Page 52 of The Blue Viking

With his straightened arms positioned on either side of Maire’s head and his hips nestling between her thighs, he reared his head back, the veins standing out tensely on his neck and breath hissing through his clenched teeth. Only then did he begin to enter her tight sheath of hot silk. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he eased his staff one tiny bit at a time, savoring every welcoming clasp of her folds. His head spun with the intensity of his excitement. And he was only in halfway.

Hearing a soft sob, he unshuttered his eyes … and saw that Maire was weeping silently.

Nay! he rebelled silently. Nay, nay, nay! Do not reject me now. ’Tis unfair. I think I am going to die.

He did not die. Nor did he withdraw. In truth, he was not certain that he could withdraw, so huge was his “Lance.” But he did ask, “What is it, sweetling? Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, though her beautiful green eyes continued to well with crystal-like tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

“What ails you then? Do you … do you want me to stop?” Holy Thor! He could not believe he’d asked her that. In no way did he want to give her an opportunity to stop such exquisite bed sport. She shook her head again.

Praise the gods! “What is it then?” he questioned, leaning down to kiss her gently on lips that were moist and parted… from crying. Not to mention swollen … from his recent kisses. Rurik was still embedded only halfway inside the wench, and he was amazed at his calm in inquiring about her distress when what he wanted to do was tup till his brains fell out.

“You,” she answered.

“Me?” Damn. Damn, damn! What have I done now? Did I unarouse her with some coarse gesture? Or did I say something perverted that frightened her off? Did I—oh, I hope I didn’t—mention tupping my brains out?

“You are so beautiful,” she explained.

Ah! So, I’m not as uncouth as I feared.

“… and this thing you do to me … this feeling I get when you couple with me”—she shrugged, unable to come up with the precise words she searched for—“I did not know lovemaking could feel so … so glorious.”

Glorious? Aha, she likes me… she likes me… well, leastways, she likes how I look… and how I make her feel. That was all Rurik needed to hear. With a roar of masculine exultation, he plunged himself in to the hilt. Pausing briefly to adjust himself from side to side, which caused her inner muscles to shift in accommodation and his erection to elongate, he whispered carnal words against her ear, recognizing that some women liked wicked words in the bedplay. “Your woman folds feel like hot fingers on my sex.”

“Your manpart is like soft marble. And it pulses, betimes,” she replied.

Some men liked wicked words in the bedplay, too, Rurik had to admit. He was one of them. Joy, joy, joy!

“Do you like it… not my cock… I mean, the way it moves … bloody hell, I did not mean to sound so crude,” Rurik said with a groan. Blessed Freyja, he was stuttering about like a bumbling lackbrain of no experience.

She smiled softly. “Aye, I do.”

Rurik felt himself lurch inside her at that admission … one she would perchance hate herself for later; it was exactly what Rurik’s male ego wanted to hear.

He began his long strokes then, trying his best to keep them slow, dragging against her delicious friction, but it was not easy, especially when she went wide-eyed with wonder and asked, “Am I going to have another sex fit?”

He laughed, or attempted to, but it came out as sort of a gurgle. “I hope so.”

She nodded, which was astonishing, really … that she could nod and ask him seemingly casual questions whilst his heart was thundering and his blood nigh steaming. “Will you be having a sex fit, too?”

Questions, questions, questions! he thought. But what he said was, “Most definitely.”

He was silent then, and she was, too, as he initiated the serious, pounding rhythm that came instinctively to the male body. Soon Maire caught the idea and raised her buttocks up off the mattress, undulating in counterpoint to his driving strokes. Logical thought was beyond him now. With other women, he might have pondered which was the best method for achieving this or that passion-goal. But not with Maire. Rurik was out of control, lost in a white-hot arousal, and—Thank you, Odin!—Maire appeared to be the same.

When Maire began to keen with heightening stimulation, he moaned his own excitement. Soon she was spasming around him… a sensation so pleasurable it approached pain … and Rurik withdrew, at the last moment, to spill his seed into her woman hair. As much as Rurik yearned to come inside her body, he had promised her no pregnancy. Even so, he reached the height of ecstasy, and sagged down atop her body.

Both sated, they breathed heavily into each other’s necks, trying to return to calm and sanity … though Rurik was not sure he could ever achieve either again.

She took him by both ears then and raised his head to scrutinize him intently.

“What? What are you looking at?”

Her lips seemed to twitch with some mirth. “I’m just verifying whether your eyes are rolling back in their sockets.”

He laughed and took a playful nip at her shoulder before he moved off her and the mattress to stand next to the bed. “They were, for a certainty,” he informed her. “And I would wager I engaged in fitlike tremors, too.” Then, he ordered, “Stay here.”

He went behind a screen in the corner where he washed himself. While there, he checked the mirror to see if his blue mark was still there. It was. He smiled, guessing he would have to endure more lovemaking with Maire. Still smiling, he brought a pottery bowl of water and a soft cloth back to the bed, where he proceeded to wash her female parts.