The Caged Viking

by Sandra Hill

  His heart hammered against his rib cage, and blood pounded through his veins. If he were standing, he would no doubt be light-headed.

  He drew away reluctantly to look at her, his head tilted to the side. “You agree to the coupling?” Meanwhile, he outlined the edges of her mouth with a fingertip, spreading the moisture. His and hers both.

  “Don’t act so surprised, Mister I-Am-Viking, therefore I-Am-Irresistible.”

  She had insulted him, but it was a half-hearted insult. Not worth a reaction. He noticed that she licked her lips, not once, but twice. A good sign, for both of them, he realized, because her eagerness appealed to him mightily. “You do not answer my question,” he rasped out. “Why are you suddenly so biddable?”

  “Seriously, Hauk! I don’t know about biddable, but you’ve been plaguing my dreams for months. At this point, suffice it to say, I deserve to experience the real thing…to see if you’re as good as your dream self.”

  His eyes widened, and a slow smile emerged. “I was that good?”

  She swatted his shoulder. “Oh, please! Stop wasting time. Do your thing.”

  “I have a thing?”

  “Fer the gods’ sake, do something!” Egil called out. “Ye’re keepin’ me and Bjorn awake with all yer chatter.”

  “I don’t mind. I am learning…things,” Bjorn said.

  “See! I told you to shhh, did I not?” Hauk whispered into her ear.

  “Shhh yourself,” she whispered against his ear, then followed by blowing into his ear, once, twice, before inserting the wet tip of her tongue inside the whorls and jiggling it.

  He about hurtled to a premature peaking like an untried youthling at the intense pleasure that shot from his ear to his cock. For a certainty, his eyes must be rolling back in his head. He muttered that famous Anglo-Saxon swear word, then repeated it in five other languages.

  She smiled up at him, a little wicked smile of female satisfaction. She was not as shy as he’d thought, obviously.

  “Witch!” he said softly and kneed her legs apart, arranging his heavier self carefully over her, very much aware that he was nude and his “enthusiasm” showed like a flag waving on the wind, whilst she was at least partially covered, and her “enthusiasm” not so apparent. Enthusiasm was the Viking word for arousal. “How do you remove this thing?” he muttered, tugging the edge of her upper garment between her breasts. He was surprised when the fabric sprang back.

  She raised her body slightly and did some maneuver with her hands behind her back causing the garment to go loose. She then lifted it off her body and tossed it over her head, exposing two of the prettiest breasts he’d ever seen. Well, mayhap his perception was colored by his long time since seeing such splendors. Still, they were very nice. Not too big. Not too small. With promising, already engorged nipples, which caused him to give himself a silent clap on the back. Her “enthusiasm” was showing, too!

  He decided to start there. First, cupping her breasts from underneath and squeezing them. Then tracing the areola with a forefinger.

  She was holding her breath.

  But not for long.

  He strummed the nipples with his fingertips like a stringed instrument.

  With a little yelp, she shot upward, trying to sit. But he wouldn’t allow that. Pressing her downward, he murmured, “Shh. Stay. Let me.”

  Panting deliberately, in and out, she closed her eyes. He took that as her acceptance, for now, of his leadership in this sex play. He also, being a Viking, made note, in that part of his brain which men set aside for such details, that breasts were particular erotic spots on Kirstin’s body. That was not true for all women. He knew a few who balked at being touched there.

  Which prompted him to continue playing with her breasts, finally leaning down to take one whole breast in his widened mouth, then drawing it out with a suctioning pull till he had the nipple between his lips. Then he fluttered the tip with his tongue until Kirstin was arching up off the furs and keening her arousal.

  He put a hand over her mouth and whispered against her ear, repeating his earlier command, “Shhh. You will wake Egil and Bjorn.”

  Both of them were snoring, but they wouldn’t be for long at this rate.

  Then he moved to the other breast and did the same thing, but he held one hand against her belly and moved it lower, edging under the stretchy fabric of her garment, thus distracting her. It was a well-known ploy, in warfare or bedfare, attack at several sources at once to divide the enemy’s attention. Not that Kirstin was his enemy. But the principle was the same.

  He could tell he was successful when one hand fluttered over her breasts, the other over her mons, unsure which of his hands were causing more distress. She removed his hand from her breast and he just slid it under her hips to caress her buttocks. When she tried to move his hand from her female area, he returned it to her breasts.

  She succumbed to all the sensations then and laid back with a moan, raising her arms above her head. “Oh…oh…oh.”

  After testing the wetness between her legs, he tore off the scrap of cloth and arranged himself more comfortably. He put a hand to her face, forcing her to look at him, and said in a husky whisper. “Do you come to me willingly, wife?”

  She stared up at him through eyes that were hazy with arousal. She nodded.

  Taking himself in hand, he entered her slowly. He had to be careful. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, and her channel was so tight, and he feared this might end in an embarrassing one-thrust wonder. But she made it hard for him to slow down as her inner muscles clasped and unclasped around him, stretching to accommodate his length and breadth, which were mighty after such a prolonged abstinence. But finally he was imbedded in her to the hilt. Even then her female channel shifted to make room for his size.

  For a long moment, he just lay over her, forehead to forehead, elbows braced on the furs above her shoulders. When he was able to speak without blubbering, he gazed down at her and said, “You feel so good. Slick as honey, warm as cream fresh from the cow.”

  “I like that combination. Honey and cream. But I don’t know about the cow.” She laughed, then rolled her hips in a most enticing manner, almost as if she was caressing him from the inside.

  A hissing sound escaped from behind his gritted teeth before he was able to ask, “What…was…that?”

  She looked embarrassed as she revealed, “Churning the butter.”

  He let out a hoot of laughter. He had not expected her to be so…earthy.

  She was the one to say “Shhh” then as they both paused and listened, relaxing only when they heard the two discordant snores from the other side.

  “We do fit rather well together,” she told him.

  He had to smile at that. “As if any man and any woman wouldn’t fit!”

  She shrugged.

  “What? In your time, some men and women do not fit together?”

  “Some fit better than others,” she contended. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Once he pondered that idea, he decided that they did fit well…very well. Mayhap this was different, better than other matings. A fanciful idea, that! But then, he thought, My wife, and a warmth seemed to fill him, pumping out from his heart to all his extremities.

  “You have a beautiful smile,” she said.

  He smiled wider. “I wish we had more time.”

  “Sometimes short and sweet is enough.”

  Sweet was not his goal, and short was no man’s ideal time in the tupping.

  “Have you rested enough? Can we start now?” she inquired with exaggerated sweetness.

  He growled and said, “I was not resting. I was giving you time to adjust to my…um, magnitude.” Before she could make a comment about that, he withdrew his staff almost to her entrance. Then he began the long in-and-out strokes that had probably been invented by Adam and Eve in that Biblical Garden of Eden.

  Kirstin did not just lay back but participated in the coupling, linking her hands behind his nape, which g
ave him access to her moist, eager lips, raising her knees to hug his hips, which gave him more room to plunge deeper.

  Way too soon, the long, slow strokes turned short and fast. He couldn’t help himself. And her almost continuous moans did not help him reduce his pace. In truth, her excitement excited him.

  With the utmost effort, he paused and concentrated on what he was doing, after which he managed to flex himself inside of her.

  She countered by rippling around him, but, in her defense, he did not think she did it deliberately. Her body was as out-of-control as his own.

  Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his arms quivered with the tension of remaining rigid and still. But somehow he managed to stay unmoving inside of her.

  “What are you doing to me, you brute?” she asked.

  “What are you doing to me, sweetling?”

  “Sweetling? I like that.”

  “I like you,” he said.

  “And that surprises you?”

  “It does. You are bothersome and talkative and half-demented and…”

  “…and?”

  “…and I want you so badly I cannot think straight.”

  “Well, you are so attractive you make my bones melt.”

  He grinned, inordinately pleased at her compliment. So, he reciprocated by explaining his attraction to her, “You are prettier than I originally thought, and sexier than any woman I have ever been with, despite your skinny frame and less than buxom breasts.”

  She laughed. “Those are the lamest compliments I have ever heard.”

  “I was being honest.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That reminds me of my grandmother, my mother’s mother from Hordaland. She hurled out the most outrageous insults, usually to her daughter-in-law, Girda, and felt it was okay as long as she added, ‘I’m only being honest.’”

  “Your arse is as big as a boat, Girda. What? I’m only being honest.”

  “Your cauldron is so dirty I could cut the grease with a knife. What? I’m only being honest.”

  “Your gunna is cut so low I can see your nether hair when you bend over. What? I am only being honest.”

  “Why do you have spots on your face at your age? Mayhap you do not wash enough. What? I am only being honest.’”

  “I can’t believe we are having this conversation in the midst of bedsport,” Hauk interrupted. “If my cock could talk, it would be asking, ‘Have you lost your senses, man? I’m here, planted where I want to be, hard as a sword in a tight woman sheath, bigger than any man, any Viking, for the love of Thor, has a right to be, and you engage in chatter about face spots and kitchen grease.’”

  “Your cock is very articulate,” Kirstin commented.

  He wasn’t sure what that word meant, probably something akin to “impressive.” So, he just nodded his acknowledgement of her praise. “Are you ready now? Because once I start this time, I will not be able to stop.”

  She glanced downward at him, arched her brows, and commented, “A Blue Steeler. Wow!” Followed by, “Lucky me!”

  Once again, he had no idea what her words meant, and he did not care. He slammed into her, causing her head to snap back onto the furs and her back to arch. Then he rock-rock-rocked in and out rapidly and could not stop or slow down the motions even if he wanted to, so inflamed were his senses.

  His eyes caught hers and held. She appeared stunned, a glint of wonder in her expression, and her fingers dug even deeper into the muscles of his shoulders. Panting softly, she revealed, “You make me tremble.”

  And he made a revelation as well. “I have never felt like this before.”

  Amazingly, even as he spoke, he continued to thrust and withdraw in an increasingly more rapid fashion. And she convulsed around him, in one peaking after another.

  Remarkable!

  Is it a dream?

  Or a fantasy?

  Or a gift from the gods…or her One-God?

  The sweet agony rose to a fever pitch till he teetered on the edge. Then, his head reared back as he catapulted, roaring out his triumph…or was it her triumph? He spilled himself inside her hot depths as she melted around him, which was another remarkable revelation to him…that a woman could spill her essence, just like a man.

  Once he was no longer breathing like a warhorse in the midst of battle, and they were both clearly sated, he eased his limp staff out of her. Then he rolled to his back and turned her so that she was on her side, her face resting on his chest, and he lifted her one leg over his. He kissed the top of her fur-mussed hair and whispered, “Wife.” That was all he could get out through the thick lump in his throat. But it was enough.

  Because she whispered back, “Husband.”

  Chapter 10

  Siren or moron? Is there a difference?…

  Their next bout of lovemaking was initiated by Kirstin, to her later embarrassment, no doubt. Was she losing her mind, or God forbid, her heart? To an arrogant, ungrateful, bloodthirsty, eleventh century Viking, of all things! Just because he had a knack for turning her on! How dumb was that?

  Kirstin didn’t think she’d ever been the one to make the first move in bed before. At this time, though…an hour or more after they’d both surrendered their satisfied bodies to the peace of post-coital slumber, Kirstin roused herself enough to realize that she was practically wrapped around a sleeping Hauk, clinging to him like a limpet that would never let go. And both of them naked!

  Even worse, she found herself horny, again, after the best lovemaking of her life.

  Which prompted that little imp in her head, the one that plagued all women at one time or another, to whisper, “Why not?”

  Hauk was splatted on his back, his legs spread, his arms flung overhead in complete abandon, and she reclined half on her side, half over him with her face planted in the curve of his neck and shoulder (I hope I’m not drooling!), one breast resting on his chest (Oh, no! Why is my nipple so big and rosy? As if I don’t know! Hope the other looks the same or I’ll have a mismatched pair. Ha, ha, ha! Aaarrgh!), one arm wrapped around his waist with her fingers digging into the flesh (He’ll probably have bruises from my nails!), one knee nudging his flaccid penis (How cute!). There was no way he could get up and escape without alerting her first, (as some jerkoff men were wont to do once the deed was done—not to her, but she’d heard of such creeps).

  Bracing herself on one elbow, she was able to raise her head enough to get a better look. Hauk Thorsson was a prime specimen of masculinity, despite his apparent weight loss and the numerous scars that didn’t so much mar his body as give it character. He had to be six feet three, at least, and built like a quarterback with broad shoulders and slim hips and long muscle-sculpted legs. His narrow feet were rather sexy, too.

  She glanced at his face, which was Nordic perfection. Even in sleep, he appeared tense, probably a symptom of soldiers and warriors throughout time on the eve of a battle. But then, he had other reasons to be stressed, as well. He’d just escaped from months of captivity, had been shocked by their teletransport, or whatever it was, and learned his dead son was actually alive. His future was uncertain, to say the least.

  I should let him sleep, get whatever rest he can. That thought was immediately followed by a memory of her father saying that the one word Norsemen hated most was “should,” as in people telling them what they should or should not do because, of course, that prompted them to do just the opposite.

  I might not be a Viking man, but don’t tell me I should leave him be. A little exploration won’t hurt, she told herself.

  She checked to make sure that Hauk still slept deeply, then ran a fingertip over the long white scar that ran from his collarbone, across his chest, then stopped at his opposite hip. She wanted to kiss the scar, and she would if there wasn’t a risk of Hauk waking and observing her emotional reaction to one of his wounds. He wouldn’t appreciate her response, she guessed, and would probably consider it pity. Typical man!

  She released a sigh of relief when there was no cha
nge in his breathing. She was about to lie back down when she noticed that while he remained dead to the world, another part of his body was not. Even as she watched, his penis swelled and straightened. Her head swiveled quickly to the right and she saw him staring at her, wide awake, and grinning.

  “Siren,” he said. “Do you deliberately tempt me?”

  “Are you tempted?”

  He arched his brows and inclined his head downward.

  Yep, it…he was growing more tempted by the moment.

  “I should let you rest.”

  “Should? Do you know what Vikings think of that word?”

  She laughed. “Actually, I do.”

  “So, my siren wife,” he drawled, folding his arms behind his head, “what do you have in mind?”

  “In mind?”

  “Since you so rudely roused me from sleep?”

  “Rudely?”

  “Well, mayhap joyfully roused would be a better description.”

  “Joyful huh?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  She sat up, knelt, then swung a leg over his hips so that she sat astride his belly, his erection growing against her buttocks. Where this new lack of inhibition was coming from, she had no idea. Perhaps her inner Viking was emerging. “You were saying?”

  “I’m getting more and more joyful by the moment,” he said in a sex-husky voice and lifted her by the hips, up high, and then onto his now fully erect penis. Slowly, very slooooowly, he eased her downward inch by inch until her pubic bone rested against his pubic bone, his golden curls mixing with her silver blonde ones.

  After that, Kirstin showed Hauk a few things a woman could do while on top in what she told him was a reverse missionary position. Which he thought was hilarious…that missionaries in her time had favorite activities in the bedsport.

  While Hauk claimed to enjoy all her efforts, he soon rolled her over, claiming he had a better idea.