She untied the cloth belt at her waist, then stopped. “Joe, I’m not as beautiful as you are, or in nearly as good shape as you are.” Shyly she parted the sides over her shoulders and let the fabric slither to the floor in a crimson pool.
His heart stopped beating for a second, then exploded inside his chest into a thundering beat. “Oh, Mag-he, you are beautiful to me. And your form is shapely, just the way I like.”
Actually her form was more than fine to him: it was perfect. She was taller than the average female, more like the statuesque women of his race, though there was naught Nordic about her appearance. Her hair was raven black, cut far too short to be feminine, but attractive nonetheless. Her lips were full and red and kissable beyond all bounds of sensuality. Her eyes gazed at him through misty blue pools of passion.
But it was her body that drew him now…a body that was curvaceous…made for love. Her breasts were large and full and rose-nippled. They were not excessively large, except in relation to her small-boned frame, and they were uplifted, not sagging with their heaviness. He intended to pay great homage to those breasts; that was a promise he made himself.
He knew that Mag-he thought she carried too much weight, but she was wrong. Men did not like skin-and-bone females, as was the fashion of her time. That was one thing he knew had not changed through the centuries. On that issue, men were men.
He let his eyes roam lower. Her creamy torso tapered in at the waist, but then flared out at the hips…hips perfect for bearing a man’s babe, or a man’s lustful body. The navel ring sparkled in its place, midbelly. He could not wait to taste it with his tongue. Was it cool? Or hot?
The thatch of dark hair below was curly and already glistening with woman-dew, he would wager. Her legs were long and comely, and her feet high-arched and narrow. He intended to investigate every part of her thoroughly before morning. Bloody hell, it would be before midnight, he amended in his head, if he kept going at this rate.
“So beautiful,” he repeated in a voice raw with passion. Then he reached for her.
Maggie did feel beautiful at that moment. Under Joe’s appreciative scrutiny, her womanliness was suddenly something to glory in, instead of repress. She wanted him to find her sexy, and he apparently did.
When he opened his arms to her, reaching as he strode toward her, Maggie was filled with such joy that she hurled herself into his embrace. He caught her with a surprised laugh and lifted her high. But when she wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders, she must have startled him, because he gasped and exclaimed, “Mag-he!” just before his knees gave way. He lurched forward, landing on his knees on the first rung of the carpeted stairs. Then, still pitching forward, he pressed Maggie backward, and she found herself sprawled on the steps, legs wide, and Joe on top of her.
He blinked at her, wide-eyed with shock. Maggie wasn’t sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Despite the carpet that had broken his fall, Joe’s knees must pain him dreadfully. “Are you hurt?”
“Beyond belief,” he choked out, and insinuated his erection more tightly against her. “Too late, too late, too late,” he moaned as his lips took hers hungrily and he thrust himself inside her slickness. Well, not quite inside. Halfway. He was so big, and Maggie had not done this for a long time.
With his eyes closed and his head reared back, he pulled himself out, then thrust again. Three times he repeated this exercise before imbedding himself to the hilt.
To Maggie’s mortification, she began to spasm around him. Her eyes were probably rolled back in her head, with only the whites exposed, so intense was the pleasure he gave her. She shut her eyes. And she continued to spasm. It was much too soon. How pathetic she was. She began to cry and tried to squirm out from under him, but he would not allow that.
“Shhh,” he said, “you feel so good. Like a supple glove of warm, oiled leather.” Then he rolled so he was on his back on the steps and she sat on his lap, impaled and filled. “Peak again for me, sweetling,” he urged in a voice smoky with sex, putting his hands on her hips to hold her still. Her first instinct was to undulate on him. But no, he took her hand and made her touch herself at that place where they were joined. She glanced down. The base of his erection was barely visible where blond hair blended with black.
Just that sight made her go hot with liquid pleasure, there.
Does he feel the scorching heat as well?
His gray eyes appeared glazed, like misty silver, and from his parted lips came a soft moan.
He does.
His firm hands on her hips forced her to keep him inside her. He refused to let her seek her release through movement, only through her own sinfully erotic touch. Within seconds she came again in violent convulsions that grasped and released, grasped and released, grasped and released his still-engorged penis. In fact, she thought he might have elongated and thickened with the flexible accommodating of her inner muscles. She wanted desperately to move, to feel the friction of his penis, but he kept murmuring against her ear, “Not yet, not yet.”
Maggie realized he was indeed playing the role of the conqueror. Didn’t he realize that she’d already surrendered? But no, that wasn’t quite true. There was a part of her that still fought these out-of-control passions. He must sense that.
And so she threw her head back and moaned and moaned and moaned as shudders rocked her body, and she came endlessly. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ooooh!”
And still Joe had not climaxed.
But that did not mean he was unaffected. Hardly. He rolled them over so she was on the bottom again, and his stiffened arms were braced on the step, on either side of her head. From his lips came a panting noise, “Wfff, wfff, wfff, wfff,” like an overheated horse. He was clearly trying to rein in his excitement. For what purpose?
Finally, when he had calmed down a bit—though he was still fully erect and imbedded inside her, like a permanent erotic fixture—he smiled down at her and gave her a brief kiss. “Where are those condoms we bought?” he whispered against her ear, at the same time he nipped at the lobe. Even his breath was a carnal caress at this stage of her seemingly endless arousal.
So that was why he was holding off. Birth control. He wanted condoms. “In my purse…in the hall closet.”
In one lithe movement, he put a palm under each of her buttocks and stood, still planted inside her. Then he began to walk across the foyer.
With a little yelp, she wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders, as she had before. The slight jarring created by his stride reverberated into sensations inside her that were…interesting. Maggie was beginning to think she was either a wanton, or a woman who had been very sexually deprived for a long time. Maybe a little of both.
In a few moments, condoms in hand, Joe carried her through the archway into the living room, where he deposited her on an antique chaise lounge, which she’d inherited from her great-grandmother. It was upholstered in green velvet, backless, and had an arm at only one end. A useless piece of furniture, she’d always thought…till now.
With surprising expertise for a task he’d never performed before, Joe put on the condom, then made a great fuss over arranging her nude body just so on the chaise…half reclining, with her head against the armrest, her hands behind her head, and her legs spread with her feet resting on the floor.
The old Maggie would have been mortified beyond belief to be so exposed.
The new Maggie wondered what surprising, sinful things he would do next.
Kneeling on the floor at her side, he was studying her body from head to toe, like a connoisseur considering the purchase of a fine painting. Did he like what he saw? The answer she saw on his flushed face and parted lips was a glorious Yes, yes, yes.
“Let’s just make love,” she urged, and her voice came out even huskier than usual.
“We will, heartling. We will,” he promised, still studying every curve and plane of her body.
When was he going to start touching her, and doi
ng other things? Oh, good Lord! Was it possible that Vikings didn’t make love the same way people did today? No, that was silly. Sex was sex. Wasn’t it?
Aaarrgh! Can a person go crazy from hormone overload?
“When?” She arched her body involuntarily, like a purring cat in need of a good petting.
Her posture caused his eyes to go wide, and he clenched his fists at his sides, still restraining his impulses. Darn him! He’d better unrestrain soon, or…or else.
“When you are wild…with want.”
Oh, boy! Maggie simultaneously felt a sharp throb between her legs and an ache in her breasts, and she thought, I am already wild.
Jorund could not believe his eyes. His Mag-he had gone wild for him. What a picture she made, reclining sensuously on the low sofa…a sofa that was, by the by, constructed perfectly for bedsport. Jorund, kneeling on the floor at her side, could not get enough of gazing at her. But he’d best be careful, or he would explode before he ever entered her body. That was a shame he intended to avoid at all costs.
The ripeness of her mouth attracted him first. He let his touch trace the outline of her full lips, then dipped a finger inside and moistened them. A lamp on a nearby table provided just enough golden light for him to view the glistening wetness he had created. Then he tunneled his fingers in her short hair, and moved his lips over hers, back and forth, till they fitted together perfectly. He had been telling Mag-he the truth when he stated at one time that he had no particular fondness for kissing. But, oh, she had changed his mind. Now he could not imagine making love with her and not tasting her lips and tongue and teeth. With that in mind, he stroked her with his tongue, in and out, in and out, in and out, and she drew on him. He had never known a kiss could be so intimate, or so like sex itself.
When he finally tore his mouth away, her lips were swollen and even more kiss-some. Her breathing was as ragged as his. He saw the pleading in her luminous blue eyes. Her eagerness both excited and scared him at the same time. Beware, some inner voice warned, this woman could be your downfall.
But then another voice, accompanied by some whalelike clicking noises, countered, Or your greatest achievement. Follow your heart, Viking. Follow your heart.
But Jorund ignored the voices in his head. He had a beautiful, sensual woman begging for his erotic loveplay. “Soon, dearling, soon,” he assured her as he moved his ministrations lower.
It was her breasts—her beautiful, beautiful breasts—that caught his attention now. For a long time, he played with them, pushing them up from underneath, tracing the dusty areolae, fingering the prominent nipples. She was a mewling, mindless creature by the time he was through with her, imploring him for release. That was the way he wanted her. In truth, he was a bit mindless himself.
“Tell me what you want, Mag-he,” he entreated in a voice thick with male need. “Tell me your desires.”
Her eyes went frenzied, and he knew she was fighting the part of her personality that wanted to be in control. She did not want to tell him her secrets, her wanton yearnings, because then he would have some power over her. Foolish wench! She did not yet realize that she was the one who had power over him.
He saw on her face the moment that she yielded to his mastery. Her hands were still folded behind her neck, where he had forced them to stay, but now she pulled them out resolutely. She put her left hand on the nape of his neck, drawing him downward, and with her right hand placed under one breast and pushing upward, she gave him her breast to suckle. And—oh, holy Thor!—how sweet it was!
For a long time he stabbed her nipple with his tongue, and licked, and plucked, and bit, and sucked, and fluttered her. Then he did the same to her other breast. Such wonderful agony was this to her that she cried out her pleasure with little mewling moans and bucked her hips rhythmically on the sofa, trying to find her release against thin air. In the end, even as he continued to minister to her sensitive breasts, he put the heel of his hand on her mons, and she bucked against his callused flesh till she peaked in unbridled convulsions.
“Ne’er have I enjoyed anything so much in all my life as watching your pleasure,” he told her.
When her breathing slowed down a bit, she opened her eyes and glared at him. “You’d better end this soon, Viking, or you’ll be sorry.”
He doubted that. Laughing softly because she was such a delight, Jorund moved to his knees at the foot of the sofa. Then, hooking her under the knees, he yanked her toward him till her buttocks rested on the edge of the sofa and her feet were planted on the floor, on either side of his legs.
He explored her abdomen then, her trim waist, her delicious navel with the warm metal ring, the crease where her buttocks met her thighs, but mostly the dark nest of curls and the parted cleft that was so very wet with her readiness for him. He spread her legs even wider, to expose her more.
Then he tasted her, just a quick swipe of tongue over swollen nether lips and a bud that was turgid and prominent.
Mag-he screamed out his name, not that modern one, but his real one; “Jorund!”
He thought he would melt at how sweet his true name on her tongue sounded to his ears. But it was too soon for melting, though the scorching heat in his vitals did not bode well. Just a few more minutes, he promised himself.
Relying on all he’d learned over the years about bedplay, and a few surprising ideas he thought up now, Jorund then used his tongue and teeth and lips on Mag-he’s slickness…and never in all his life had he brought a woman to such wetness. Like a nectar of the gods was her cream. He pushed his tongue inside her as far as he could go, trying to find her most erogenous zones—-that was a term he’d learned from Dock-whore Ruth on the TV box—then decided to save those delights for later. When he sucked on her rigid bud—the center of female eroticism, or so he’d been taught—Mag-he let loose a continuous wail of “Yeeeeeessss,” the whole time pounding on his back with her fists.
Needless to say, she peaked again. Perhaps it was even two times. It was hard to tell with all that continuous convulsing.
It was time.
Raising his head, Jorund saw that Mag-he was lying sprawled on the sofa like a limp doll, with her eyes closed. Well, not for long, he pledged silently. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her bodily so that she lay farther up the sofa.
Her eyes shot open.
Yes, he wanted her wide-awake for this.
Bracing his arms on either side of her, he eased his erection into her hot depths. As before, she immediately started shattering around him, her inner muscles grasping and releasing him in welcome, not unlike that handshaking practice.
He tried to go slowly, with long, easy strokes, his fingers entwined with hers above her head, but he had prolonged his ecstasy too long.
“You stretch me,” she commented in wonder.
“Yea, I do,” he remarked pridefully. Was that not the way it was supposed to be with a man and a woman? “Should I stop?”
She laughed, a seductive, feminine trill. “Don’t you dare.” She drew her knees up, wrapping her legs about his hips as if to lock him in.
He needed no such encouragement. He was not able to let her go. This time he lunged so deep, he feared his penetration had reached her womb. He paused in question.
She blinked at him repeatedly. Then she said, “Goodness!”
He assumed that meant she was pleased at how well he filled her, so he continued. Caught in the throes of a hurricane, his sexplay became a raw act of possession as he drove into her, hard.
He was wild.
She was wild.
The power of their joining was a palpable thing swirling between them as they gazed in wonder at each other. His burning eyes held hers, but she did not look away. Had a coupling of man and woman ever been so staggering to the senses?
“I love you,” she whispered as the pinnacle of their rapture approached, and he continued to hammer himself into her. Her words surprised him and did not surprise him at the same time. He could not say that he was di
spleased, but he did not repeat the words back to her. He could not.
Still, he gave her the greatest pleasure he could with his shaft and his expert fingers and mouth. At the height of her fierce undulations and his deep strokes, he slid his fingers between her legs from behind. At that one touch, her molten folds exploded around his shaft, which was now so engorged it pained him. Jorund reared his head back, released a harsh, masculine roar of victory, and came to pulsating satisfaction.
Then he fell heavily on top of her, sated to the point of bonelessness.
I love you, sweetling, he said inside his head. But he did not say the words aloud. In truth, he did not know where the sentiment came from. He did not really love this modern woman. Did he? He was no longer capable of love. Was he?
Cloudy thoughts swam in his brain as he eased himself off the too-small sofa, onto the carpeted floor. He took Mag-he with him, nestling her face in the crook of his neck, one of her arms over his chest, and one leg draped over his.
He wanted to say something to her, to thank her for the most incredible experience of his life, but “thank you” seemed so inadequate to express all he felt. Instead he hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.
Maggie must have swooned, or slept. All she knew was that some time must have passed since the most spectacular sexual marathon of her life—of anyone’s life, she would bet—and Joe was sleeping soundly beside her.
Her face was resting against his shoulder, her palm over his chest, where his heart beat slowly in sleep, and a leg was thrown over his, with her knee pressed up against his genitals—genitals that were now semi-limp. Did the man never give up totally…even in sleep? Was he always half-ready to go?
Her body felt bruised and battered from Joe’s lovemaking…and wonderfully satisfied, too. She was exhausted, no doubt due to her being out of shape. And more than anything, she was confused by the whirlwind that had overcome her in the form of a very sexy Viking. This was so much more than she’d ever expected. He was so much more than she’d ever expected.
Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02] Page 21
