Page 96 of The Bewitched Viking

“Stop!” she screamed and pushed at his shoulders.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he looked up at her through passion-glazed eyes, which aroused her even more, and moved his onslaught to the other breast. The whole time he used a palm to massage the other already sensitized breast with wide circles. “I knew you would be like this. Oh, God, I just knew it.”

She shouted. She flailed. She bucked her hips and kicked at him. She lashed him with every filthy name she could call to her fuzzy mind. “Loathsome lout! Bloody boar! Vicious Viking! Foul fornicator! Perverted pig! Son of a sinful barbarian! Hellish heathen!”

He would not stop.

The hot pool in her woman place turned scalding with heat, and that secret spot she’d newly discovered under the feather’s duress seemed to swell and throb.

He nudged her legs apart with one knee and lay on one side, holding her in place. Regarding her hotly, he panted heavily. Why he should be exhibiting overexertion she could not say. She was the one who was being physically tormented.

“I don’t want this, Tykir. Will you really take a woman against her will?”

His face turned stormy with anger at her insult. “You say me nay, Alinor, but I will prove you a sweet liar.”

She raised her chin haughtily—a ridiculous gesture considering her position. And, damn the devil, she was panting, too.

Before she could guess his intent, Tykir took her hand and placed it on her own woman’s place. “Feel the wetness, Alinor. That is your body saying its welcome to my body. Feel how hot and slick you are in your need for what only I can give you. So, do not say me nay when you really mean yea.”

“Someday I will show you your own body with a hand mirror,” he promised huskily.

She gasped in horror.

“But for now, touch this bud here.” He held her own finger to herself.

Her hips jerked involuntarily at the flashfire ignited with that mere touch.

“’Tis the center of your woman-joy, the launching spot that will catapult your peaking.”

She was not listening anymore because he was caressing her there with his own fingertips, whispering wicked words of admiration and promise. She became mindless with need, begging for release.

When he finally lay himself atop her and placed his huge erection at her woman-portal, he asked in a voice savage with raw distress, “Dost consent?”

She nodded, well beyond control of her battered senses.

“Will it be rape?”

She shook her head.

“Tell me,” he insisted, looking as if he’d been pushed beyond the edge himself.

“Please,” she begged. And that was all she could say.

It was enough.

With a groan through gritted teeth and head thrown back on corded neck, he pushed himself slowly into her tight passage. “Al-i-nor!” he cried out. The Viking had buried himself inside her body, to the hilt. He stretched her and filled her.

And she shared his incredulity.

He was still braced on extended arms over her. Once his jaw was no longer clenched, he whispered, “You feel so good, Alinor. Am I hurting you?”

“Nay,” she whispered, and her inner folds shifted, apparently pleased at his compliment. To her amazement, he grew even larger inside her body, which adjusted to fit him tightly.

“So good, so good,” he breathed.

“You feel good, too,” she admitted.

He smiled at her then, a wonderfully open, dazzling display of white teeth and pure male satisfaction.