by Sandra Hill
When he finally turned around, he saw that she was standing in the middle of the rock, totally nude. She did not look like a boyling now.
Many women would blush with humiliation at being so exposed. They would attempt to cover themselves with their hands. They would beg for mercy, accompanied by leaking eyes and sobbing mouths.
Not his Rita.
Nay, she held his gaze, challenging him. Then she executed a perfect dive into the water, swam underwater like the fish he had originally thought she was, and ended on the far side of the pond, where she pulled herself up onto a ledge just below and in front of the small waterfall. With cascades of water spraying around her, through which sunlight was being filtered like a full-bodied halo, she resembled nothing more than a water sprite. A wicked water sprite.
With a shake of his head, he swam over and lifted himself to sit beside her. “Are you ever biddable?”
“If biddable means a doormat, no.”
He nudged her bare foot with his bare foot for no reason other than he wanted to touch her. “I ne’er asked you to be a doormat.”
“Just a slave.”
“Symbolic only. To make a point.” He ran a fingertip from her shoulder down her arm to her fist clenched on the ledge, and watched with fascination as goose bumps rose in his wake.
“You made your point, all right. Bondage, slavery, flogging, blackmail. I’m not sure I even like you, Steven.”
He noticed that her nipples were engorged and rosehued. Was it due to rising arousal? He suspected so. If he did not miss his guess, Rita was fighting her own body’s overstimulation as much as he was his, which incidentally did not have the good sense to deflate until the right moment. “The bondage was bedsport, pure and simple, and you liked it, you cannot deny that. But I will not defend myself anymore. Favor me or not, I want you.”
She arched her brows toward his unbridled enthusiasm, which rose from his man-hair like a lance. “No kidding. And do you always get what you want?”
He shrugged.
“Even if you have to use devious methods to get what you want?”
He shrugged again. Wise to her ploys, he would not let her guilt him into releasing her from their pact. “Are you an honest person, Ree-tah?”
She bristled, as he knew she would. “Yes, I am. To a fault sometimes.”
Gently, he pushed her backward until she was resting on her elbows. The short waterfall hit the ledge like a curtain behind her head before spilling forward on the ledge into another small waterfall. Water splashed all around them, the cold alleviated by the warm sun.
Leaning over her, he blew against the golden fuzz that covered her mons. Her stomach went inward as she inhaled sharply.
He used a forefinger to trace the line of her cleft between her closed thighs. “I do not suppose you would like to demonstrate your Pup-suckle for me?”
“What?”
He was not sure if her shriek was in response to his repeated stroking of her cleft or to his question. “Pup-suckle. Remember Pup-suckle, Butterfly, Swing, Backbend sex?” It gave him immense pleasure to see that even though she deliberately closed her sex to him, a glisten of her woman dew seeped through. One of the advantages . . . or disadvantages, depending on one’s viewpoint . . . of having a bald pate down there. No secrets.
“You mean Popsicle.” She burst out laughing and kept on laughing until her eyes were misting with tears of mirth. “You have an incredible sense of humor.”
“Is that good or bad?” Either way, it did not matter to him, because in the process of laughing, her legs had spread slightly, giving him a foothold . . . rather a handhold . . . to heaven. The heel of his hand was now pressing against her most erotic place, his middle finger in its own hot sheath.
“It depends on whether you’ve given up on blackmail sex.”
Good gods! How can she be grasping my finger and talking at the same time? It must be a talent future women develop. But blackmail sex? That subject was dead to him now. He refused to discuss it one more second. “You are so sexy I could peak just looking at you.”
The parting of her lips and the arching of her breasts told him without words that she was in the same condition. Still, he could almost see her brain working. Should she yield to him? Or should she continue a futile struggle?
As if reading his mind, she said, “A good soldier knows when to pick her battles.” With those words, she sat up and swung herself sideways to her knees, straddling him.
“And this is a battle you concede?” he asked with a husky growl. His hands swept up and down over her back, over her waist, palming her buttocks.
She nodded. “The battle, but not the war,” she murmured against his mouth. And then she bit his bottom lip to emphasize her point and raised her hips before lowering herself onto his rock-hard staff.
She still thought she controlled their sex play. Well, let her. For a while.
His groan had to be interpreted as a concession of sorts to her, seeing the small smile of satisfaction on her face.
No matter.
The war talk aside, this was now one man, one woman, pleasing one another in the most exquisite way.
She was the one pushing him back to his elbows now where he could watch her take her pleasure of him, thus giving him even more pleasure. And what a glorious sight she was!
Slim. Much slimmer than he preferred his women to be. Leastways, he had in the past. But because her frame was so slender, her breasts appeared bigger, though they scarce filled his cupped hands.
Another difference was the muscle definition in her shoulders and upper arms, her abdomen and belly, her thighs and calves. She must do some vigorous exercising to keep her body in this condition. The female soldiering business, he supposed. Well, that was good. Mayhap she would be able to keep up with all he had planned for the next few hours.
She was undulating her hips forward and backward, causing his cock to almost slide out each time, abraded by the most amazing friction. Watching him watch her, she said, “Wanna see something I’ll bet none of your other women have done?”
Was she daft? Of course he wanted to, whatever it was. “Only if you really want to,” he demurred.
She clenched and unclenched his cock like a fist, but inside her woman channel. He had to grit his teeth to restrain himself from howling.
Leaning forward now, with himself fully imbedded and unmoving . . . damn it all to Niflheim and back, she stuck one forefinger in her mouth and sucked. At the same time, she used the other forefinger to trace his lips, then stuck the same finger inside his mouth, where he sucked to hold it there. Of course, contrary wench that she was, she pulled it out and resumed her upright straddle.
Then she did the most outrageous, spectacular thing.
Using the wet forefingers, she teased her own nipples. Tracing the areolas, then the nipples themselves. Flicking the tips to even harder points. Pinching. Tweaking. Flicking again. With each touch, an echoing ripple passed inside her body, caressing his manpart.
If that were not evidence enough of her ability to arouse herself, she moved one hand down her body to the place where they were joined. Lifting herself slightly, she began to strum that protruding pearl of a woman’s pleasure.
She was panting now, and her eyes were half-shuttered. He could tell her peaking was imminent.
“Nay!” he roared. Grabbing her hips, he began to raise and lower her hips onto him with a rhythm she soon caught. They peaked together, and it seemed like forever that her woman’s bliss milked every drop of his man seed into her womb. He said a silent prayer of thanks for her birthing control device. He did not think he would have been able to pull out at the last minute, no matter the consequences.
After their breathing returned to normal, she lay halfsplatted over him, their hot bodies being sprayed from splashes of the waterfall.
His thoughts were in turmoil regarding Rita and what she had just done. Her lack of inhibition was a gift, of course, but she did push the bounds.
&nbs
p; “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?” she asked, kissing his chest where her face now rested.
Caught! “A little,” he admitted.
“You bring out the wanton in me.”
He liked that idea. “Methinks it is your taking control of sex play that disconcerts me a bit.”
“You don’t like that? Many men claim that they wish their partners would take the initiative.”
“Oh, I did not say I did not like it. I like it, all right, but Viking men like to lead.”
“Don’t you mean dominate?”
He smacked her rump lightly.
A companionable silence followed, but only for a short while.
Running a hand up and down her back, loving the feel of wet silk skin, he kissed the top of her head, then put his mouth near her ear. “Dost think we can try the Pup-suckle now?”
She began to laugh . . . he could tell by her soft chuckles and the shaking of her chest against his chest, though what was so funny, he did not know.
When he rolled to his side, she raised her head and glanced pointedly at his now half-flaccid erection. “Honey, I think your pup has had more than enough for now.”
She got up then and dove into the water before he could reply. If she had waited, he would have told her his “pup” had had nowhere near enough. Not of her, leastways.
Better yet, he should show her.
He was the Donald Trump of the Dark Ages . . .
There was something to be said for two physically fit people having wild, breath-stopping sex, but this was ridiculous.
They’d made love up by the waterfall. Then he’d taken her against a tree down below. Moving to the flat boulder, where they’d had a small picnic of apples, hard cheese, and flat manchet bread that Steven had had the foresight to pack, she’d gone down on him showing just how a Pup-suckle could be done. Then he’d gone down on her, showing her the famous Viking X-Spot, not to be confused with the Viking S-Spot or the modern-day G-spot. All she could say in that regard was, “You can play tic-tac-toe with me any day!” And, now, with late afternoon approaching, she was lying flat on the grass with Steven lying heavily atop her, having taken her doggie style.
“You’re killing me,” she said on a moan, not altogether sure she was going to be able to stand . . . or walk.
He rolled to his back but would not release her, even now. Instead, he tucked her under his arm with a hand of the other arm lying possessively on her stomach.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked with absolutely no apology in his voice.
“No, but, holy moly, Steven, what are you trying to prove? Are all Vikings this insatiable?”
“Nay. Just me.”
She smacked his chest.
“Well, of course all Viking men are known for their sex prowess, but I am better than most.”
“Humble, are you?”
“Truth to tell, sweetling, I am little inclined toward meekness. In this case, though, I wanted to put my mark on you so that in the days ahead when I may not always be around so much, you will remember this, and not run off to . . . wherever.”
She could tell that he still had difficulty mentioning the future or time travel. “Steven, I’ve told you that I won’t leave unless I tell you first, if I am able.”
“ ’ Tis a comfort,” he said in a tone clearly saying it was not. “Tell me more about this future time.”
“Well, I’ve already told you about telephones, automobiles, airplanes, and birth control. There’s also motor-boats . . . running hot and cold water indoors, not to mention toilets . . . heat and air-conditioning . . . restaurants . . . military . . . wars . . . women’s equality.” With each thing she mentioned, she had to give an explanation, to which he just stared at her with increasing incredulity.
“And Thorfinn lives like this? And does all these things?”
She nodded. “I wish I could explain computers to you and how they have revolutionized the world, just as the invention of the printing press did in the fifteenth century, but frankly I don’t understand it myself.”
“All this in a thousand years!”
“You never did let me tell you what Kraka and Grima had to say about my time travel.”
He groaned. “Do you have to tell one and all these fantastical stories?”
“Actually, they already knew. Sort of.”
That got his attention. He raised his head to stare down at her. “Explain.”
“It’s all related to this gloom business and how some mysterious light—”
“Meaning you?” he interrupted, tweaking her chin playfully.
“—is supposed to come here and change everything for the good.”
“And the two witches are involved how?”
“They claim to have conjured me here.”
“And you believe them? You have to understand, Ree-tah, that they are not known for great success in the witchly arts. And their niece Sigge is even worse. She nigh drowned the well digger one time when he was trying to locate a new spot for a well. Claimed she was trying to help, she did. Instead, we had gushers of water all over the place.”
Rita had to smile at that. “I like them, and they know a lot about herbs and healing. You should visit their cottage sometime. You would be surprised.”
“Nay, thank you.” He shivered, probably picturing cobwebs and bats. But then he seemed to think of something else. “Does that mean that they can conjure you home as easily as they brought you here?” She could tell that the idea held no good news for him.
“That’s the problem. When they prayed me here, or whatever you call the conjuring business, they weren’t specific about where I was to come from. Could have been from across the fjord, for all they knew. In fact, they never even considered the fact that they might be pulling someone from the future or from the past. Heck, Steven, you might have had some prehistoric cave woman, for all they would have been able to control their magic.”
“Those two should be locked up. Really. They are unsafe to themselves and those around them.”
“They brought me.”
“There is that,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Bottom line: they’re afraid if they try to reverse the time travel, I might end up somewhere entirely different. Like in the middle of the lion’s ring at a Roman coliseum, or in a futuristic spaceship.”
He smiled.
“What? You think it’s funny?”
“Not funny. Just . . . I like knowing that you cannot jump off into the future, at will.”
“You’d rather I leave when you’re ready, right?” She saw the heat of embarrassment color his cheeks. “I know perfectly well that you tire of your women in short order, and that you think the same will happen with me.”
“But not for a long time, methinks. Leastways not until your birth control device wears out.”
“Thanks a bunch. To tell you the truth, I can’t accept any logical scientific explanation for time travel . . . maybe someday far in the future . . . but not today. And I’m skeptical about witches and conjuring. But I do believe in God and miracles. I can only think that God had some reason for sending me here.”
He thought about that for a long moment. “That would mean either that you need something that you can only get here, or there is some need here that only you can fulfill.”
“Precisely.”
Could it be as simple as love, or destined lovers? she wondered. Not that she was in love with Steven. Not yet. But she could be.
“Right now, I have more important problems, and I do not just mean Disa and that nithing Brodir, and not just the Althing. Norstead and Amberstead are being overcrowded. There is not enough arable land here to sustain the five hundred or more people. And we cannot spread farther north where the living is even harsher. As it is, we must needs trade furs and amber for additional food. It has become a juggling game for me of late: where to allocate labor to the best results. In the end, I am probably going to have to send some men and their families off to other lands to
settle. Mayhap Iceland.”
She had thought at one point that Steven would make a good CEO. She was convinced of it now. Without paper or calculators, he managed to pretty much put together a profit and loss system for his estates. P&L medieval style, she thought with a smile.
“Maybe you need to be creative.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know. Goats? Aren’t they supposed to be able to graze just about anywhere?”
“Goats! Those smelly creatures!”
“Hey, whatever works. And more sheep.”
“Our sheep do not produce as fine a fleece, not like high-quality Northumbrian wool.”
She shrugged. “So, produce lesser quality wool. There has to be a market for that, too. And I understand there are hardier breeds of cattle. The people of Scotland are known for their whiskey, or they will be. You could brew the best mead in the world. And don’t forget, I intend to invent deodorant.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
He still looked skeptical.
“Oooh, oooh, oooh! I just thought of something. What do you do with all the animal intestines after you slaughter?”
“Some we use to make sausage. Others . . . I do not know. Throw away, I suppose.”
“This is great. You can invent condoms.”
When she explained, his mouth dropped open with incredulity.
“You expect men to put intestines on their cocks . . . at the height of enthusiasm, yet! Have you lost your senses?”
“Hey, if it prevents an overabundance of babies . . .” She shrugged.
He laughed then and squeezed her tighter to his side. “See, we work well together. You must stay.”
But only for a while. That was the hidden message, as far as she could tell.
“We must needs go back soon,” he told her then, rising to his feet, then pulling her up beside him.
“Thank you for a lovely day.” For a day that had started so lousy . . . with her in a thrall collar . . . it had certainly ended beautifully. The kind of fantasy afternoon a girl could tuck away to pull out in the future for poignant memories of a love that might have been.
