Page 94 of The Last Viking

She did.

With the support of her elbows, she bowed her back upward and moved her breasts, back and forth, across the bristly hairs on his chest. The magnitude of agonizing pleasure was so great it set off a chain reaction through her body. He couldn’t help but feel the thudding of her heart and the quiver in her thighs. Rolf had been right when he’d insinuated one time that there was nothing more sensuous for a woman than the friction of bed furs at her back and her lover’s chest hairs at her front.

He made a hissing sound through his teeth. “Don’t stop.”

Again and again, she swept her aching breasts across the abrasive hairs. When she dropped back, unable to stand the pressure building in her breasts for a different kind of succor, he raised himself to a kneeling position between her knees.

“You were serious about punishing me,” she said. “This is pure torture.”

“Ah, but have you not heard? There is no ecstasy without agony.” With that enigmatic Norse philosophy, he lightly fingered her nipples. She whimpered at the surge of sensitivity lodged in their centers. By the time he lowered his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue to her left nipple, she was clutching the bed furs in her fists and stiffening her legs. He did the same to the other breast, then leaned back to study her again.

“No,” he said disapprovingly. “Relax.” He forced her to unfist her hands and waited for her thighs to untense. Then he took her breasts, one after the other, into his mouth and suckled on her with a punishing rhythm.

“I feel as if I’m caught in the eye of a hurricane,” she confessed as waves of pleasure rippled out from the pumping of his open mouth encasing the whole of her nipple and aureole.

“Yea, you shall be as a ship on the roiling seas,” he said, laughing, “and I’ll be the gale wind that brings you tribulation, and the greatest thrills.”

His words frightened her a bit, and she tried to push him off. She scratched his back. She flailed her legs. But he wouldn’t stop. Then the hurricane broke, and she was hurtled into a frenzied climax under the onslaught of the tempest.

When her vision cleared, she saw him sitting on his haunches between her outspread legs, watching her, and waiting.

“You make me blush when you look at me,” she protested weakly.

“You make me tremble when you look at me,” he countered hoarsely.

Her cheeks burned under his all-seeing scrutiny, and she suspected that her “punishment” had barely begun. Although his whiskey eyes shimmered with passion and his ragged panting was a testament to his excitement, she sensed that the maddening man intended to torment her much, much more before he gave himself relief.

He arranged himself on top of her, a flat weight of domination. His big hands framed her face, and he murmured against her lips, “And dost my lady favor kisses, as well?”

“Yes.” She smiled against his parted lips.

At first, his kisses were slow and thoughtful. A tactile exploration of molding lips and gliding tongue. But soon the kisses took on the character of controlled aggression as he bit her bottom lip, then sucked it into his mouth for soothing. He tunneled his fingers in her hair and held her firm as he took her mouth with a savage fervor, prodding her lips open with his thrusting tongue. Wet and clinging, she succumbed to his forceful seduction.

“I can’t stand any more,” she pleaded finally.

He tore his mouth from hers, fighting for air. Sitting back on his haunches again, he surveyed her, then nodded his approval. “Be strong, my lady, for the invasion has scarce commenced.”

She paled but had no time to consider his implied threat, because he was already moving to another erotic territory. He hooked his arms under her knees and spread her legs wide and high with a rolled bed fur under her hips. Legs draped over his arms, she was open and vulnerable to his eyes and fingers and mouth.

“I would taste the pearl of your arousal,” he whispered, and even his breath against her there caused the distended bud to swell and unfold. He kissed it softly, and she bucked upward. From then on, she keened a continuous dirge of sweet agony as he plied that center of sensation, its surrounding slick folds, even inside her, with his tongue. Probing. Fluttering. Laving. Stabbing. Sucking. So abandoned was she that she didn’t even realize when the rolled bed furs had been removed from under her hips or that Rolf was poised to enter her.

“Tell me,” he demanded huskily as he pressed a scorching kiss of possession against her mouth.

“I love you.”

He drove into her, and it was he who cried out then as her body stretched and stretched to accommodate his size. “You feel like velvet fire licking at my staff,” he gasped as he pulled out, then drove in again, long and slow and sinfully pleasurable.

“And you feel like hot marble,” she whispered back, surprised that she could play this game of sex talk.

“I want to reach the heart of you,” he ground out and plunged deeper.

She gasped against the assault and compelled herself to relax and take more of him.

“Your woman dew anoints me like molten lava,” he told her as his long, slow strokes shortened into pummeling thrusts.

She should have been embarrassed at his truthful words. But she could only focus on the increasing pressure between her legs. She spread her thighs wider and levered her hips high so that when he reared his neck back and battered into her one last time, she burst into a million shards of pleasure. Even when he buried his face against her neck and murmured, “I love you, Merry-Death,” she continued to pulse around his limpness.

She felt shattered, deliciously sated, and very much in love.