Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02]

by Madly Viking Truly

  But the most surprising thing was that Jerome Johnson, president and CEO of Medic-All, had remembered Joe the Viking in a positive way. When he’d learned, last week, that Joe was no longer a patient, he had urged Rainbow to hire him to restructure its physical-fitness program. Apparently, when Jerome urged, everyone followed his wishes. So now Joe was about to start running the program three days a week, beginning today. And he was ordering everyone about as if he were a…well, a military leader.

  “Why can’t we give fencing lessons?” he was asking Harry in the Monday-afternoon staff meeting.

  “Because this is a mental hospital, damnit,” Harry snapped. “We don’t give lethal weapons to patients. And that’s final.” Her boss usually didn’t lose his temper, but Joe had already demanded new rowing machines, a running track, and bowling balls, which he referred to as catapult balls, and bowling lanes, which he referred to as hurling tracks. Amazingly, Harry had agreed, having been given a slightly higher budget from Medic-All for this purpose.

  When the meeting was over, Harry gave her a meaningful glare, which she interpreted as, “Keep that man out of my way.”

  “Hurry up, Mag-he,” Joe urged as they walked down the corridor. “We have to pick up Sue-zee and Beth after school soon. You know that I promised the girls we would go out in the woods and chop down a Christmas tree today.”

  She groaned, having forgotten. “I still say my artificial tree would serve just fine.”

  The expression on his face said the issue was settled.

  “I don’t suppose you will be angry if I tell you that I bought you a little gift.” He spoke hesitantly as they approached the parking lot.

  “Joe, I already told you that I disapprove of your selling your arm ring. And I certainly don’t want you buying me stuff with that money. Furthermore—Oh, no!” Maggie gawked, practically bug-eyed, at the parking lot. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  He smiled brightly at her. “How could we go yule-tree chopping with your piddling vehicle?”

  He had.

  Sitting next to her Volvo was a brand-new red pickup truck.

  It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

  Maggie was sitting beside Joe on the sofa in the den, where their newly decorated, wonderfully pungent, way-too-big Christmas tree held center stage, with the crackling fire in the new fireplace providing just the right ambience. Of course, the windows were open to offset the heat. She couldn’t stay mad at the brazen brute when he’d given her—and her girls—such wonderful gifts for the season. Just the shine in Suzy’s and Beth’s eyes when she’d tucked them in a few moments ago…well, it made up for all the aggravation Joe gave her. And he could be aggravating, no doubt about that.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You are welcome,” he answered, not even bothering to ask what for. Putting an arm across the back of the couch, he snagged her by the shoulders and pulled her into the cradle of his arm. Nuzzling her hair, with a soft murmur of, “Lilacs, mmmmm,” he added, “I expect you will give me thanks with more than words…in time.”

  “In time,” she emphasized. She didn’t need to repeat to him her concern over Suzy and Beth. She’d told him enough times in the past few weeks that she wouldn’t engage in an affair in the same house with her daughters.

  “I wonder if that time will ever come,” he whispered against her ear.

  She bristled and tried to pull away-not because of his words, but because of what he knew how to do with her oversensitive ears. Lordy, lordy, the man could set her afire with just a few breaths and some whispered words of wicked things he’d like to do with her.

  “Will you take off your undergarments for me?” he suggested all of a sudden.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Now, do not go all atwitter on me. I am not suggesting we make love, precisely. I just want you to go into the bathing room and take off your undergarments. You said we could not make love with the girls in the house, and being a creative fellow, I have come up with a plan for having sexless sex.”

  “That’s some creativity.” Her nervous giggle betrayed her interest.

  “Yea.”

  “It sounds a little…perverted.”

  “Yea,” he concurred with a little smile.

  “Joe,” she protested.

  “Now, sweetling, you can put your braies and sweat-her back on. But when you return, and sit here chattering about this and that, I will know you are naked for me beneath. You will be aware of me, and I of you. Perchance it will satisfy my baser instincts, for now. Do it.”

  Maggie had never heard of such a thing before. Certainly no man had ever suggested anything so…well, erotic.

  To her surprise, she did as he asked, blushing even as she complied, alone, in the bathroom.

  When she returned, Joe was sitting in one of the wing-back chairs beside the fireplace. He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite him.

  “Sit as I do,” he directed in a husky voice. He moved his hands so that they clutched the wings at the top of the chair, and he spread his legs wide.

  She followed suit.

  Then he just stared at her for a long, long time.

  Under his intense, carnal scrutiny, the fine hairs rose to attention all over her body. Her nipples became hard, aching points, pressing against the suddenly heavy weight of her sweater. Between her legs, hot liquid pooled in the swelling folds.

  With just a look, Joe made her want him…more than she’d ever wanted any other man.

  A moan escaped her parted lips.

  He moaned, too, in reaction, a low, male sound of pure temptation.

  She thought he would smile then, his ego appeased that he had reduced her to this pathetic state with a mere stare…but he did not. Instead he held her gaze, communicating some seemingly serious message. Then he said, “I have wanted you from first time I set eyes on you.”

  “Oh,” was the only response she could come up with. What a perfect thing for him to say! Had he sensed her need to hear those words…to justify her hair-trigger arousal?

  “When I look at you, I want to make fierce love with you…to teach you with my callused hands and hard staff not to tease a fighting man.”

  Merciful heavens! She was picturing all the wonderful things those rough palms could do to her soft skin…how his hardness would feel inside her. A thrum of stimulation rippled through her and lodged between her legs like a sweet burn. “I never teased—” she started to say.

  He shook his head to stop her protests. “At the same time that I yearn for savage bedplay with you, I yearn as well for gentler things. Your head upon my chest. Our fingers laced. Soft kisses. Whispered words.”

  Maggie’s heart felt as if it were ballooning inside her, and would surely burst with the pure joy of his declaration. Did he realize just what he was saying?

  “These things frighten me, Mag-he,” he confessed. “I am much more at ease with lust, you know.”

  She nodded, understanding perfectly.

  “Arch your chest for me, Mag-he,” he entreated.

  She did. Without glancing down, she knew that her nipples were hard pebbles, clearly delineated by the thin knit of her sweater. And she did not care. For once in her life she was glad—very glad—that these overt signs of her sensuality were there for his enjoyment.

  “Oh, Mag-he,” he said with a long sigh. “Do you know how much I want to suckle you? I would take your breasts deep into my mouth and draw on your nipples till you cried out for release. I would worship your breasts for a long, long time.”

  She moaned aloud and gripped the chair wings tighter, arching her breasts out even farther so that the throbbing tips were caressed by the coarse threads of her sweater.

  “Let us put an end to this delicious agony,” he said in a voice choked with emotion. Maggie could see that he was as excited as she was.

  Joe took one hand off the back of his chair and laid it over the ridge in his pants. With a jerk of his head, he indicated that he w
anted her to do the same. “Find the bud of your woman-pleasure and stroke it so,” he instructed as he ran his fingertips up and down his erection.

  To her amazement, she did just as he wanted, and experienced no shame—just a glorious, spasming orgasm as she writhed on her chair under her own touch. As much satisfaction as she received, though, the greatest thing was watching Joe rear his head back, the cords in his neck standing out, and squeeze the chair arms with white knuckles as he rode his climax.

  As Maggie’s senses floated back to earth, she discovered something new: it was possible to have sex without physical contact from a lover.

  And she could only wonder about something else: if this man could melt her bones and heat her blood and make her hormones hum with just this, what would it be like to actually make love with him?

  Love with a Viking was getting harder and harder to resist.

  On Friday night, Maggie had taken a bubble bath and donned her red silk robe. Barefooted, she rushed downstairs to turn off the warming oven. She’d prepared a nice dinner, which she didn’t want to dry out.

  Joe still wasn’t home. After working in the Rainbow facilities all afternoon, he had gone to a gym with Steve to experience something new to him: working out. Joe claimed that everyday work for a Viking soldier was “working out.” Still, he’d accepted Steve’s invitation.

  Just then she heard a car pull up outside, then leave, followed by the sound of a key in the door. She went into the hallway, waiting.

  He entered and gazed at her for a long moment. As he hung his jacket in the closet, his movements slowed. He was clearly perplexed. “Where are the girls? I do not hear the Em-tee-vee blaring.”

  “Their grandparents arrived suddenly this afternoon…Judd’s mother and father. Since the girls won’t be staying with them over Christmas this year, Jack and Martha wanted them to come back to the farm for a visit.”

  “A visit?” he asked. “How long a visit?”

  “The weekend.”

  “The weekend,” he repeated. It took only an instant for understanding to dawn. “And you left me sitting in a gym, bi-sigh-cling myself to mind-numbing boredom? Are you daft, lady?” Then the slow grin she loved so much began to creep across his lips. “What are you wearing under that wicked garment, wench?”

  “A belly-button ring.”

  “And?”

  Then it was she who gave him a slow grin.

  She saw his Adam’s apple move…once, twice, three times, as if he tried and was unable to swallow. Finally he said, “No.”

  “No?” she gasped out.

  “No, you are not going to control this situation, as you have all others in your life.” He continued to stare at her casually, as if she hadn’t just offered herself to him, with a huge dollop of sexual promise.

  “You don’t want…I thought you wanted to make love with me.” Oh, how humiliating! She wished the slate tiles of the foyer would just open up and swallow her whole.

  With a tsk-tsk of disgust, he pulled his T-shirt out of his low-slung sweatpants, and over his hair, which hung in a single braid down his back, still damp from a shower at the gym. Then he tossed the shirt to the floor, slicing her with a disbelieving look. “Are you serious, wench? Of course I want you. I want you so much my teeth ache and my loins tremble. Thor’s toenails! I can scarce breathe.”

  She saw then that his chest was indeed heaving with some great stress. And what a great chest it was, too. And broad shoulders, a washboard abdomen, well-delineated muscles everywhere, all leading down to narrow hips and waist and a deliciously flat stomach. There were blond hairs covering his chest and arms, a darker shade of blond than on his head, but straight and fine as gold silk. How would it feel to the touch?

  And, oh, it was humbling to admit, but the man was in much better physical shape than she was. She was a slug compared to him…all soft and squishy in places he was hard as steel. He was narrow and trim, while she was all curves—way too many curves, she thought, as all her insecurities came back. She should have jogged more lately. She should have spent every spare moment on the StairMaster. She should have done crunches till the cows came home…or at least till the Viking came home.

  He was the exact picture of a Norse god. Better, even.

  She, on the other hand, was no Norse goddess…not by any stretch of the imagination.

  “You came to the door like a siren, prepared to lure me into your game,” he accused.

  “I did not,” she protested, knowing full well it was a lie, or at least a half-truth. Subconsciously she had recognized the significance of her daughters’ absence, but her skimpy attire hadn’t been a deliberate attempt to lead him…to control their lovemaking. Had it?

  “Ne’er once did you think of calling me at the gym and informing me of these events, I warrant. Ne’er once did you contemplate that I might like to be the man in this process. Tell me true: were you or were you not trying to seduce me?”

  “You are really beginning to sound like a male chauvinist.” Her chin shot up defensively. “Do women never seduce men in your time? Is it so wrong for a woman to take the first step?”

  “You know it is not. That is not the issue here.”

  “And what would that issue be?”

  “Me. The man you know me to be. I am Jorund the Warrior. The first time we make love must be on my terms. We will make love—of that there is no doubt—but it will be my way.”

  “A Viking kind of love?” She was attempting to inject some humor into their conversation, but there was no masking her nervousness.

  “Precisely.”

  Precisely? Precisely? What does that mean?

  Do Vikings make love differently from other men?

  Oh, boy.

  I mean, oh, man…oh, man, oh, man!

  “The only question in my mind is whether, this first time, I should woo you or conquer you.”

  What an arrogant, sexist thing to say. But both possibilities sounded good to Maggie. In fact, his hoarsely rasped-out words caused her knees to go weak. She backed up a pace and grabbed for the upstairs banister with one hand, for support.

  “You have made me wait too long for wooing, Mag-he,” Joe told her, as if they were discussing the weather and not some erotic activity that would no doubt blow her mind. He was bent over, untying the laces on his athletic shoes. “What think you on the matter?”

  Maggie thought she was already too aroused to think, let alone speak.

  Joe stood and in one sleek movement pushed off his sweatpants and Jockey underwear, together. Stepping out of them one foot at a time, he then gave her his full attention.

  “Mercy!” was the only thing she could think of to say.

  His stomach muscles lurched, as did another part of him.

  She repeated, “Mercy!” Obviously Joe did want her, as he’d said. A lot. Mercy, mercy, mercy!

  Joe Rand…or Jorund—was a big man. All over. And while Maggie had never been one to yearn for great size in that department, she wasn’t about to deny its merits, either.

  “I have made my decision,” he announced, stepping slowly and purposefully toward her.

  A decision? About what? Did I miss something here? Oh, he must mean his question about the format of our first lovemaking. His next words confirmed her conclusion.

  “Methinks a conquering is in order.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jorund was almost embarrassed by the hugeness of his erection. Almost.

  Really, he could not remember a time in his life when he’d ever wanted a woman so much. Had she ensorcelled him? He knew that he was treating her unfairly, accusing her of trying to be a leader in the sexplay. But—blessed Odin!—he had to do something to slow down his catapulting excitement.

  He glanced down at his excitement and snorted with disgust. For the love of Freyja! Instead of lessening, his engorged member had become even more painfully erect.

  Rita waddled in, probably figuring it was time to bedevil him again. Instead she took one look a
t his excitement, then appeared to do a feline double lock before raising her fat head with disdain and ambling off. Obviously she was not impressed.

  But Mag-he was. Truly, did she not have the least bit of sense to be staring at him so, gape-mouthed with wonder? Did she not know that a maiden s eyes on a man’s most prized instrument caused it to react on its own? As his brother Magnus always said, “A man’s cock can be his best friend, or his worst enemy.” And his other brother, Rolf, always said, “A manroot has no brain.” He agreed with both sentiments.

  “Are all Vikings like you?” She was still ogling his staff.

  “I’m the only one,” he lied.

  She giggled. She actually giggled. He considered crossing his legs and covering himself with his hands, but that was so out of character for him, who was usually proud of his endowments…except that his endowments had never been quite this endowed. In truth, he wished the slate floor would open up and swallow him whole. Instead his other brain—the one between his legs—decided to take over.

  “Take it off.” His statement came out more like a growled order than a sweet request.

  “Take what off?” The wench was holding on to the stair post, white-knuckled, as if she might fold bonelessly to the floor without its support. He was of the same mind.

  She should know perfectly well what he’d meant, but then her eyes did seem dazed. Perhaps she was a bit disoriented. So he told her, “The siren robe.” If he was going to be standing naked as a plucked chicken with a bull-size erection, he was bloody well going to have company.

  “Oh.” Her skin was flaming, from her face right down to the edge of the deep neckline.

  He liked her blush ever so much. Usually Jorund sought out women well experienced in bedplay…ones who could teach him new tricks. But he had to admit he was anticipating the joys of teaching Mag-he a thing or two…or twenty.