Page 80 of The Blue Viking

Would there be another time? Would Rurik come back, alive and whole? Would he then mention the “bride gift”? Would he stay in the Highlands? Nay, Maire could not think of those questions now.

“But, yea, witchling, I would enjoy having your mouth on me there,” Rurik continued in a low, husky voice. “More than you could ever imagine.”

While she was pondering what to do next, the V edge brushed across her woman hair… just a feathery pass, but the fiery sensation it ignited was exquisite. Tentatively, she let the metal edge make a return pass … this time just barely touching the distended bud that held such prominence there. ’Twas like lightning striking her most sensitive body part. Or warm honey spreading out to all her intimate folds.

Maire was utterly shocked at the wantonness of her act, and the pleasure she took from it. Though her hand still held the supple metal fabric, she jerked it away, lest she be tempted to repeat the sweet torture.

Rurik grabbed her by the wrist and gently placed her hand back at the joining of her thighs. In a voice thick as the warm honey she’d imagined, he urged, “Do it again.”

Sacred Saints, she did, and almost swooned at the intensity of searing heat that pooled there.

“Again,” he prodded.

She had no choice but to comply, so far gone in arousal was she now. And the point of this whole exercise had been to arouse Rurik! This time, the warm honey and searing heat sensations were joined by an interior spasming… one, two, three sharp clasps of the thick spear on which she sat.

Rurik groaned … a long, lust-ridden, male sound. Even so, he pleaded, “One last time, sweetling. Come to the edge … just the edge of your peak for me … just a little higher.”

“I can’t.”

“Do it, Maire… one last time.” His command brooked no argument.

Maire stared down at herself and Rurik where they were joined. As if she were a puppet and Rurik were pulling her strings, she held the pointed fabric slightly above them. Then she let it swing from side to side like a rapid pendulum, creating a vibration against the ridge of her femininity.

She was keening almost continuously now, tears streaming down her face, as wave after wave of escalating excitement hit her. “Oh … oh … oh … oh … oh …” She must have swooned into unconsciousness for a brief moment, because the next thing she was aware of was being on her back and Rurik attempting to reassure her with soft crooning words, “Hush, now, pretty. You did good. Very, very good. There is naught to be ashamed of.” His soothing words were contrary to what he was doing … creating new waves and new spasms with long, slow strokes of his hard staff. As his strokes became shorter, he hammered against her, driving her body from one side of the mattress to the other. And the only sounds were those of Rurik’s panting and their slick parts hitting one another. Then, finally, the explosion of every nerve ending in Maire’s body as Rurik pounded into her one last time with a delicious male shout of triumph. Then silence.

“I have to leave, dearling,” Rurik said a short time later, kissing the top of Maire’s head.

“I know,” she murmured, but made no effort to move from where she lay cradled at his side, her face resting on his chest, which had finally subsided from its passionate heaving.

And he was no better. His braies were still draped about his knees in a tangle. Holy Thor! The last time he’d been so anxious to have a female that he’d taken her with his braies about his boots he’d been an untried boy, not an experienced man. But that was how Maire affected him.

He looked down at his lady—and, yea, that was how he regarded her… his lady—and ran a hand over the mass of hair that was spread out over his chest, down to his waist, and over his upper arms. Like a massive skein of blazing silk, it was. “Amazing how I’ve developed a taste for red hair,” he commented idly as he rubbed several strands between his thumb and forefinger. “I always thought I misliked flame hair on a woman.”

“You do not like red hair?” she inquired, lifting her head to regard his face.

“I never did afore. I recall the first time I saw Tykir’s wife, Alinor. I could not understand how my friend saw beauty when I considered her nigh homely.”

“Because she had red hair?”

“Well, because she was covered with freckles from head to toe, as well.”

“And now?”

He shrugged as if only mildly interested. “Now, I concede Alinor has a certain attraction.”

He kissed Maire lightly on the lips and made to rise. “I really must go. If I do not, we may find a troop of Vikings and Campbell clansmen barging through yon door.”

“Give me one more moment,” she said, pressing him back down.

I’d like to give you more than a moment, witch. I’d like to give you some memories that would sizzle the hair off your skin and put a permanent blush on that pretty face. “That is what you said a short time ago, afore you bent me to your will and seduced me to your bed.” He chucked her under the chin playfully to show he had not been all that upset over the way things had turned out.

Her face turned bright red with embarrassment. How a woman could retain a speck of modesty after what she’d just done was beyond Rurik, but then, who could understand the workings of a woman’s mind?

“The seduction was not all one-sided,” she protested.

“It was at first.”

“I beg to differ, not when … but that’s neither here nor there. There is something I need to tell you… something important.”