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“You are making that up.”
He rose up a bit and made more of a production of rubbing his chest hairs over her nipples. When her eyes glazed over, he said, “See. But now it is my turn. Wrap your legs around my hips.” He put his hands under her buttocks and raised her up, positioning himself at her woman-portal. “This might hurt the first time, sweetling. Do you want it fast or slow?”
“Fast.”
That was all he needed to hear. She was more than moist enough, but she was tight. Very tight. It took three thrusts before he breached her maidenhead and was in as far as her body could take him. He was the one who moaned then, so intense was his pleasure. And not just the tight fit. Her inner muscles were clasping and unclasping him in welcome.
When he was able to speak above a whimper, he rose up on extended arms and looked down at her.
She appeared stunned, her eyes huge and unblinking. Her mouth formed a little circle of astonishment.
“Are you all right, Drifa?”
“I think so.”
“Are you in pain?”
She shook her head. “It pinched at first, but now it just feels odd. Are we done?”
Was she really this naïve? Must be. “I am just waiting for you to recover.”
“Recover what?”
He tried to smile but found he was unable to, so consumed was he with another activity. Moving out slowly, he relished the drag of her inner muscles that resisted his withdrawal. Then he thrust back in again. This time he went in a little farther.
Surely the way women were built for men was a gift from the gods.
Surely the sex act was a gift from the gods.
Surely Drifa was a gift from the gods.
She blinked up at him and said, “Do that again.”
Definitely a gift. He did smile then. “With pleasure.”
Drifa might have been a virgin moments ago, but she soon learned the rhythm. She met him thrust for thrust until he was embedded in her to the hilt, and they were both panting on the climb toward what he hoped would be a joint peaking.
For the next three short strokes he made sure he hit her sweet bud, and suddenly she was convulsing around him down below and screaming with joy up above. It took the most painful discipline for him to pull out and spill his seed onto her thigh.
As his breathing slowed and his heart no longer felt as if it would burst from his chest, he realized that he lay heavily atop Drifa, who was surprisingly silent for once. He should move. But he hated what he knew sure as sunshine would happen next. Drifa would begin to berate him for this and that. He was not yet ready to spoil what had been the best swiving he had ever engaged in, and being one and thirty, there had been plenty.
He was also not quite ready to examine what had just happened. Surely it was more than sex. What that more might be, he feared to think. Not with Drifa, with all her secrets. Not with Drifa, who might kill him in his sleep.
The witch surprised the spit out of him then by biting him on the shoulder and instead of saying something like Are we done yet, you loathsome lout?, she purred. She honest-to-gods purred. And she bloody damn licked the inner whorls of his ear.
Chapter Fourteen
A Viking cowgirl?
Who knew? Drifa certainly hadn’t. And why had none of her sisters explained, in detail, exactly what would happen in the sex act, and how mind-melting pleasurable it would be? Even with a dolt like Sidroc. She would have a thing or two to say to them when she returned to the Norselands.
“Did you like that, Drifa?” the dolt inquired in a drawl that reeked of male satisfaction as he rolled off her and wiped her thigh with an edge of the bed linen. Then he had the audacity to kiss her thigh on that very spot. Insufferable man! As if sensing her imminent rebellion at his lewdness, he tucked her into his side with her head on his shoulder.
She bit his shoulder, just to show she was not that enthralled by his talents. “I swear, if you smirk, I will ...”
“What? Hit me over the head with a pottery jug?”
“Mayhap.”
