Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] (21 page)

Pleasurable?
For a certainty.

Shocking?
Aye. In a nice way.

Edifying?
She had to smile at that one. She was
definitely learning
things
, and she definitely wanted to learn more
things
. Besides, she was discovering that she harbored a strong sensual streak. Before it disappeared, she’d like to know more about what had brought it to life, and why.

Harmonious?
Strange that this word should pop into Maire’s head, but there
had
been this feeling of balance when Rurik was inside her. Not just the oneness, or the wonder of two such disparate bodies fitting together so perfectly, as the Creator had planned. It was more as if…
she shuddered to think of the ramifications
… their joining had, in fact, been ordained in some way, as Rurik had mentioned earlier. Destiny.

She released a sigh at that whimsical thought and noticed that Rurik was still gazing at her, with his eyebrows arched in question. She also noticed that his manpart had grown hard again and was nudging insistently against her womanpart.

Well, Maire wasn’t sure what to do next, but she could always follow Rurik’s technique … the slow one he had employed at the beginning. Rolling off the top of his body and to her side, she ordered, “Turn over.”

Startled, he blinked at her.

She found that she liked being the one in charge.

“Wh-what?” he stammered out.

She also found gratification in making a man—a virile man in her bed—stammer.

“I want to examine your body, as you did mine,” she explained, heat suffusing her skin from forehead to toes. Maire was unaccustomed to making such explicit demands of a man, especially a nude one.

His already hardened staff flexed at her words.

And, aye, Maire found that there was gratification to be found in knowing that her mere words could arouse Rurik.

For one long moment, he stared at her, and Maire thought he might refuse, but then he licked his suddenly dry lips, which caused her lips to go suddenly dry. “This had best be good, Maire,” he murmured in a husky voice, and flipped over onto his stomach, folding his arms under his face.

At first, Maire’s eyes simply swept over Rurik’s long form. But even that cursory examination showed him to be a fine, fine specimen of manhood. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Slim hips. Firm buttocks. Excessively long legs. And everywhere muscles, muscles, muscles.

She set the long swath of his hair to the side and touched the strong tendons in his neck. He sighed softly with appreciation, which spurred her to sweep her palms across his shoulder blades, then down to the small of his back. Immediately, all the muscles in his upper body bunched with tension.

“Was that bad?”

He made a gurgling noise, midway between a choke and a laugh. “That was good.”

She hesitated, and then massaged the two mounds of his backside. Interested in the unusual compactness there … much harder than her own … she touched him some more, then ran a forefinger down the centerline.

His entire body went stiff.

Was that a mistake? Too brazen? She thought about giving up on this exploration business, but then he
coaxed, “Don’t stop now, Maire. For the love of Freyja, don’t dare stop now.”

She smiled at the heady notion that she could affect this seasoned lover so. Resuming her leisurely survey, she moved down to his legs, where she discovered that the backs of his knees and his inner thighs were uncommonly sensitive to touch.

He groaned aloud and rolled over, pulling her halfway atop him… her breasts pressed to his chest, her one thigh thrown over both of his. Assailed by a sudden bout of modesty, she tried to adjust herself so that the excited tips of her breasts were not so evident, but he would not allow her to move. Instead, he whispered, pulling her forward, “Kiss me, witch. Before you resume your campaign to drive me daft with your touch, taste me with your lips, and your tongue, and your teeth.”

“I’m not a good kisser, like you,” she admitted shyly.

At first, his languid eyes went wide with surprise. Then he shook his head as if her inexperience were of no consequence. “Try,” he beseeched, “and I will teach you what does not already come instinctively.”

Maire did just that, settling her lips over his much fuller ones, then dragging them from side to side for a better fit.

“Open,” he murmured against her lips.

She did, and, oh, who knew that just the parting of a woman’s lips over a man’s could be so erotic? Rurik instructed her in the art of kissing then. Not with words, but with masculine sounds of encouragement, turns of the head, and example. She soon discovered that she was a very quick learner. Rurik considered
her an excellent pupil, too, if his ragged breaths were any indication when he finally broke the kiss.

To Maire’s immense satisfaction, she saw that his lips were moist and slightly swollen from her kisses. His eyes were luminous with a carnal fire she had ignited. And his manhood pressing urgently against her thigh was thick and hard. She did not want to think how she must look to him. Worse, she was sure. Or better, depending on one’s point of view.

Rurik had told her something earlier, in the heat of his lovemaking, which she recalled now. He had said that a woman’s passion was a man’s greatest pleasure. Well, it went the other way, too, she realized now. A man’s passion was a woman’s greatest pleasure, as well.

’Twas time to resume her explorations, she decided. Following Rurik’s route, she used her tongue and teeth to play with his ears and his flat male nipples. To her delight, he found as much joy in her ministrations as she’d found in his.

At one point, she remarked ruefully, as she studied his burgeoning member, “By the size of Lance, ’twould seem you have not been telling very many lies, Viking.”

“ ’Tis no time for teasing, wench,” he said huskily, but she could tell her playful words gladdened him. She was not accustomed to such flirting, but found she liked it. Mayhap later she would become more proficient at the gentle art of flirtation … if the rogue beneath her fingertips stuck around that long.

By the time she’d splayed her fingers over his stomach and dipped her head to lick the indentation of his navel, Rurik had apparently had enough of her
sweet torture. With a masculine roar, he lifted her bodily so that she straddled his stomach. “Take me,” he rasped out.

“Huh?” She tilted her head in question. “Take you where?”

“Inside … take me inside of you,” he said in a voice so dark and smoky she felt her woman center clench in response.

She was not precisely certain how to do that, but she raised her bottom slightly, and grasping his thick column in her hands, she drew him inside ever so gently. And, by the saints, he felt good.

Rurik’s eyes actually rolled back in his head for a moment, and she saw that his teeth were gritted, as if in pain. But she sensed it was a kind of pleasure-pain. When his eyes made contact with hers again, he said, “Lean forward so you can take more of me, sweetling.”

More? That was not possible
. She did as he instructed and found, to her amazement, that her body was made to accept all of him, as inner muscles shifted and slickened.

“Now sit back.”

She did, resting her bottom on his loins, which caused her legs to widen. To her embarrassment, though, she started to spasm around his shaft… alternately squeezing and releasing. She tried to lift herself off and turn her face away in shame, but he would have none of that. With hands on her hips, he held her down and pleaded, “Look at me, Maire. I would see you peak.”

When she did not immediately meet his gaze, he commenced strumming that bud between her
thighs … the one now practically pressing against his belly, as insistent in its swelling as his own imbedded erection. “Oh!” she whispered. “What?” he asked.

She put a hand against herself and confessed, “It feels like butterfly wings here … the frantic beating of butterfly wings.”

“Ah, Maire. You are truly precious.”

A fierce wail erupted from her then as the convulsions began all over again, stronger now. “I need … I need…,” she cried out, not sure exactly what it was she needed. Perhaps just an end to this throbbing between her legs and the aching in her breasts.

Then, slowly, slowly, slowly, she rocked her hips. So intense was the bliss that she closed her eyes and saw red and white stars behind the lids. When she opened them, it was obvious that he was equally affected. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip, bespeaking great restraint. His eyes were glazed, and panting breaths came from his parted lips. Frustrated at his lack of movement, she grabbed his hands off her hips and placed them over her breasts. “Move, damn you. Move!” she demanded.

He laughed up at her. “With pleasure, my lady.” Soft words of guidance and deft hands showed her the rhythm. She figured she must be doing it correctly because at one point he told her, on a groan, “You … are… incredible.”

Maire had peaked so many times since he’d first forced her to straddle him that she’d lost count. When he whispered into her ear, “You melt like hot honey around me,” she felt, indeed, as if her insides were
dissolving around him. “Tell me how I feel to you,” he implored then.

She thought only an instant and disclosed, “You are the missing part of me, come home.” Her words stunned him, she could tell, but it was the truth. He completed her.

Had any other man and woman fit together as well as they did? She had no experience, other than Kenneth, but she decided that she and Rurik must be unique. Adam and Eve, but better. That thought made her smile.

“Do you find mirth in my discomfit?” Rurik asked with a growl, chucking her playfully on the chin.
“Are
you discomfited?”

“Oh, lady, I am sore discomfited, and you are the cause.”

She smiled wider then.

Cupping her buttocks, he rolled them both over so that she was on the bottom. “You like discomfiting me, do you?”

“Immensely.”

That was the last word she was able to speak for some time as Rurik began the hard strokes that would bring on his own ecstasy. Maire observed closely as his male explosion approached. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead. His eyes dilated and grew midnight blue. His nostrils flared. And he panted in a fast-paced cadence to match his strokes.

Rurik’s ecstasy was a beautiful thing to watch.

At the end, he pulled out and spilled his seed upon the linens between her legs. For an instant, she wished that he could stay within, especially as her insides
continued to ripple … missing him … but she knew that was imprudent.

He collapsed on top of her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck. Maire thought he might have fallen asleep, but he kissed the pulse point in her neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

Thank you? What an odd thing to say!

Not so odd, though, she supposed. She was thankful, too, for the pleasure he’d just given her. As his greater weight pressed her to the mattress, not uncomfortably, Maire caressed his silken hair and pondered all that had happened to her that day. It was monumental. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she realized just how monumental.

I still love him
.

Rurik was frightened.

For a hardened warrior, that was a difficult admission to make. But there it was.

He could handle uneven odds in a battle, he could handle the prospect that he might die without warning, he could handle bloodshed and cruelty. What he could not handle were the overpowering feelings he was developing for Maire.

How could he be so affected in such a short time? Witchcraft? He shuddered at the possibility. There was no denying the fact that when he looked at Maire his insides melted, his heart raced, and he lost his concentration. In essence, he felt rather sick in his stomach. He could not stop touching her, or thinking about her, or smiling…. Yea, he’d been doing an inordinate amount of smiling these past hours. Best
he be careful, lest he start staggering about like a dreamy-eyed lackbrain.

Truth to tell, Rurik suspected he was falling in love with the witch. Not that he knew from experience how that would feel. But if it was, indeed, true, then he would have to find a way to stop it right now. Falling in love did not fit in with his plans. Nay, not at all.

There were many reasons why he could not allow himself to love a woman, but three important ones came immediately to mind:

First, he was a warrior, pure and simple. He had no other identity than that. Being arse-over-shoulders in love with a woman—especially one with the talent for turning certain body parts blue and others rock hard—would make him weak and vulnerable … something he could not countenance. He’d had love-struck soldiers under his command in the past. They soon lost their focus. Many were brought down swifter than a Saxon arrow, usually by tripping over their own feet.

Second, there was no future in loving a Scottish witch. Rurik hated the land of Alba with a passion and could scarce wait to leave its boundaries. Besides, he was betrothed to a Norse princess, and it had been a pledge made in honor, which must be upheld.

Third, Maire was his foe, and he should not forget that fact. ’Twas she who’d marked his face and subjected him to years of ridicule.

Well, at least he now knew what he must do. He had a new goal to go along with the removal of his blue tattoo.
Do not love Maire
.

It was late afternoon. He and Maire had been making
love off and on—mostly on—since dawn, and still he could not get enough of her. Even now, as she slept in his arms, he could not tear himself away, though his belly rumbled with hunger, his body was growing rank from all the sweaty exercise, and the bed linens were uncomfortably damp. So, following his new “Do not love Maire” motto, Rurik called upon his years of discipline to avoid noticing Maire’s allure as he carefully disengaged himself from her billowing red hair and clinging limbs.

Actually, he had his eyes scrunched tight. That worked, too.

He was congratulating himself a short time later when he emerged from the bedchamber without awakening Maire. Closing the door quietly behind him, he nigh jumped out of his skin when the first thing he saw was Toste and Vagn leaning against the facing wall, arms folded over their broad chests and ankles crossed. They were smirking at him.