Page 34 of The Outlaw Viking

He nodded silently once again, unable to move under the spell of her seductive nearness. Truly, she must be a sorceress to entrance him so.

Rain put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up. He felt her sweet breath on his lips before she closed her eyes and brushed her soft lips gently from side to side against his as if savoring that barest of caresses. But the effect was powerful, overwhelming.

She whimpered.

He held himself rigid, fighting against the roaring of blood in his head, the wild beating of his heart. ’Tis just a kiss.

“Selik,” she whispered pleadingly against his mouth.

Moving her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, she stroked the tense muscles. And moved closer. Breast to chest. Thigh to thigh. Hip to hip. Manhood to womanhood.

Selik moaned. He could not help himself.

And she moved her lips once again, more firmly this time, shaping, coaxing. She nipped his bottom lip, then suckled at it gently.

He gasped with sheer, utter pleasure, and she took advantage of the opportunity to slip the tip of her tongue between his lips. A brief foray. Over so quickly he might have dreamed it.

And she claims to get no particular joy from the bed mating! What might she do if really aroused?

Selik felt himself harden and elongate against her soft body. Enough of teasing games! He put his arms around her and pulled her tighter against his body. And he took over control of the kiss.

Then, placing a hand on each side of her face, he tilted her face up to the bright moonlight and noted with extreme satisfaction the slumberous, half-lidded eyes, the slightly parted, moist lips. With exquisite care, he traced her lips with the pad of his thumb, then did the same with the tip of his tongue.

She parted her lips even more, and his heart stopped. He rubbed his lips seductively back and forth across hers, making them slick with the juices of their mutual wanting. He pressed hard, wanting all of her, then slackened to a feathery question of a kiss, then hard again. He could not get enough of her. Her taste was an aphrodisiac he could not resist.

When desire pounded in his veins, he could resist no more and slipped his tongue into the welcome sheath of her mouth. She suckled him, and his hardness spasmed reflexively against her.

A nagging inner voice warned Selik that things were progressing too quickly. This wonderful, intense yearning that he had not felt for so many years, maybe never, would end abruptly with his spilling his seed if he did not slow down this love game.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, and said in a raw voice, “Rain, you will devour me with your sweet heat. We must cool down a bit so we can savor the pleasure more.” She moved against him in protest, and he held her firm. “Nay, sweetling, I want to love you through the night, and I will not last another moment if you do not stop torturing me.”

“I? Torture you? No, I am the one who is on fire,” she whispered huskily.

And Selik almost reached his peak.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her firmly away from him. Then he made a raw sound deep in his throat as he noticed the cloudy sensuality of her half-shuttered eyes and the swollen redness of her lips. Lips engorged with his kisses, he thought with inordinate satisfaction. Holy Thor!

He forced himself to lean down and grab his saddlebag, which he had dropped by the pond earlier, then pull her bemused, obviously aroused body toward the edge of the pond. Before she could grasp his intent, he dropped the bag, picked her up, and walked into the pond until the icy water reached his midthigh. Then he sat down with her still in his arms.

She shrieked.

He held her firm. “Sit still, dearling. We both need to cool our hot blood for the long night ahead. Besides, I smell like Fury, and no doubt I have spread my smell on you.”

“Selik, it’s freezing.”

“Shh. I know. Just stand.”

When she did what he asked without her usual questioning or defiance, he removed her tunic, her shert and braies, her shoes, and the sensual undergarments which had a secret fastening between the breasts. She stood naked and shivering before him. Magnificent. Golden hair down to the waist. Long limbs. Slim hips. High, firm breasts. Like all his images of the Norse goddesses.

“Do not move,” he ordered raspily, having difficulty catching his breath. It must be the cold, he told himself.

Quickly, he returned to the saddlebag and removed a chunk of soap and some linen cloths, then removed all his clothing. When he returned, she stood in the same spot, scrutinizing his body as intently as he had hers.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Nay, not anymore. You must be blind.” But he could not stop the smile from softening his mouth.

“My mother was right. You look like a Norse god.”