Page 55 of The Blue Viking

Startled, he blinked at her.

She found that she liked being the one in charge.

“Wh-what?” he stammered out.

She also found gratification in making a man—a virile man in her bed—stammer.

“I want to examine your body, as you did mine,” she explained, heat suffusing her skin from forehead to toes. Maire was unaccustomed to making such explicit demands of a man, especially a nude one.

His already hardened staff flexed at her words.

And, aye, Maire found that there was gratification to be found in knowing that her mere words could arouse Rurik.

For one long moment, he stared at her, and Maire thought he might refuse, but then he licked his suddenly dry lips, which caused her lips to go suddenly dry. “This had best be good, Maire,” he murmured in a husky voice, and flipped over onto his stomach, folding his arms under his face.

At first, Maire’s eyes simply swept over Rurik’s long form. But even that cursory examination showed him to be a fine, fine specimen of manhood. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Slim hips. Firm buttocks. Excessively long legs. And everywhere muscles, muscles, muscles.

She set the long swath of his hair to the side and touched the strong tendons in his neck. He sighed softly with appreciation, which spurred her to sweep her palms across his shoulder blades, then down to the small of his back. Immediately, all the muscles in his upper body bunched with tension.

“Was that bad?”

He made a gurgling noise, midway between a choke and a laugh. “That was good.”

She hesitated, and then massaged the two mounds of his backside. Interested in the unusual compactness there … much harder than her own … she touched him some more, then ran a forefinger down the centerline.

His entire body went stiff.

Was that a mistake? Too brazen? She thought about giving up on this exploration business, but then he coaxed, “Don’t stop now, Maire. For the love of Freyja, don’t dare stop now.”

She smiled at the heady notion that she could affect this seasoned lover so. Resuming her leisurely survey, she moved down to his legs, where she discovered that the backs of his knees and his inner thighs were uncommonly sensitive to touch.

He groaned aloud and rolled over, pulling her halfway atop him… her breasts pressed to his chest, her one thigh thrown over both of his. Assailed by a sudden bout of modesty, she tried to adjust herself so that the excited tips of her breasts were not so evident, but he would not allow her to move. Instead, he whispered, pulling her forward, “Kiss me, witch. Before you resume your campaign to drive me daft with your touch, taste me with your lips, and your tongue, and your teeth.”

“I’m not a good kisser, like you,” she admitted shyly.

At first, his languid eyes went wide with surprise. Then he shook his head as if her inexperience were of no consequence. “Try,” he beseeched, “and I will teach you what does not already come instinctively.”

Maire did just that, settling her lips over his much fuller ones, then dragging them from side to side for a better fit.

“Open,” he murmured against her lips.

She did, and, oh, who knew that just the parting of a woman’s lips over a man’s could be so erotic? Rurik instructed her in the art of kissing then. Not with words, but with masculine sounds of encouragement, turns of the head, and example. She soon discovered that she was a very quick learner. Rurik considered her an excellent pupil, too, if his ragged breaths were any indication when he finally broke the kiss.

To Maire’s immense satisfaction, she saw that his lips were moist and slightly swollen from her kisses. His eyes were luminous with a carnal fire she had ignited. And his manhood pressing urgently against her thigh was thick and hard. She did not want to think how she must look to him. Worse, she was sure. Or better, depending on one’s point of view.

Rurik had told her something earlier, in the heat of his lovemaking, which she recalled now. He had said that a woman’s passion was a man’s greatest pleasure. Well, it went the other way, too, she realized now. A man’s passion was a woman’s greatest pleasure, as well.

’Twas time to resume her explorations, she decided. Following Rurik’s route, she used her tongue and teeth to play with his ears and his flat male nipples. To her delight, he found as much joy in her ministrations as she’d found in his.

At one point, she remarked ruefully, as she studied his burgeoning member, “By the size of Lance, ’twould seem you have not been telling very many lies, Viking.”

“ ’Tis no time for teasing, wench,” he said huskily, but she could tell her playful words gladdened him. She was not accustomed to such flirting, but found she liked it. Mayhap later she would become more proficient at the gentle art of flirtation … if the rogue beneath her fingertips stuck around that long.

By the time she’d splayed her fingers over his stomach and dipped her head to lick the indentation of his navel, Rurik had apparently had enough of her sweet torture. With a masculine roar, he lifted her bodily so that she straddled his stomach. “Take me,” he rasped out.

“Huh?” She tilted her head in question. “Take you where?”

“Inside … take me inside of you,” he said in a voice so dark and smoky she felt her woman center clench in response.