Page 81 of Truly, Madly Viking

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 bed sport. 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 loins, 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.