Page 56 of The Very Virile Viking

"You agreed to the terms, honey."

Honey? I like that as an endearment… almost as much as sweetling. Mayhap I will use that term myself on occasion. With Angela only, of course. Not with any other woman.

"Lie down," she repeated.

Let the chase begin, he thought as he immediately obeyed. "What now, sweetling?" He was on his back, arms folded under his neck, ankles crossed, staring up at her. Even in this dim light—even with his jaw-keys— he could see his man part standing up like a tent pole. He could also see Angela trying her best not to notice his… uh, tent pole, which was an impossibility. 'Twould be like ignoring an elephant in a brass tub. 'Twas one of the best things about Vikings, his brother Geirolf always said—their tent poles .

His brother Jorund claimed it was the Viking ability to maintain erections for an impressive period of time.

Usually his brothers had imbibed a huge amount of mead when expounding these wisdoms. Personally he agreed with both philosophies.

"Move over," she said.

He didn't have to be told twice. Now he was on the far side of the chaise, on his left side, facing Angela, who carefully folded herself down beside him, lying on her back, the whole time holding one forearm over her breasts. What a talented lady ! What she didn't know was that he could see her endowments anyway. What a talented man !

"You can kiss me," she said, "but that is all. There is no harm in that."

Ha! I will show her just how much "harm" I can do with no touching at all. Magnus leaned over and placed his lips against hers, but in the process he made sure that his chest brushed against her breasts, just a slight whisper of a caress, but enough for her to gasp against his mouth. He smiled even as he moved his lips over hers, shaping and testing. This lady was sorely misguided if she thought she could beat him in the game of bedsport. There were some arenas where he was confident of his expertise. This was one of them.

"I want to make love to you so badly," he confessed.

"Don't," she said on a soft groan.

He raised his head. "What? Speaking is forbidden, as well as touching? You cannot keep changing the terms, Angela."

"No, speaking is not forbidden, you fool."

Ha! I will show her just how much of a fool I am. He kissed Angela then. And kissed her. And kissed her. Long, endless kisses that alternated between gentle and demanding, soft and hard, wet and…

well, wet. Mostly openmouthed. And sinfully expressive of his sexual need… and hers, as well. Angela was giving as good as she was getting. Mayhap their kissing bout did not go on for hours and hours, as she had described "making out" as a young girl, but it seemed like hours to him. And she was certainly panting prettily. So was he… though probably not as prettily.

While he was complying with her no-touching order, she was following a different rule. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his back, his buttocks through the thin cloth of his jaw-keys, both sides of his face as if holding him in place for her fervent kisses. He found her touch to be exceedingly arousing, and he would have relished returning the favors, but he did not because of his promise. He was a man who kept his vows.

But who was to say what amounted to touching? He decided that touching meant hands. Therefore he could caress her in other ways… with his mouth, or teeth, or tongue. Even with his legs. Yea, that would be his interpretation.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

Like a wolf in the sheep pen, I am. All that is missing is my howl, and that might just come soon.

"You make me happy," he replied, which was not really a lie. He began his own assault in earnest then.

Moving slowly so as to give her a chance to protest his interpretation of the rules, he kissed his way along her jaw, down to the pulse point in her neck—and thank the gods it was jumping nicely!—on downward toward her breasts the points of which were pressed enticingly against his own skin.

He traced the contours of her lovely breasts, first one, then the other, with his tongue. He nudged her from side to side with his cheeks. There was no waiting for permission when he took one of the engorged nipples into his mouth—all the way—and began to suckle rhythmically with the tip hitting against the roof of his mouth.

She let loose a long, high-pitched moan, and at the same time she arched her back upward and put her hands against his nape, encouraging more. He played her breasts then, employing every trick and talent he had developed over the years; in truth, he invented some new ones with Angela, whose breasts were beyond beautiful, and so very responsive. Like the kisses, his mouth-fondling of her breasts seemed to go on for hours. He wasn't sure either of them could stand much more. Angela was keening softly and writhing from side to side. His blood was racing beneath his skin at breakneck speed, and the erection inside his jaw-keys was nigh to bursting.

Without thinking, he rolled himself atop Angela and parted her thighs with his own legs, thus placing his rampant desire against her rampant desire. Even then, he did not touch her. Instead, he braced his arms on either side of her head and began to move against her, simulating the sex act. He could not control the woofing sounds he made as he attempted to control his out-of-control arousal. He would have been embarrassed, but Angela was counterpointing his woofs with little noises of her own: "Oh, oh, oh, oh…"

They reached their peaks at the same time, his with a triumphant roar, hers with an elongated,

"Oooooh!"

It was the best "dry tupping" he had ever had. In act, it was almost as good as intercourse itself. Almost.

He and Angela were well matched for sexplay. Of that ere was no doubt.

Magnus started to say, "Thank you," for the gift of pleasure she had given him, but instead, out of nowhere, other words entered his head, and he said, "I love you."