Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (123 page)

Mesmerized by the heady sensation of his lips so close to her mouth, Elienor’s limbs weakened, yet as his lips pressed into her own, her sanity returned enough that she shoved at his leather-garbed chest in confusion.

Alarik merely grinned. “I’ve had babes give more of an effort,” he told her bluntly. “Mayhap you are undecided?” His silver eyes mocked her.

A quiver raced down Elienor’s spine, yet she managed to lift her chin as best she could. “Unhand me!” she cried softly.

“Elienor,” he whispered, relishing the sound of her name on his lips. His brows flickered a little, his eyes growing openly amused. He chuckled deeply, and the sound made Elienor’s senses scatter. “Ever you amaze me, my little nun. Men tremble before me, yet you seem not to fear me at all.” He crushed her to him once more, a demonic smile curving his lips. “Still, you cannot think to entice me,” he advised, a glint of wonder in his eyes, “only to deny me later.”

Elienor felt a flush rise to her face. She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came. Suddenly, and without warning, he swooped to take her mouth as though he were famished for the taste of her.

Alarik groaned in satisfaction as Elienor allowed his tongue to sweep across the soft fullness of her lips.

Resistance came only when he attempted to enter the silky warmth of her mouth. She whimpered and pressed her lips together to deny him entrance—a last dire effort, he knew, but he refused to be denied.

His body quickening with the feel of her in his arms, he reveled in the taste of her sweet lips, nipped them, lapped them, feasted upon them, coaxed her to open unto him. When that failed, he lifted her abruptly to the level of his face. Too long he’d waited, and now there was no more patience, no more reason. “Open for me, Elienor,” he demanded, his breath ragged. By the blood of his father, he’d sworn to take naught she did not freely give, but he couldn’t be certain what he would do if she refused to yield…

Elienor cried out, her heart leaping into her throat. She clung to Alarik for support, her eyes closing in desperation, and obeyed at once, her lips parting softly.

God forgive her, but she found she could not help herself, could not deny him.

At once Alarik reclaimed her lips. Half-insane with the desire to taste her, his tongue drove in at once to explore the velvety recesses of her mouth. His heart hammered.

Loki take him! She was more delectable than he remembered.

The pit of Elienor’s stomach responded with a tumultuous swirl as his moist, firm mouth demanded a response. To her horror, even as she called herself wanton, fool, and shameless, she reveled in the kiss.

Like liquid fire his tongue stabbed into the warmth of her mouth, drinking of her as though his soul demanded it... and the saints protect her, she delighted in it, radiated with it. The thought crossed her mind in that instant that she’d never been cut of holy cloth, for surely no bride of Christ would respond so eagerly to a mortal man.

Much less her sworn enemy!

Her heart twisted.

He was her enemy.

Alarik nearly came where he stood as Elienor offered her soft little tongue. Yet he thrust it back savagely with his own, determined to retain control this time. And then suddenly he paused and drew away.

“I...” Alarik swallowed, unaccustomed to asking for aught. Nevertheless, he would have her willing, or not at all. “Elienor... I would show you what else these lips... this tongue of mine can do.”

She opened her eyes, looking up at him, half-dazed.

Elienor’s heart flew into her throat. She said nothing—dared say nothing, for she feared that if she spoke, the answer would come forth as aye, when she knew it should be nay. It had to be nay! She could not, in all good conscience, simply give herself to her enemy!

“Elienor!” he implored, plunging her to the bed abruptly.

Elienor felt a scream catch in her throat as he trapped her between his arms. Yet his lips did nothing more than to seek out hers and brush them in a surprisingly gentle kiss—hot and persistent, coaxing, tormenting, burning.

“Elienor?” he hissed between her lips.

All thought of protest vanished when his tongue slipped into her mouth once more, this time finding easy entrance.

Was she so faithless? So wanton?

Her heart ached at the thought. She gasped as Alarik lowered his body to cover hers. This time she managed a whimper of protest, and turned her face in vain.

It stopped him not at all. His lips sought her neck instead, nibbling feverishly, consuming her... and to her shame, Elienor found herself responding in ways she’d never conceived possible.

Her body arched of its own will. Desire, like molten fire, flowed through her veins, coloring her cheeks with mortification. Yet to her dismay, she simply moaned in pleasure as his hands cupped her face and he sought her mouth once more, his tongue stabbing in, and out, then in, out, in, the rhythm mesmerizing. With each thrust her heart leapt higher.

With an oblivious groan, Alarik suckled Elienor’s tongue, greedily taking everything she would give. His body hardened more fully with each taste of her, and so did his resolve; he would have her—tonight, by Odin! He must have her.

Or grow mad.

Her passionate whimpers melded with his groans of desire until that sweet melody was the only sound to fill his ears, spurring him onward, exciting his senses.

All the while, her hands stroked him unconsciously. He doubted she was aware of that, nor that her body writhed beneath him in virginal frustration. When her pelvis careened into his instinctively, he rocked forward ruthlessly in answer, eagerly pursuing what she so naively offered.

More than aught else, he yearned to bury himself deep within her—she was so soft... so soft and supple in his arms.

He swore beneath his breath.

She tilted her pelvis once more, and the desire he’d harnessed for so long erupted violently within him. Need clawed him like a wild beast, stealing reason. Yet despite his instant of oblivion he found a moment to lift himself, to remove his boots, discarding them hastily upon the floor beside the bed. At the same time, before she could regain her senses enough to protest, his fingers slipped up her gown, until he found her, and he quivered with anticipation when he felt her wet to the touch.

Elienor cried out, starting at the unexpected touch of his fingers in her most intimate place.

Slowly, seductively, his head thrusting backward in sheer pleasure as he discovered her, he stroked her, wanting naught more than to rip the gown from her body and feel her more intimately beneath him. Yet he restrained himself, knowing patience and cunning would gain him more. A sheen of perspiration broke forth, bathing his flesh with the salt of his body as he drove his finger once more into the depths of her, stroking the nectar within, preparing her for the size of him. When she closed her legs instinctively, he nudged them apart with hands that trembled, so potent was his lust.

Elienor moaned, her body twisting. She opened her eyes, the turmoil clear in her eyes.

Indisputably, those eyes were the most bewitching Alarik had ever beheld. He stared, mesmerized by the violet-blue pools. “Truly, you are lovely,” he whispered huskily, teasing her still. He watched her breast rising and falling, her breathing quickening as she gazed at him, and in that moment he understood that she acquiesced with her startling blue eyes... and her silence. The knowledge filled him. His body quickening, he parted her once more and slowly inserted a finger. She cried out, tilting for him, her eyes glazing with passion.

He smiled mercilessly, shuddering.

Elienor whimpered, a helpless sound deep in the back of her throat and twisted in frustration. “You... you... promised not... not to force me,” she said feverishly.

“So I did,” he admitted. “So I did.” His eyes glittered. “You wish me to stop, then?” His eyes flickered knowingly and his lips curved slightly when her eyes widened.

She forced herself to speak. “Aye!” she cried out, uncertainly, twisting on the bed.

He withdrew, smiling devilishly.

Elienor’s heart plummeted. Her face flushed, for rather than feel relief that he had adhered to her wishes, she yearned only for the return of his touch. She berated herself that it was a sin to lie with a man without benefit of matrimony, yet at this moment she feared she craved just that.

Mayhap it was the simple fact that Francia, Phillipe, Mother Heloise, and the priory were so far away, or mayhap, if she could be honest with herself, it was simply because she desperately wanted that certain something his kisses tendered, the promise of fulfillment.

Was it so wrong to seek it?

She’d despaired that she would ever know a man—indeed, had never dared to consider it until Phillipe. Yet now... She feared she craved it with a madness that was shameful.

There was absolutely no guile to his little nun at all, Alarik acknowledged. Her eyes indisputably asked him to continue, yet he would hear it from her own lips. His own eyes narrowed ruthlessly. “Say it, Elienor.” She’d given him a taste of her passion, had shown him how sweet it could be.

He wanted her willing.

Or not at all.

Elienor shook her head.

“Say it,” he demanded, his knuckle returning to graze her curls. She cried out at the shock of his touch. “You want this,” he whispered huskily. The gray of his eyes smoldered as he looked down upon her.

The beat of Elienor’s heart quickened.

She could not—would not look into his knowing eyes! Squeezing her lids shut in surrender, her traitorous body tilted into his fingers.

Alarik shuddered as he watched her respond, his male flesh straining at his breeches. Swiftly, he unlaced his ties with his free hand, easing the confining garment downward. “Elienor,” he murmured thickly. “Lovely, lovely, Elienor.”

Elienor trembled softly as she opened her eyes to see him peeling his tunic up and over his head. He flung it aside, his eyes scrutinizing her, yet she knew she would not protest when he lowered his body to hers once more, touching his hardness to her softness. Aware only that the pressure now was different in that place, she whimpered in the back of her throat, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, so slowly, he entered her, and so easily, Elienor was lost once more.

His heart thrumming in his ears, Alarik shifted, making certain not to penetrate any deeper than was necessary as he pressed her down into the furs.

He withdrew slightly, and drove forward gently, knowing he would need go slowly, for he wished to cause her no pain.

Yet whereas he managed to harness his passion in the one sense, it erupted fiercely elsewise. His hands took hold of her filmy linen undertunic, and in one tug, rent it impatiently from her breast. His lips curled with satisfaction as before his eyes the rosy peaks grew to pebble hardness.

For an instant he could only look, for she was perfection. And she was his.

Elienor stiffened, her eyes flying open.

Alarik vowed to give her no chance to protest. He was glad she watched, for he wanted her aware of everything he would do to her.

“As I promised,” he murmured, his eyes brilliant with purpose as his lips lowered to her breast. He seized both her wrists, pinning them above her head as his lips continued their descent. He relished the sound of Elienor’s gasp as his teeth gently closed about the tip of one nipple, tugging delicately. He felt her arch beneath him... and heard her whimper as he penetrated a little deeper.

Alarik fought to regain control as he felt the barrier of her maidenhead. His hand trembled as he thrust it behind Elienor’s back to keep her steady. He suckled fleetingly at her breast, and then glanced up at her through dark lashes, his eyes shadowed. He blew softly upon the wetness he’d laved upon her breast.

She shuddered, closing her eyes, and Alarik had no inkling whether it was a reaction to his loving, or fear. Yet fear would only hinder the passion he so wished to taste of her, and so he held himself steady within her. Lifting himself slightly to look into her beautiful face, he braced his weight upon his elbows and waited.

When she opened her eyes, he grinned, for the war in her soul was there for him to see.

And the tide was turning. “Now,” he whispered, “to show you those pleasures I promised...”

E
lienor gasped as his lips again found her breast.

For the longest moment it seemed she ceased to breathe as tendrils of heat spread through her loins... along with every wicked sensation she’d never imagined. Her flesh burned wherever his fingers and lips stroked her, and still her body yearned for...

What?

“More,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes to fight her fear, for even through the haze of pleasure she could not forget what Mother Heloise had told her about the pain that would come with her first coupling.

Suddenly he stilled.

Elienor opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his dark eyes fixed upon her, scrutinizing. Curse him! she thought, for his face showed nothing of his thoughts. Surely there had to be more? Something left undone?