Page 31 of The Last Viking

“Doesn’t it feel good?” he asked with surprise.

That was when she noticed the hand that had been resting on her knee was roving, a forefinger examining the inseam of her jeans.

“Open your thighs,” he coaxed.

She stared straight ahead, trying to convince herself that this lonely road needed her undivided attention. But her legs parted, of their own volition.

Now, while his mouth and teeth and tongue played seductive sex games with her ear and neck, his lone fingertip traced a slow path along the inseam from knee to crotch to the other knee, then back again. Slowly. Over and over. Until she wanted to screech aloud with her increasing arousal and the urge to grab his hand and hold it where she needed it most.

“How do you feel now?”

She remained silent, not wanting to reveal her vulnerability.

“Your breasts,” he said huskily, looking at her there, “tell me how they feel.”

She made a soft mewling sound of resistance, never having talked like this with a man before. Besides, his teasing fingertip was still tantalizing her with its bold exploration.

“Tell me,” he pleaded. “About your breasts. How do they feel?”

She nodded mutely. “Full.”

“And?”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Are the nipples hard?”

“Very,” she confessed thickly. By now, she was creeping along at five miles a hour. She hoped no neighbors were outside to wonder what was wrong.

“Do you want me to touch them?”

She felt tears well in her eyes; that was how much she wanted his touch.

“I’ve wanted to touch you in that cat fur sweater all day. Every time you moved or stretched, I pictured your breasts underneath, waiting for me.”

She expected he would touch her then, but, instead, he sat back on his own side. She gave him a sideways glance and saw that he was equally aroused. “What?”

“We’re home,” he informed her with a wry grin.

Mortified that she’d lost her decorum so badly, Meredith pulled into the driveway. She couldn’t look at him now; he must be laughing at her. She released her seat belt and was about to open her car door when Rolf put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her so she faced him on top of his lap, straddling him.

“Did you think I would end it so?” he said huskily as he adjusted her against his hardness.

“O-o-oh.” She began to keen—a low, alien sound for her.

He placed both hands over her breasts and circled, crooning over the softness of the angora sweater. “I can feel your nipples,” he whispered appreciatively. “They are large and hard.”

She stiffened against the cataclysmic spirals of pleasure radiating out from the mounds. But, instinctively, she arched her breasts forward, her arms extended backward holding onto his knees. When he took one nipple into his mouth, cloth and all, and began to suckle, they both groaned.

A wetness pooled between her legs, and Meredith realized she’d never in all her life been brought to this point of madness by a man, clothed or unclothed. And certainly not so quickly. Or in broad daylight. In a car.

My brain must be splintering apart.

Then he moved to her other breast and, at the same time, spread his legs wide so that she moved even tighter into the cradle of hips.

It’s not my brain that’s splintering. It’s another body part. And, damn, it feels good.

He palmed her buttocks and showed her how he wanted her to move against him.