Dark Viking (18 page)

“Like that, do you, m‟lady?” he whispered against her mouth as he did the hip rotation thing again.

“You know I do,” she gasped, “and you are going to pay for tormenting me like this.”

“I cannot wait.”

She tried to move, but she was pinned to the floor by his erection impaling her, his hips pressed against her belly, and his hands linked with hers above her head.

“I am not going to kiss you or touch you this time because I cannot wait. My ballocks are afire. I cannot wait. But later . . .” he promised.

Little did he know that she shared his decision. She loved his kisses. That, combined with her already heightened excitement, would have been too much. She wanted to concentrate on one sensation at a time.

“One more thing,” he said as he licked, then blew on her ear.

She bucked up against him, and although he didn‟t move, she felt his erection swell inside her even more. “I don‟t think I can stand one more thing, and if you don‟t start this party for real—”

“One more thing,” he repeated. “I must needs pull out at the end. Do not try to stop me.”

For a moment, she was confused. “Oh, didn‟t I tell you? I‟m wearing a birth control implant.

See, right there under my left armpit. It‟s good for two more months.”

He frowned. “Are you saying that my seed cannot breed with your eggs because of 
that
?”

She nodded.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if saying a silent prayer of thanks. Then, in one fluid move, he withdrew from her and stood. Before she could blink, he tossed her onto the bed and crawled up over her, making growling noises.

Was that a Viking thing? Sex growling? Good Lord, maybe she‟d fallen into one of those sexy werewolf romance novels, as well as time travel. If he started to sprout hair in unlikely places or do weird wolf mating things, she was out of here. But no, she‟d misunderstood his growls.

“You wanted the party to start? Welcome to 
my
 party, Red Riding Hood.”

He tortured her with pleasure . . .

Steven had no time for the niceties of bedplay, which was embarrassing, really, because Viking men were known for their sexual prowess . . . he above most others. Instead, he was on the beguiling wench like a starving dog on a juicy bone.

Before he could tell her of his need or apologize for his haste and promise better later, she spread her legs, raised her knees, and raised two hands to beckon him with wagging fingers.

“Come here, Steven.” Her voice was sex-husky.

He thought about resisting, but only for a lackwit moment. Still, he recognized that she was a woman who liked to take control. That could be a blessing in some cases or a bane when it got out of hand.

For now, he mounted her, sinking into the wet depths of her sheath all the way. Having passed the point of long-and-slow foresport, he began to pummel her with thrusts that brought him flush against her bare mons, over and over. Usually, he could tell when a woman was approaching her peak, but Rita‟s inner muscles were grasping and ungrasping his cock in an almost continuous friction. Rita had her eyes closed, fists clenched at her sides, her chin arched high, her breathing rapid, and still her hips kept pace with his rhythm, meeting him stroke for stroke.

Despite his far-famed stamina, he could not hold off his raging enthusiasm any longer, and with one final lunge and a roar of completion, he lodged himself to the hilt, spilling himself inside her womb, something he had not done for fifteen or more years. And what a glorious feeling it was!

“That was amazing,” she said, opening her eyes to look at him. “It appears that the Vikings earned their reputation as good lovers.”

“Was that a compliment?” He was braced above her on extended arms, not wanting to crush her with his weight.

“You‟re conceited enough without my praising your talents as a lover. Let‟s just say you were satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory? You will rue that word, m‟lady.” He pulled himself out of her with a groan of sheer pleasure/pain. Rising from the bed, he pointed at her. “Do not move.”

Behind the screen he relieved his bladder, then used a soft, wet cloth to cleanse himself.

When he went back, he was not surprised to see that Rita had moved to a sitting position with her back propped against two stacked pillows and a bed fur pulled up nigh to her neck.

“A little late for modesty,” he remarked as he went to the bottom of the bed and began to search Thorfinn‟s old chest.

“I was cold.”

He gave her a look of such skepticism that she blushed. “Well, maybe a little shy. You have to know, Steven, that I don‟t usually do this kind of thing.”

Dost mean blood-flaming, bone-melting, mind-exploding sex?
 “What kind of thing?”

“Hop into the sack with a guy I hardly know.”

You know me now, lady.
 “So, what do you do instead?” Not that he really wanted to know.

Meanwhile, he was tossing items right and left. Who knew Thorfinn had so many braies and belts? But soon he came to the hose. At the bottom, of course. “We go out on dates. You know, have dinner. See a movie. Walk on the beach. Go to a concert. You don‟t understand those words, do you? Suffice it to say, we get to know one another before screwing each other‟s brains out.”

He smiled at her choice of words. “Like putting the cart in front of the horse, as my mother ofttimes says.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, we cannot erase what has already been done. And I for one have ne‟er had such amazing sex, ever, and, believe you me, I have engaged in every kind of sex imaginable.”

“Nice to know. Hey, what are those for?” She was staring at the two pairs of Thorfinn‟s hose.

“I have noticed that you always try to take control of things, even in bedplay. Turnabout is fair play, is it not?”

She was edging toward the other side of the bed, but he grabbed her foot before she could bolt. “Oh, no, buddy. No bondage for me.”

He had already wrapped one of the stockings three times around her left ankle, then tied it to one of the foot-board posts. “I do not know what bondage is. All I want to do is try a little experiment.”

“Experiment be damned.” She was slapping at him as he tried to grasp her left wrist.

He had her left side restrained and moved to the other side of the bed.

Resigned, or pretending to be, she asked, “What kind of experiment?”

“I just want to see what you are like when you do not hold the upper hand, so to speak, in bedplay. Plus, every Viking likes to explore new territory, unimpeded.”

“I could just lie here like a loaf of bread.”

“Not what I have in mind.” He was busy now, lighting another eight fat candles he had found in Thorfinn‟s chest. He did not want to know why they were there.

After he had her tied loosely, spread-eagled on the bed, he lit each of the candles, arranging them as close as possible to the bed.

“What are the candles for? Some kind of ritual?”

He laughed. “Nay. The better to see you, my dearling.”

“That damn Red Riding Hood story is coming back to bite me in the butt again. You had this all planned, didn‟t you?”

“I would have if I had thought of it, but nay, this is my creative impulsiveness at work.” Just then, he thought of something else he had seen in Luta‟s chest the other day. With what he hoped was an evil grin, he was soon waving an exotic feather fan, which had once belonged in a sultan‟s harem. Thorfinn had given Luta the fan for a betrothal gift before he realized the kind of perfidy she could commit. The fan was composed of various colorful feathers . . .

peacock, goose, swan, and others he did not recognize.

“What the hell are you going to do with that?”

I have no idea.
 “It will be a surprise.” 
To us both.

“You‟re punishing me for leaving the castle without telling you where I was going, aren‟t you?”

He pondered a short while. “Mayhap a little.”

“I was only visiting the witches‟ cottage.”

“And you think that makes it better?” He raised a hand to halt her next words. “Do not tell me now. Later, you can disturb me with tales of all your intrigues, but I will not let you ruin my good mood now.” “I thought you were supposed to be a Viking with the blues.”

“Usually I am, but at the moment I am . . . um, yellow.”

“You mean mellow.”

“That, too. I was just picking a light, sunshine color.”

He arranged himself on the bed then, on his side. He was already half-hard, but that would have to wait. He had other plans.

She stared up at him warily, even when he only outlined her lips with a forefinger.

“Dost know what I intend for you, my sex slave?” 
As if I know!

“Sex slave? In your dreams!”

“I repeat. Dost want to know my plans?”

She frowned at him with wariness.

Well she should be wary!

“First I intend to kiss you. Many men do not like kissing, but I consider myself an expert in that foresport. Dost like kissing as much as I do?”

She nodded, still wary.

“Well, first I will kiss you endlessly, in so many ways we will lose count, until you reach your first peak.”

“That‟s great, Steven, but this would be so much better if you would release me.” She struggled against her ties.

“Remember, Ree-tah, this is all about control. Mine.”

She said a foul word that he chose to ignore.

“After the kissing, I will move down to your breasts, where I will experiment with each of the different feathers. Then I intend to fondle and suckle until your second peaking.” At that promise, he could see her already hardened pink nipples engorge even more. “After that I will move down to your bare mons, which I have saved for last. I must say I have heard of such, but ne‟er seen it afore. So, I will have to examine it thoroughly. Not just by looking, but by touch and taste as well. With my fingers as well as feathers.”

She whimpered.

“After that exercise, which I expect to result in another peaking or two, I will take my own satisfaction inside your female channel, which by then I expect to be hot and dripping with your woman dew.” 
If I can survive that long.

“In other words, you intend to torture me.”

“Yea, I do,” he murmured against her lips. “Sweet torture.” 

Kissed to death . . . the little death . . .

Steven hadn‟t even begun to make love to her, not really, and already Rita was so aroused, she could barely breathe.

“You are trembling,” he remarked.

“Must be I‟m cold.”

He laughed, not at all fooled. “Not for long, sweetling.”

If that was meant as a threat, she wasn‟t frightened. Somehow, she knew that he wouldn‟t hurt her and that he was no more into Sadie and Maisie than she was . . . sadomasochism, that was. Still, she was finding her restraints difficult to accept. Maybe Steven was right that she needed to be in control . . . that submission spelled weakness to her. She would have to think about that later. Right now, she was having trouble concentrating on anything other than, 
“Oh.

My. God!”

His warm breath fanned her face before his mouth descended on hers. “Ree-tah,” was all he said. It was both a plea and a demand, both of which increased her trembling. The only place he touched her was the pulse point in the curve of her neck where his fingertips rested lightly.

Lying on his side, his other arm rested above her head on the pillow.

At first, his kisses were as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly‟s wings as he explored and tested her mouth with wet lips, tongue, and even teeth. Many men went through the motions of kissing, but only as a prelude to the good stuff. Other, wiser men recognized that kissing could be the good stuff, as well. Steven was obviously of the latter persuasion. Without a doubt he enjoyed every little nuance as the intensity of his kisses took her gradually from one level of pleasure to another.

Rita had doubted Steven‟s earlier boast that he could make her come just by kissing. She wasn‟t so sure now. Each step he took displayed an expertise in the art of kissing. Exploring.

Teasing. Persuading. Demanding. Then he would backtrack and start all over again. It was driving her crazy, and she nipped at his tongue on its latest withdrawal, attempting to keep him where she wanted him.

His chuckle vibrated his tongue, which triggered the beginning of an orgasm. But wait, the brute stopped. “Not yet,” he murmured thickly. Lifting his head, he stared down at her. His thick black lashes swept half-mast over eyes that were illuminated to silvery desire. He used the fingertips that had been at her neck to trace the moisture on her lips. Then he did the same with one of the stiffer feathers.

“Release me, Steven. I need to . . .”

He pressed a forefinger into her mouth, then took it in his own mouth and suckled.

She could swear her vagina lurched.

“Need to what?” he asked, licking her ear.

Oh, my! Oh, my! Ooooh, my!
 “Touch you. Kiss you. I don‟t know. Just something.” “In other words, you would take control, even of something so simple as kissing.”

“There is nothing mere about your kisses, and you damn well know it. I swear, if I were free, I would smack you.”

“That is not very loverlike of you.”

“I‟m not feeling loverlike.”

“How are you feeling?”

She couldn‟t answer, because he was back to French-kissing her. Hard, fast thrusts of his tongue that caused ripples of pleasure to slingshot from her mouth to her nipples to her clitoris, all of which were swollen with her rising need.

She fought it, hating to come alone, under his scrutiny, but in the end, she jerked her head to the side, arched her hips up as much as she could, which was only a few inches, and fell into an orgasm that started inside, then moved in waves out to her slick folds, in fact to all the extremities of her body. Even her fingertips and toes felt sensitized.

When she flopped back down to the bed, her lips burned in the aftermath of what felt like a sexual possession. She glared up at him. “That wasn‟t fair.”

“How so?” he asked, giving her a fleeting kiss.