by Alexa Cole
“Elizaveta.”
This time, she came right up to the edge of the tub. He was close enough to touch her, but he didn’t. He wanted her to come to him. He wanted to know every action she took this night was of her own accord. Well, that was not exactly true, he thought. The fact that there were six berserkers outside the door, and two hundred of the world’s most fearsome Vikings just beyond them, might bias her slightly to give in to his cause. Nonetheless, he wanted her to find pleasure of her own volition to the furthest extent possible. She was already well on her way without need for coercion, he knew.
He thought about giving her the soap, so she could wash his chest and shoulders. He knew her hands would feel wonderful on his back. Maybe she would even be courageous enough to touch his member, perhaps even give it a squeeze. Mayhap she would climb right into the water with him, and ride him like a stallion, he thought. The vision it conjured in his mind almost made him spill his seed right in the water like a novice. But he was no novice when it came to women. He was an expert in every way.
Instead, he stood and stepped out of the tub, directly in front of her. This was not time for haste; it was a time for patience. He knew his efforts would pay dividends tenfold, when she went mad with pleasure in his bed, and begged him for more, day after day, year after year. He spread out his arms for her to dry him.
She hesitated.
“Do it,” he commanded in English.
Shaking, she obeyed.
Elizabeth started with his back, and dabbed him dry tentatively. She wiped his magnificent shoulders and sleek sides, avoiding his tight, round buttocks, even with her eyes. They looked like two golden, delicious honey buns, waiting for her to sink her teeth right in them.
When she could postpone it no longer, she returned to the front of him, her aroused senses prickling with awareness that his most dangerous weapon stood, cocked and ready, right between them. She rubbed his chest and his neck, his arms and hands. When there was nothing else to do, she stopped.
“Down,” he said gruffly.
Quaking, she went to her knees before him, and patted his feet. She daubed his toes and ankles, stalling the inevitable necessity of going higher, buying herself time, before making unavoidable contact with the thing she feared most. She dried his knees, front and back, and shins, on both sides, until there was no other way to put off her task.
Still kneeling, she finally accepted her vocation, and confronted it face-to-face, valiantly. With both hands covered by the towel, as if to shield herself from it, she touched his thighs, and faced his phallus head on.
It stared at her, like a snake, with a little, white forked-tongue drizzling from its mouth. When she moved, it followed her, shifting and throbbing with a life of its own. Her heart raced, waiting for it to jerk out and bite her, or spit it’s pale venom all over her face.
When neither event came about, she continued her exploration of his anatomy. She looked curiously at his bollocks, like two large, shriveled apricots dangling between his legs. They looked delicate, like the fruit, and they were speckled with pale, soft hairs, just like the real thing. She wondered if they tasted the same, too.
With tentative fingers, she touched one, surprised by its softness. She touched the other, and dropped the drying cloth, her ultimate purpose now long forgotten. She bent forward and licked it, so lightly and so quickly, she wasn’t certain herself if she had really done it at all. It didn’t taste like apricots, but it tasted good in its own way. It tasted like him, she thought.
Ragnor sucked in his breath.
Her eyes flew to his face, fearing she had done something wrong, but he nodded, and reassured her. It made her feel brave and proud for what she had dared do.
When her eyes returned to his manhood, somehow it did not look so menacing now. It looked inviting. She touched the end of it with the point of her finger. The milky white fluid was surprisingly slippery. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, fascinated. She reached for more, and did it again. She popped the tip of her finger in her mouth, sucking it. The taste was mild and pleasant.
She opened her mouth and tested the tip again, this time with her tongue.
Ragnor grunted abruptly, and lifted her clear off the ground. He wrapped her legs about his waist, and carried her across the room to the pile of furs. Elizabeth clung to his shoulders, lacing her arms about his neck. He stopped short of the bed, and kissed her fiercely, clasping her buttocks tightly with his fingers.
She returned his kisses, matching his passion with her own. She was so hot now, she felt like a searing conflagration of lust. She felt like a wicked, brazen hussy – and it felt good.
Ragnor tossed her roughly upon the bed, wrenching the fur robe wide with impatient hands. He snarled with frustrated when he encountered the wet kirtle, and ripped it in two with his fists.
A thrill bolted through Elizabeth’s body, knowing she was completely naked under his gaze. Her hips arched toward him, and her breasts thrust into the air with longing. Her legs splayed wide before him, and her arms flew out of the robe sleeves and above her head in wild abandon.
Ragnor parted her knees with his hands, his eyes feasting on the exquisite, secret rose unfurling its dewy petals before him. He could see the pearly droplets of her excitement glistening on her flower, and she was so aroused, she was actually dripping. His manhood grew even harder at the sight of the splendid little fountain, spewing forth with nectar. It filled him with thirst.
He wanted to give her pleasure like she had never known. Or dreamed.
His head disappeared between her thighs. She could feel his hot breath on her womanhood, and she clutched the furs in her fists, in a fit of frenzy now. He paused a long moment, driving her crazy with yearning. She writhed beneath him, curving herself upward toward him. Finally, when she thought she would die from longing, he kissed her.
Right on her womanhood.
She jolted upright with surprise. Elizabeth tried to stop him, but he held her wrists tightly, pinning them onto the bed near her hips. With his tongue, Ragnor skimmed the silken nest of her outer lips. He licked the left side, and then the right, avoiding her swollen bud, knowing the time was not yet right for its acuity. Over and over, as soft as a feather, he teased her, building her hunger into madness. Unhurriedly, he moved his way down to her inner lips, stirring her honey pot with only the soft tip of his tongue.
When he arrived at her secret opening, he dipped the tip of his tongue in, only just a fraction of an inch. Stunned, she clasped her thighs together against his head. Patiently, Ragnor released her wrists, and spread her legs wide with his hands, pleased with the intensity of her response. He resumed his slow flight around her precious flower, careful to sweep her petals with only the sweet pressure of a honeybee’s wing.
Finally, when he knew she was ready, he laved her entirely with his tongue, from her forbidden aperture all the way to her button of pleasure. Up and down, he lapped her leisurely, drinking her fragrant nectar. He pulled away for an instant, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging him back down.
The time was right.
He lapped her again with his molten hot tongue, but this time he inserted a long, slow finger into her tunnel, then pulled out. He added a second digit. He curved his fingers upward, toward the front, and easily found her special spot. He stroked it lightly from the inside, spreading his fingers wide, and swirled the tip of his tongue around her swollen bud at the same time. Once, twice, again and again. Elizabeth began to pulsate against him, undulating like a drugged shaman priestess in a trance.
With his other hand, he let his thumb drift strategically lower, making contact with her pretty, puckered sphincter. He tapped it once, and a surge of current coursed through her body. The triumvirate of sensation was too much for her to bear.
Elizabeth hit her peak with the violent force of an avalanche.
A scream tore from her throat. Her entire body wracked with convulsions as she soared to her pinnacle. It shuddered with spas
ms again and again, like waves crashing onto the beach. She held onto Ragnor for dear life, her knees locked on his head as thunder crashed through her.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth had never known such pleasure. But she wanted more. Greedily, she pulled him up to her, and shoved her hips against him, knowing instinctively that there was more to be had. She wanted to feel him inside her. Not just his fingers, but all of him. She needed him to assuage the emptiness, the hollow ache that seared her to the core.
Ragnor pressed the tip of his sword just barely into the rim of her scabbard. She moved against it, trying to fill the void that only he could fill. He knew her first time would be uncomfortable, but there was little reason to make it worse than it had to be. There was no time better to take her virginity than while she was thrashing and screaming in the throes of climax, he reasoned.
Elizabeth grabbed Ragnor’s neck, and kissed him fiercely on the mouth, whimpering with delirium as her body shattered and seized, her orgasm sputtering to its conclusion. He knew if he waited any longer, she would return to earth, and would feel the full pain of his breaking of her maiden head.
Whispering an apology, Ragnor pushed his sword into her sheath, slamming it to the hilt.
She inhaled sharply, with a yelp of surprise.
Ragnor soothed her with gentle words, and kissed her quickly. But her discomfort only lasted a split second. His mouth came crashing down upon hers in a rain of fire, and she met his kisses with equal fervor. He didn’t move inside her, giving her time to adjust to him, but within seconds, she was pummeling him with her hips, driving him deeper of her own accord.
His hands worked their way down to her breasts, and his mouth followed their trail. His fingers found her button of pleasure, stroking it expertly. She purred with passion until he knew the momentary sting of losing her hymen was now ancient history. He stroked her nub firmly and quickly, and soon she was bucking beneath him again like a fiery volcano.
Her hips met his measure for measure, increasing the tempo until they were riding the storm together in unison. Over and over he pounded her, until they were both wildly out of control. Elizabeth’s cries grew with ecstasy as a new kind of orgasm swelled from deep within her. She dug her nails into his back like talons, as her knees gripped tightly around his ribs. She threw back her head, and screamed so loudly with sheer rapture, that Ragnor was certain the whole entire camp could hear her, right over the din of the feast.
Following her, he bellowed his own climax vociferously, spilling his hot seed into her.
“Can we do that again?” Elizabeth said, moments later.
Ragnor laughed, thrilled by her enthusiasm. Finally, he had met his match in the bedroom. She lay beneath him, his scepter still lanced within her, yet she was ready to go anew. He laced his hands with hers, and kissed her softly. Outside, the music serenaded them, and the moment was exquisitely intimate as he peered into her eyes.
“Yes,” he said, searching for the words in her language. “Many, many times. Forever.”
“Can we do it again right now?”
Now that was too complicated to explain with his rudimentary Anglo-Saxon, he chuckled. She would just have to learn on her own that a man needed a few minutes to recover. But in the meantime, he could still pleasure her again.
Ragnor rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She gasped with surprise when she found herself mounted above him. Her breasts felt sensual, swinging freely, and somehow, she felt powerful astride him. She didn’t even mind that he could see her naked. She could tell by the look in his eye that he liked it. Inside her womanhood, she felt his rod grow smaller, and wiggle out of her, leaving a trail of his warm, slippery liquid behind.
“It feels good,” she said. But then at once, she felt empty without it.
Ragnor smiled, and reached for her braid. He had been dreaming of seeing her hair unbound ever since he first laid eyes on her. He unwound the plait with nimble fingers, until he could no longer reach, then she finished the rest. Her hair was resplendent, falling around her like a cascade. He felt himself growing stiff again.
“Kom,” he said in Danish, gesturing with his hand.
“I’m here,” she said, confused.
“Come here,” he pointed to his shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Ragnor grasped her hips and lifted her, positioning her so she was straddling his shoulders where he lay. Elizabeth gasped, balancing herself with her hips, so she wouldn’t fall forward onto him.
Her private parts were in his face!
She tried to move away, but he held her firmly with his arms around her thighs, and his fingers clenching her buttocks.
Ragnor’s eyes glowed wolfishly. He tickled her downy hairs with his finger tips, and blew on them, making them rustle and tingle delectably. With his fingers, he separated her nether lips, looking at her beautiful rose petals, and inhaling their delicious perfume. She didn’t feel shame, only exhilaration and wonder.
Ragnor saw her little bud was already swollen and pulsing once more, and he sucked on it gently. Elizabeth arched her back, and ran her fingers through her hair, thrusting her breasts into the air with longing. He licked her firmly, knowing the second time in one day she would not be as sensitive as the first, holding her lips wide apart with his fingers. He licked her again and again, until she began to move helplessly above him, swept away by the power of her yearning.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, thrusting her pelvis madly against his face.
He would have replied, but speech was impossible at the moment, and, besides, it was impolite to talk with one’s mouth full. Instead he nodded and gripped her buttocks, urging her to ride harder to her peak. Elizabeth voiced her pleasure with wild abandon.
Now Ragnor was sure everyone in the camp had heard. Not that he minded if the whole Viking crew knew about his prowess in bed.
When he sensed the end was imminent for Elizabeth, he stuck his tongue deep into her furrow. She screamed, and rode his face as he had ridden her hips, until she finally fell away in a massive heap of orgasm, declaring her satisfaction loudly to the world.
Ragnor moved behind her, and spread her knees with his. He lifted her hips, and skewered her from the back.
“My turn,” he said, with a smile
Epilogue
Elizabeth awoke with a feeling of contentment she had ever known, or even honestly imagined. Even in her childhood dreams, before taking the veil, she had never thought to find a man like Ragnor, nor even known such pleasure existed.
She lay with her head on his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm. He held her tightly, even as he slept, and each time she moved, he went with her, cradling her like a beloved doll all through the night. She never wanted to leave his embrace for the rest of her life. She was home.
THE END
One last thing...
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review where you purchased it. Reviews help authors tremendously and often guide what will be written next.
Look for more historical romances to come soon.
Cheers!
Alexa
Also by Alexa Cole
Game of Pleasure
Her Lord and Master
Her Lord's Desire
Her Lord's Pleasure
