by Sandra Hill
When she opened her mouth to him, he moaned, and, oh God, when did a man’s moan touch her so? Ever? Then he plunged inside her mouth, taking her to a whole other realm, and it said, I cannot resist you.
Alison suckled his tongue reflexively.
He plundered her mouth with a sexual rhythm as old as time.
They both went wild then. His hands were everywhere. Her hands were everywhere. He was on top of her again. But, no, that wasn’t good enough. She shoved at him, rolling him over on his back. Then she was on top of him. And it felt so damndamndamn good.
She lifted her head and smiled down at him. “You taste like chocolate.”
His blue eyes glazed over with passion. His mouth was puffy and wet with passion. He looked as if he couldn’t speak. She probably looked the same.
“You taste like woman,” he said finally in a hoarse whisper.
“Is that good?”
“Oh, sweetling, that is exceedingly good.”
He combed his fingers through her hair and pulled her down for another kiss. While her mind focused on his kiss, his hands made quick work of pulling her tank top out of her jeans. She sat up again, astraddle him, to help him get the garment up and over her head.
Then he just stared at her, wide-eyed with dismay, not appreciation. He must be disappointed in her small breasts. She tried to climb off him and slink away in embarrassment, but he held her firmly by the waist.
“What is that?” he asked, nodding his head toward her breast region. “A chastity belt for the bosom?”
“Huh?” Only then did she realize that it was her nude lace bra, not her breasts, that were causing his dismay. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a bra … an undergarment.”
“Does it come off?”
“Oh, please! A man of your experience should be able to take this off one-handed.”
He just continued to stare at her with dismay.
While he watched, she undid the front catch and shrugged out of the garment. The confusion left his face, replaced by pure male appreciation.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“No, I’m not. I’m too small. Big breasts are—”
He put a forefinger to her lips to hush her protests. “I always thought I favored big-bosomed women, but it was a cruel jest the god Loki was playing on me all those years. Little did I know I was just waiting for you. You are perfect. You are the fulfillment of all my fantasies. How could I have been so blind?”
He shaped her breasts from underneath. They barely filled half of his big hands. Then he flicked the nipples with his thumbs till they budded with sheer joy.
Alison almost swooned at the pleasure that shot out in erotic ripples from his fingertips to every part of her body, especially between her legs, where hot liquid pooled. The ache he created there and throughout her body was so pleasurable it was almost painful in its intensity. Never, never, never had she been aroused so quickly.
“Help me,” he said as he attempted to undo the snap on her jeans.
She laughed and rolled over onto her back beside him. There was no way anyone would get these tight jeans off unless she was in a prone position. While she undid the pants and pulled down the zipper, he moved to her feet and yanked off her boots. All she wore now was a pair of nude lace bikini underpants, which he eyed with parted lips.
Just before he reached for them, she said, “No. It’s your turn now. I want to see you, too.”
He smiled with supreme male confidence in his body, which he knew she would like. At any other time, she would have liked to hit him upside the head for his arrogance. Now, she just wanted him to hurry up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his shoes and socks, then stood and shucked his shirt, jeans, and Navy issue briefs. All in record time.
He stood before her for several long moments, allowing her to look her fill. He was very tall … about six-foot-four, she would guess. His head was almost bald thanks to the SEALs training haircut, but not unattractive since he had a nicely shaped head and a devastatingly handsome face. Black lashes framed compelling blue eyes. A straight nose. Full, well-defined lips. Straight white teeth.
But it was his body that caused her heart to race. He had broad shoulders and muscles everywhere, though not in a bulked-up weight-lifter way. And the erection that stood out from his center was either a compliment to him or to her; either way, it was impressive. And he knew it.
When she arched an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “I told you that I have my enthusiasm back, sweetling. Aren’t you glad?”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Now you,” he demanded. “Stand so I can see all of you. And take off that scrap of nothing. Though it is very enticing, I suspect I am enticed enough and soon may embarrass myself like an untried youthling if I get enticed any more than I already am.”
With that rambling discourse which amounted to “Hurry up, babe, I’m horny as hell,” which should have repulsed her but didn’t, she slid off the bed and stood for him, stepping out of her panties. She stood at the bottom of the bed while he stood at the side. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been so unafraid of showing off her body with all its imperfections.
“You know, Max, I’m just as likely to embarrass myself if you don’t get on with this,” she said with uncharacteristic brashness.
At first he frowned, but once her words sank in, he smiled.
Chapter Ten
New World swiving, compared to Old World swiving … no comparison!
Ragnor looked and looked and looked at Alison’s nude body. Then he looked again. He even walked over to her and circled her body, viewing it from all angles. He didn’t touch her. Just looked.
She wore only the gold hoop ear ornaments, which was curiously erotic. Her legs and underarms were hairless.
She was taller than most women and big-boned, her shoulders broader than usual for a female because of all her exercise. Muscles sculpted her upper arms, her back, her thighs and calves, even her buttocks. But she was not all hardness everywhere. He knew from his recent touch that her small breasts were soft, and her belly would be, too. Not to mention her woman folds. For a certainty, there would be softness there … plus muscles, he hoped, imagining how they could grasp his manpart. In essence, she was built like no other woman in his experience, and he had seen plenty.
As an added benefit, not that he needed extras, her nether hair was red, too. He smiled. Ever did he favor red-haired women, especially when they were red all over.
For a brief second, he thought of his brother Torolf. How Ragnor would love to regale him with tales of this human goddess he had found! How he would boast that his woman—and, yea, he thought of her as his woman—was the best in all the lands. Torolf no doubt frolicked with his blond Valkyries in the other world, but Ragnor could not be envious when he had such a flaming beauty of his own.
“You remind me of those warrior goddesses that legends speak of in my land.”
Her body stiffened with affront.
Why is it that women are so sensitive about their bodies? It is true in every land where I have traveled. Do we men ask if our teeth are yellow, or our buttocks too fat, or our armpits too stinksome? Nay, we are confident in ourselves. “That is a compliment, dearling.”
Her body relaxed, but only slightly.
Perchance she needs another compliment or two. I can do that. “Methinks you would give as well as you got in the bedsport,” he observed, continuing to scrutinize her myriad muscles.
“You better believe it, buster, but I’m beginning to think you’re all flash and no substance, with all this dawdling.”
So much for compliments! Hmmm. She thinks to direct this loveplay, does she? I think not! “Not dawdling,” he corrected her. “Savoring.” Bloody hell, I am good.
“Savoring?”
“Anticipating the reward to come.” Very good! How do I come up with this stuff? “Do you not engage in foresport in your land.”
“Foreplay? This is your idea of for
eplay?” She laughed.
Is she laughing at me? She’d better not be. She is probably just happy that she is about to be the recipient of my lovemaking. I hope. “Yea, ’tis foresport, as I said. Do you not tingle, even a tiny bit?”
He stood in front of her, forcing her to look him in the eye where he could gauge her honesty. “You are tingling, all right,” he pronounced.
Her face bloomed with color. “And you? Are you tingling, too?” she asked.
By the gods, I relish a woman with a mind of her own. No molding her to my pattern. She will be what she wants, and that is fine. More than fine. “Like a bell.”
He picked her up by the waist and elevated her so they were of even height. “Anxious to move on, are you, wench?” He swept his hands down and behind her, cupping her buttocks from underneath, and touching the wetness between her legs with his fingertips.
She let loose a howl of surprise … or outrage … or just plain tingling, and tried to squirm out of his embrace. He laughed and launched them both onto the bed, which creaked noisily but held up under their combined weight. She tried to move so that she would be on top, but he pressed her back to the mattress.
Then he did what he had been yearning to do since she’d walked through that water spray at the drinking hall. He put his mouth to first one breast, then the other, bringing the nipples to hardness. As he suckled hard and rhythmically on their pebbled tips, she arched high off the bed and keened out her pleasure. If she was not tingling before, she is now, I warrant.
He was about to move lower, to skim his lips over the smooth skin of her abdomen and belly, but she grabbed hold of both his ears and held him fast. “Don’t … you … dare … stop,” she gasped out.
He tried to raise his head and tell her that her wish was his command, but not only did she press his face to her bosom, tightly, but she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him fast, also tightly. Not a bad position to be in!
So, like any good soldier, he did as commanded. He wet her nipples. He blew them dry. He nipped them with his teeth. And flicked them with his fingertips. He massaged both breasts at the same time. He took practically a whole breast in his mouth and sucked her hard against the roof of his mouth.
The whole time she undulated her hips against him and whispered encouraging words, like, “Yes. There. Harder, dammit. Oh, my God! I think … I think … ooohhh!”
With a long wail of bliss, she reached her peak, just from his ministering to her breasts. What a woman!
But now, after putting on such a wanton show, she buried her face in the crook of his neck like a shy maiden. He felt a wetness on his skin. “What? You cry for what purpose?”
She refused to let him draw back to look at her.
“I’m embarrassed. How pathetic you must think me. To come just by being touched a little bit.”
That was not a little bit of touching. That was a lot, milady. And if “come” means what I think it means, here I come … any second now. So enough talking! “Hey, I almost peaked, too, and you haven’t even touched me … yet. Do you want to? Touch me, that is?” He jiggled his eyebrows at her.
And she did. The witch! She took hold of his member and tried to guide him between her spread legs. He closed his eyes for a second as stars exploded in his head. What is it about women grabbing hold of my manpart? First Inga. Now her. Ouch! “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said, carefully extracting himself from her grip, which had actually been rather gentle. “Can you help me put on a cone-dome?”
“Huh?” she said.
And people in this land think I am dumb! Without moving himself off her body, he leaned over the side of the bed and reached for his den-ham braies. From one of the side pockets he extracted the silvery packets and dumped them on the mattress.
Her eyes went wide before she hooted with laughter. “You brought ten condoms with you tonight? Are you sure that’s enough?”
How would I know if it’s enough? I do not even know how they work. Or if one or several are worn at a time.
“You expected to get lucky tonight? Talk about overconfidence!” A glimmer of teasing danced in her green eyes.
“I brought them ‘just in case,’ not because I expected anything.” His words sounded defensive, even to him.
She tore one of the packets open with her teeth. Then she did the most amazing thing. She rolled a thin sheath over his cock, like a second skin.
“Holy bloody damn hell and Valhalla!” he exclaimed at the intense pleasure that shot through him. He blew out a few short breaths to regain his self-control.
Then he did what he was meant to do … his destiny. He plunged inside her hot, clasping folds, to the hilt, and let loose with a wild Viking yell of victory, or defeat, or just plain wonder at the magic of the gods-given gift of sex. One thing was certain. He was tingling.
Meanwhile, she stared at him with horror that her insides were clasping and unclasping and clasping and unclasping him in welcome. The talented wench reached another peak, praise be to Frey.
He must be doing a wonderful job of pleasuring her. Or was the talent all with her? Either way, he couldn’t wait to see what he … or she … would do next.
Leaning down, he brushed her lips with his, then braced himself on taut arms over her. Still imbedded in her, he feared that any move on either of their parts would end the game too soon. “Do … not … move,” he warned.
“As if I could!” she replied on a soft moan.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of nonsexual things. Like smelly lutefisk. Like cleaning out his moats. Like Madrene’s nagging. Like an ugly boil he’d once seen on a bull’s arse. Like grains of sand blowing in a desert storm.
“What are you doing?”
“Counting,” he rasped out.
“My blasted orgasms?” she inquired with self-deprecation. “That’s just great!”
He opened his eyes. She stared up at him through eyes as green as a rare Norse pasture. Her red curls were tousled in wanton fashion. Her swollen lips bespoke his passionate kisses. Her inner folds no longer moved around his manpart, but they encased him like a tight glove.
“Your peaks are my pleasure,” he informed her. And that was the truth. If women only knew what a tribute their arousal was to a man’s ego!
“What a nice thing to say. But I think you’ve peaked me out.”
“You have not yet begun to peak,” he assured her.
“Please! That is such a macho thing to—”
He spread her thighs wider with his own thighs, then forced her knees up almost to her chest, thus allowing him to slide even deeper inside her.
She gasped and stared at him in disbelief. Reaching up with both hands, she brushed her fingertips across his nipples. He arched his neck backward at the extreme pleasure-pain that mere caress caused. Then he forced her hands away, holding them above her head on the mattress.
“You didn’t like that?” She cocked her head to the side in question.
“I loved that, but I am hanging by my fingernails from a cliff, sweetling, and I must needs control this bedsport. This time, leastways.”
“Oh, you must needs, huh?” With a choked laugh, she put her feet on the bed and arched up her hips, pushing him upward as well, which required great strength. Then she did the most incredible thing. Deliberately, she made her woman channel milk him. Three times in a row she did this. His eyes nigh crossed in his head. No longer could he control the sap that ran hot and heavy through his body.
As slowly as he could, he withdrew from her, then thrust inside again, slowly.
She whimpered.
He did it again.
She whimpered again.
Over and over he rocked in and out of her tight channel till beads of sweat covered his brow and the wet sound of their slick coupling was like music of the most erotic sort.
“Faster,” she urged.
He went slower. “Do you like that?”
“Oh, yes! Just like that.”
He tried a different wa
y.
“Again.”
He went back to the first way. ’Twas always best to remind a woman who was in charge in the bed play.
“Please.”
“Ah, I thought you’d never ask. Like this?”
“Ohmigod, yes! Do it again.”
He did, and then some. He continued to thrust in and out of her, long strokes that were becoming shorter and harder. She locked her heels around his buttocks, trying to get more of him. He had no more to give.
This time on his withdrawal, he paused, reached between their bodies, and lightly strummed that engorged bud buried in her woman-fleece. She screamed and began to buck wildly till he took her hard, hard, hard.
With a sort of hysterical irrelevance, he recalled being bored in the midst of swiving Inga and any number of women the past few years. He recalled wishing it just to be over. Not so with Alison. Now he wanted it to last forever.
But alas and alack, he was only a man, and all good things must come to an end. He might have screamed then, too, but he could not be sure, so overpowering was his release. Over and over he spurted his hot seed till he became light-headed with ecstatic torture. Even then, his body continued to thrust into her with reflexive after-spasms.
For a long time, he lay atop the panting wench, trying to regain his breath. When he finally raised his head and gave her a quick kiss of thanks, he told her, “You were wonderful.” As an afterthought, he added, “I was wonderful.”
“We were wonderful,” she said.
And that was the truth.
She tied him up in knots … literally …
Max had fallen asleep almost immediately.
SEALs trainees learned special fast eye-movement exercises which allowed them to practically fall asleep at will, taking advantage of five-minute catnaps when necessary, even standing up. Still, the guy had to be physically exhausted from the sleep deprivation that was typical of SEALs training. Plus, she credited herself with some of the depletion that had knocked him out cold.
