The Blue Viking

by Sandra Hill

  That was her biggest mistake thus far. She could tell even before he spoke, from the gleam in his mischievous eyes and the sensuous parting of his lips, that the rogue had her exactly where he wanted her.

  "Nay, witchling, 'tis not nearly enough." He arranged her suddenly boneless arms above her head in a posture that could only be described as wanton. Then he conceded, " 'Tis a good beginning, though."

  Their eyes locked, and Marie was riveted in place by the message in his compelling blue eyes. She was not very experienced in bedplay, but she knew without a doubt that this man wanted her… badly. Why did he not just take her then? That was what Kenneth had done. None of this teasing aforehand. Usually, he'd been fortified with a goodly amount of uisge-beatha first, as if he could not bear to touch her unless he were intoxicated. Not that she had wanted his love-making… if it could be called that… especially after his true, vicious nature became apparent.

  But Maire couldn't think about that now. She had to concentrate on the present, lest the Viking catch her unawares… lest she do something she might later regret.

  Rurik did not pounce on her, as she'd expected. No jamming apart of her legs and heavy weight pressing his staff into her tender parts for a quick one-two-three strokes before rolling over into a snoring slumber. Nay, Rurik did things his own way, in his own good time. She should have known.

  Now that Maire was exposing new territory for Rurik's exploration, he began another slow, leisurely investigation… first with his hot eyes, then his hands and mouth. The man knew things Maire had never dreamed of.

  "Are all Vikings like you?" she blurted out once on a panting breath when he was touching her breasts… just the undersides, with the pads of his fingertips, when she yearned for something more, like the sharp suckling of his lips.

  He glanced up at her through thick, sooty eyelashes… and winked. The rascal had the nerve to wink at her! "Nay, just me," he said. "And just with you."

  "Liar."

  Eyebrows raised, he looked pointedly downward as if to prove that he told the truth, then renewed his "assault" on her. "Is this what you want, sweetling?" he murmured as he began to minister in depth to first one breast, then another. Had she spoken aloud? Did he know what she'd been thinking?

  "Nay," she said in a choked voice as her back bowed upward in response to the delicious agony caused by his playing with the areolas and nipples of her breasts. Tracing. Stroking. Fluttering. Squeezing.

  "Who's the liar now?" he asked, even as one hand cupped a breast from underneath and pressed upward, creating his very own pleasure mound… even as his moist lips closed around one taut nipple… even as he began to suck on her with a savage rhythm.

  Maire cried out… she couldn't help herself… and tried to shove him off. Without breaking his sucking cadence, Rurik took both her wrists in one hand and forced her arms back over her head. Each time he drew on her, Maire felt the ache in her breasts intensify, and there was an answering, building throb between her legs, which she held tightly together.

  "Watch me," he commanded.

  Maire hadn't even realized that she'd squeezed shut her eyes. For some reason, she didn't balk, as she normally would have. Nay, she did as he'd ordered.

  Then he did the same to her other breast… as she watched. His long hair was clubbed back with a leather thong into a queue at his neck, thus exposing his face for her scrutiny. As he suckled her breast, his cheeks moved in and out with the force of his efforts. Maire did not think there was a more erotic sight in all the world than a stunningly virile man, such as Rurik, paying homage to a woman's breast.

  "Did you like that?" he inquired silkily as he adjusted himself to lie atop her body.

  She shook her head.

  Which was apparently her second mistake of the day… or was it the third? She was in such a muddle she could scarce recall her own name at this point.

  "Nay? You did not like that? Tsk-tsk! Well, I guess I will have to try harder."

  Maire groaned with dismay, but Rurik caught her groan in his open mouth, which was already moving over hers. One of his hands still held her wrists above her head, but the other hand cradled her jaw.

  Oh, he was a good kisser. An exquisite kisser. Maire had to credit the Viking with that. She didn't want to think about where he'd learned all those tricks with his lips and teeth and tongue. She was more concerned about how he made her feel. If she wasn't careful, she would be having one of Rurik's famous fits… over nothing more than kisses.

  He was attacking her ear now, alternating puffs of breath with wet licks of his tongue. Somehow, her hands had come loose, for her arms were wrapped around his wide shoulders, caressing the ropey sinews of his back, and his hands were under her buttocks, lifting her up against his raging erection. Maire realized with astonishment that her legs had parted somewhere along the way, and her knees were cradling his hips.

  Maire wanted Rurik inside her. She really did. A strange inner excitement rippled through her and centered in that place where he should surely already be by now.

  "Now," she pleaded, and arched her middle up off the mattress in encouragement.

  Rurik's head reared back suddenly and he stared at her, gasping, as if trying to swim out of a haze of confusion. She knew just how he felt. But he surprised her by declaring vehemently, "Nay!"

  "Nay?" Here she was, as open to this man as any woman could be. The only thing missing was the welcome trumpet.

  "Not yet," he explained, giving her a quick kiss before he sat back on his knees between her widespread thighs.

  In a rush of embarrassment, Maire tried to cover herself with her hands, but Rurik would have none of that. He pushed her hands aside. Then he did the unthinkable. Before she had a chance to blink or say him nay, the brute grabbed for the pillow and shoved it under her hips, lifting her higher and more open to his perusal. And peruse her, he did. Not to mention other things, which were surely sinful.

  No one had ever gazed at her there.

  No one had ever touched her there.

  No one had ever told her how she looked there.

  No one had ever praised her wetness there.

  No one had ever explained in explicit, sexual detail what he intended to do there.

  No one had ever prepared her for the feel of a man's tongue there.

  Everything in Maire centered on him then… this man who obviously reveled in a woman's body… whose every gesture and touch were attentive and unhurried.

  By the time Rurik was done tending to her there, Maire was a mewling, fist-pounding-on-the-mattress, shivering mass of female desire. She felt as if she were… well, climbing a mountain. If only she could reach the peak! Only then would this horrible-wonderful throbbing ache be relieved.

  And Rurik knew of her distress. She could see it in his admiring eyes. And she saw something else in his eyes, too. Intense, bone-melting desire. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. And yet he held back. Why?

  Before she could ask, he delivered a message to her in a low, masculine growl, "Heed me well, Maire. This is my mark on you."

  While she observed, his long middle finger flicked back and forth, rapidly, against the slick surface of an oversensitive part of her she hadn't even known existed. Maire keened and bucked, but he would not stop. Inside and outside, she began to spasm with the most incredible sensations. Not pleasure… more like the foreshadowing of some great event. But then the pleasure came, too, like a lightning bolt between her legs, and his mouth and tongue were there again, relentless, hurtling her up and out over some great abyss.

  Ecstasy, that's what this was. Sheer ecstasy.

  Ecstasy? Maire eyes shot wide open at remembrance of that word… a word that Rurik had used just that evening. "What… was… that?"

  "That, my dear, was an orgasm."

  "Oh. That was one of your sex fits?"

  "Yea… I think so. Did you have tremors?"

  She was not certain, but she thought he might be teasing her. Risking his mockery, she no
dded.

  He cocked his head to the side. "Perchance you did, then. I was too busy rolling my eyes up into my head to notice." Hah! The rogue had noticed every blessed thing. And he was teasing her.

  Her gaze immediately went to his groin, where a rampant erection still raged up out of a nest of black curls. It was bigger than before, if that were possible. Maire sensed the tightly coiled power that he held in check. "You did not have an or-gaz-him yet?" she asked tentatively, not sure she was using the right term, or in the correct way.

  He tried to smile but a choking sound came up from his throat. At the same time, his male member jerked. Just because she was looking?

  "I thought it was painful for a man to wait too long."

  " 'Tis true. 'Tis true. I am definitely in pain." He stretched himself over her then, bracing himself on his extended arms. Adjusting his hips from side to side, he maneuvered his sex into her wet female channel. "Will you be helping to relieve my pain, dearling?" he asked then.

  Maire did not have to consider for even a moment before she decided that she, indeed, would… because, surprisingly, she was developing a new pain of her own.

  Chapter Ten

  Maire must be a true witch, for Rurik was surely under her spell. Had she somehow given him a love potion, or just surrounded him with her enticing aura?

  As he stared down at the now willing, most alluring maid, he was more than prepared to join with her in the way of men and women through the ages—God's pleasure gift to men… and women, too. He knew with a certainty, though, that this time would be different… life-changing. And that was frightening to a man who prided himself on self-reliance. Had he not told himself from the time he was a boy that he needed no one?

  But he needed Maire now… desperately.

  Would that need be assuaged once the lust-mood had passed? Damn, he hoped so! Never, in all his misbegotten life, had he wanted a woman the way he wanted Maire now. He was a man who loved women and sexplay. He savored both the giving and the taking of passion-joy amongst the bed furs, and it had been especially important to him with Maire to bring her to ecstasy first, which he had done… and done well. But it had never been so difficult before for him to forestall his own satisfaction, and he truly feared now that there would be no satisfaction even when he spurted forth his seed.

  But he had to try.

  With his straightened arms positioned on either side of Maire's head and his hips nestling between her thighs, he reared his head back, the veins standing out tensely on his neck and breath hissing through his clenched teeth. Only then did he begin to enter her tight sheath of hot silk. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he eased his staff one tiny bit at a time, savoring every welcoming clasp of her folds. His head spun with the intensity of his excitement. And he was only in halfway.

  Hearing a soft sob, he unshuttered his eyes… and saw that Maire was weeping silently.

  Nay! he rebelled silently. Nay, nay, nay! Do not reject me now. 'Tis unfair. I think I am going to die.

  He did not die. Nor did he withdraw. In truth, he was not certain that he could withdraw, so huge was his "Lance." But he did ask, "What is it, sweetling? Am I hurting you?"

  She shook her head, though her beautiful green eyes continued to well with crystal-like tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

  "What ails you then? Do you… do you want me to stop?" Holy Thor! He could not believe he'd asked her that. In no way did he want to give her an opportunity to stop such exquisite bed sport.

  She shook her head again.

  Praise the gods! "What is it then?" he questioned, leaning down to kiss her gently on lips that were moist and parted… from crying. Not to mention swollen… from his recent kisses. Rurik was still embedded only halfway inside the wench, and he was amazed at his calm in inquiring about her distress when what he wanted to do was tup till his brains fell out.

  "You," she answered.

  "Me?" Damn. Damn, damn! What have I done now? Did I unarouse her with some coarse gesture? Or did I say something perverted that frightened her off? Did I—oh, I hope I didn't—mention tupping my brains out?

  "You are so beautiful," she explained.

  Ah! So, I'm not as uncouth as I feared.

  "… and this thing you do to me… this feeling I get when you couple with me"—she shrugged, unable to come up with the precise words she searched for—"I did not know lovemaking could feel so… so glorious."

  Glorious? Aha, she likes me… she likes me… well, leastways, she likes how I look... and how I make her feel. That was all Rurik needed to hear. With a roar of masculine exultation, he plunged himself in to the hilt. Pausing briefly to adjust himself from side to side, which caused her inner muscles to shift in accommodation and his erection to elongate, he whispered carnal words against her ear, recognizing that some women liked wicked words in the bed-play. "Your woman folds feel like hot fingers on my sex."

  "Your manpart is like soft marble. And it pulses, betimes," she replied.

  Some men liked wicked words in the bedplay, too, Rurik had to admit. He was one of them. Joy, joy, joy!

  "Do you like it… not my cock… I mean, the way it moves… bloody hell, I did not mean to sound so crude," Rurik said with a groan. Blessed Freyja, he was stuttering about like a bumbling lackbrain of no experience.

  She smiled softly. "Aye, I do."

  Rurik felt himself lurch inside her at that admission… one she would perchance hate herself for later; it was exactly what Rurik's male ego wanted to hear.

  He began his long strokes then, trying his best to keep them slow, dragging against her delicious friction, but it was not easy, especially when she went wide-eyed with wonder and asked, "Am I going to have another sex fit?"

  He laughed, or attempted to, but it came out as sort of a gurgle. "I hope so."

  She nodded, which was astonishing, really… that she could nod and ask him seemingly casual questions whilst his heart was thundering and his blood nigh steaming. "Will you be having a sex fit, too?"

  Questions, questions, questions! he thought. But what he said was, "Most definitely."

  He was silent then, and she was, too, as he initiated the serious, pounding rhythm that came instinctively to the male body. Soon Maire caught the idea and raised her buttocks up off the mattress, undulating in counterpoint to his driving strokes. Logical thought was beyond him now. With other women, he might have pondered which was the best method for achieving this or that passion-goal. But not with Maire. Rurik was out of control, lost in a white-hot arousal, and—Thank you, Odin!—Maire appeared to be the same.

  When Maire began to keen with heightening stimulation, he moaned his own excitement. Soon she was spasming around him… a sensation so pleasurable it approached pain… and Rurik withdrew, at the last moment, to spill his seed into her woman hair. As much as Rurik yearned to come inside her body, he had promised her no pregnancy. Even so, he reached the height of ecstasy, and sagged down atop her body.

  Both sated, they breathed heavily into each other's necks, trying to return to calm and sanity… though Rurik was not sure he could ever achieve either again.

  She took him by both ears then and raised his head to scrutinize him intently.

  "What? What are you looking at?"

  Her lips seemed to twitch with some mirth. "I'm just verifying whether your eyes are rolling back in their sockets."

  He laughed and took a playful nip at her shoulder before he moved off her and the mattress to stand next to the bed. "They were, for a certainty," he informed her. "And I would wager I engaged in fitlike tremors, too." Then, he ordered, "Stay here."

  He went behind a screen in the corner where he washed himself. While there, he checked the mirror to see if his blue mark was still there. It was. He smiled, guessing he would have to endure more love-making with Maire. Still smiling, he brought a pottery bowl of water and a soft cloth back to the bed, where he proceeded to wash her female parts.

  He would have thought that Maire might have protested
that intimate act, or that she might try to cover herself in modesty, as some women did, now that the lovemaking had ended, but, nay, she reclined back on the pillows, legs slightly spread, and allowed him to tend to her. The wench continually surprised him.

  But it might be a good idea if he changed the subject for a bit in order to give his body a chance to renew itself. Glancing about the room, he noticed once again the unfinished tapestry on the wooden frame in the corner. Even in the dismal half-light caused by the rainy weather, the picture was exquisite. Rurik would never claim to be an expert on art, but he knew talent when he saw it. It was not just the brilliant colors, but the different textures of thread and patterns of sewing that gave a dimensional aspect to the scene, which included a man and a woman, seen from the back, holding hands as they watched a young boy playing in the shallow waters at the edge of a loch. The figure of the man was incomplete, as were the white clouds skimming the blue sky, the shredded threads of lavender-hued heather, a red deer peeking out of the forest in the distance.

  Something about the scene pulled at Rurik's heart in a way he could not explain. Not just its beauty. Nay, it was the image it portrayed of a family… the kind of family Rurik had dreamed of as a child. A fantasy, really. That's what it was.

  "What are you staring at so intently?" Maire inquired, putting a hand on his forearm.

  He jerked his head back to look at her. She still reclined on the bed, but she'd drawn the bed linen up and over her breasts in modesty.

  "The tapestry," he answered. "Who did it? Your mother?" Someone had told him that the large dusty tapestries in the great hall, which had been taken down the day before to be cleaned, were done years ago by her mother and grandmother. That would explain why this tapestry was unfinished.