. Probably because I
’
m horny again. Just looking at all that wild red hair makes me hot. I wonder what she
’
d think if I suggested
 . . .
oh, boy. Slow down.
“Jessie, honey,” he started over, “I love you. Will you marry me? Tomorrow. Or the day after that?”
And can we go have wild sex again? Now? Maybe in that antique bathtub on the third floor.

“Love? Love?” she sputtered. “You are driving with two bricks short of a full load. And stop leering at me. You’re not touching me again.”

Wanna bet?
“Leering? I don’t leer, babe. That look you see in my eye is a promise.” He jiggled his eyebrows at her and reached around to unlock the door. Aunt Clara’s bell was jingling to beat the band.

No sooner did he open the door than he saw Willie, openly eavesdropping. Willie took in the appearance of both of them, then did a little victory dance, karate style, around the kitchen.

“Oh, Lord!” Jessie said and scooted away, down the hall and toward Aunt Clara’s incessant bell-ringing.

He looked at the freckle-faced twit and knew that Jessie had deliberately abandoned him to the adolescent Bruce Lee. Probably her idea of just punishment.

“So, did you boink Aunt Jessie in the pantry?” the kid asked unabashedly.

Erik looked down to make sure he hadn’t left his zipper undone. Everything was in order. He sliced a glare at the curious boy, warning, “Willie, that’s enough.”

He started down the hall, following in Jessie’s tracks, but Willie bird-dogged right after him, throwing in a few side kicks and an occasional grunt of “Uut” along the way.

“I need a bong pole. How big is yours?”

Erik’s step faltered.

“Will you help me make one out of Aunt Clara’s broom? A bong pole’s supposed to equal your height, but I think a broom handle will do for me. Don’t you? Huh? Willya help me? Huh?”

“No.” Erik was already climbing the stairs, and Willie padded after him doggedly. No, that padding sound was Fred. Somehow they’d picked up Fred along the way.

“No?” There was a long silence following his disappointed question, and Erik walked down the second floor hall toward a bedroom where he heard voices. He’d thought he lost the kid until Willie asked, “How old were you the first time you did
it
to a girl?”

Erik stopped suddenly, and Willie and the dog ran into him with a yelp and a bark.

“Listen, Willie,” he said, hunkering down. “You can’t ask those kinds of questions of complete strangers.”

Willie’s face and big ears flushed bright red, and his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t feel like you’re a stranger.”

And Erik felt like a rat. Hell, the kid was asking a normal question for a boy his age. But usually it was addressed to a parent
 . . .
a dad. Which Willie didn’t have.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and wondering how he’d gotten himself into this predicament. “I was fourteen the first time.”

“Fourteen! Fourteen!”

Erik stood, laughing, and rumpled the boy’s hair as he continued toward Aunt Clara’s bedroom. He heard Willie mutter as he skipped back down the stairs, “Did you hear that, Fred? Fourteen! Uncle Erik musta been retarded or somethin’. Guess lookin’ like a Viking doesn’t mean everything.”

He’d never been the answer to anyone’s prayers before
 . . .

Aunt Clara took one look at him when he entered the bedroom and exclaimed, “Thank the Lord! He sent me a miracle.”

Erik cast Jessie a knowing smirk that said clearly, “See, I am so a Christmas Miracle.”

Jessie was sitting on a straight-backed chair next to the bed, talking to a sixtyish gray-haired woman with one leg encased in a white cast from toe to thigh.

“Aunt Clara, this is Erik Thorsson, the man I told you about who helped me last night when the van got stuck in the snow.”

Erik arched a brow at Jessie as he moved around to the other side of the bed.
Lying to a nun now, are you, Jessie? Tsk-tsk!
He leaned down and ignored the hand Aunt Clara extended to him, giving her parchment cheek a light kiss.

It was the right thing to do, he could tell immediately. She literally glowed as she took his right hand in both of hers and drew him down to sit on her bed.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Aunt Clara
 . . .
I hope you don’t mind my calling you Aunt Clara
 . . .
I feel as if I know you already.”

“Of course not, my boy.” Still holding his hand, she studied him intently before nodding, as if answering one of her own silent questions. “So, Darlene tells me that you plan on marrying my sweet girl, Jessie.”

Jessie gasped and turned greenish. Probably all that fruitcake she’d consumed.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said firmly before Jessie could say different. “Jessie doesn’t think I’m serious, but I am.”

“I am
not
going to marry him,” Jessie told Aunt Clara when she finally regained her voice. “We hardly know each other.” With that, she shot Erik a glare, daring him to contradict her. At the same time, her face turned from green to a pretty shade of pink—a nice contrast to all those unruly red ringlets—as she remembered just how well they did know each other.

“Well, I don’t know if the length of time two people know each other is a true indicator of feelings,” Aunt Clara opined.

I love this old bird.
“Right,” Erik intervened quickly. “Look how long she knew Burp, and they were a mismatch from the get-go. Why, he even played”—he made an exaggerated shiver of distaste—“golf.”

“His name is Burt,” Jessie stormed.

Aunt Clara snickered behind her fingers.

“And you and I are the mismatch,” Jessica railed. “Geez, Thor the Viking and Little Orphan Annie!”

“Erik the Viking,” he corrected. “I’d like to get married real soon,” Erik went on, ignoring Jessie’s hiss of warning. “How soon do you think it will be before you’re out of that cast, Aunt Clara?”

“Well, the doctor said I could have a soft cast next week,” she said tentatively.

“Gol-ly,” he said contemplatively, tapping his chin. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.” He turned to an outraged Jessie. “What do you think, honey? Can you wait for a whole week?”

“Erik, I just knew when I saw you walk through that door that you were the answer to my prayers,” Aunt Clara said, smiling at him.

He’d like to be the answer to someone’s prayers, although not a nun’s. But Jessie didn’t look much like she was in the mood for praying. In fact, her eyes were crossed. Someone ought to tell her about faces freezing and stuff. Perhaps he should call Willie.

“You are the worst Christmas Curse I’ve ever had,” Jessie gritted out at him.

Aunt Clara gasped at her harsh words, and Erik felt a little twinge of hurt, as well.

“Jessica Jones, what an awful thing to say! I brought you up better than that.” Then Aunt Clara’s frown melted away as she confided in a softer voice, “I was praying this morning for a Christmas Miracle. Who are we to question the answer God gives us? A miracle is a miracle.”

Aunt Clara and Jessie looked at him then—him, the miracle.

Aunt Clara beamed.

Jessie’s honey eyes threw sparks of disbelief.

Erik wondered how soon till he could have wild sex again.