Page 96 of Viking Unchained

He could feel her silent laughter.

She likes me, she likes me.

Oh, shut up!

He began to caress her breasts in earnest with his one hand. Massaging. Running fingertips over them, up and down, in a washboard fashion.

Her soft gasp encouraged him to do more. Torolf may think he knows everything about bedsport, but I know that gasping is a silent signal from females.

He kissed her ear and used the tip of his wet tongue to stimulate her there, at the same time pinching and tweaking and fluttering her nipples.

She groaned softly and put a halting hand over his. “We can’t . . . what if someone hears?”

Groaning is a signal, too. “We can. If you are quiet.” But not too quiet.

His left hand, which had still been resting on the pillow above her head, moved down and under her so that both hands were now touching her bare breasts under her sleep shert. If he were not so intent on her response, he might have missed the whimper. Only then did he move his right hand down, sweeping over her abdomen, the slight swell of her belly, to her woman hair, where he soon discovered her moistness.

“You want me,” he whispered against her ear.

“No kidding.”

Tugging her backward, he inserted his knee betwixt her thighs, separating her folds. Turning her head to the right, facing her shoulder, he kissed her, catching her cries as he brought her to ecstasy with a few expert strokes to her slick bud.

And he grew harder and longer, undulating several times against her crease, then stopped himself. Not yet. Not yet.

“Remember when I showed you the Viking S-Spot?” he mused, back to her breasts.

She nodded, unable to speak just yet, he assumed.

“Well, I saw a book with pictures at the commander’s house that shows where the G-Spot is.” I wonder where I could purchase that book for myself. “Can I practice on you, sweetling?”

A gurgle that tried to be a laugh escaped her lips. He took that for assent. So, I add gurgle to gasp and groan. With the heel of one hand on her nether bone, he inserted a middle finger inside her, under that bone, searching for the knot which would give her more pleasure, presumably of a different kind. She jerked when he found the spot. He began to massage her then, from inside and out. Her body began to jerk wildly with a never-ending rhythm of peaking.

Giving her no chance to recover, or change her mind, he pressed her right knee up to her chest, then he plunged into her still-convulsing channel.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she asked.

“Shhh.” He remained still for a moment, wanting to calm down his enthusiasm, and make sure they hadn’t awakened anyone else in the house, like her father. Then he began the age-old strokes in and out of her tight sheath, at the same time working her breasts again with his left hand. With his right, he found that she was incredibly wet and slick. Her woman dew coated his fingertips, which he used to torture her relentlessly. He wanted her to want him more than any other man . . . more even than the dead husband.

He wanted this night, and this sex, to become a need to her, like thirst and hunger. He was unrelenting in his use of her. Plunging, retreating, stroking, ’til they peaked together . . . a peaking that was longer and more intense than he had ever experienced.

In the aftermath, he realized that he was the one who would want her more than any other woman. He was the one who would thirst and hunger for her. He was the one lost.

Chapter 18

A blast . . . just like the past . .

.

Lydia was as nervous as a kitten at a dog show.

She and Mike, adorable in his little suit and tie, were seated on the platform, along with Dave’s parents, the mayor, JAM, acting as representative for the SEALs, and various other dignitaries. Dave’s life-size bronze statue was to the back of them on a high marble cube. She couldn’t bear to give it more than a passing glance, so much did it look like her husband. Even when Mike craned his little neck to look behind him and asked, “Is that my daddy?” she stared straight ahead.

“Yes, it is, honey. And he was a very brave man.”

“I know.” He probably did. He’d been told about his father almost since birth.

In front of the platform were dozens of folding chairs to accommodate those vetted friends, news media, and town folks. There were law enforcement people all over the place, both in uniform and not. Finn sat in the front row, wearing an old suit of Dave’s that Julie had lent him. He looked different. Normal. Not that he wasn’t normal.