Page 62 of A Tale of Two Vikings

“I am. St. Bridget’s breath, I have wet myself,” she wailed once she touched herself there lightly.

He almost laughed aloud at her innocence. “Nay, sweetling, ’tis woman dew. Your body readies itself for my…I mean, a man’s entrance.”

“Oh.” He could tell that news fascinated her, and she touched herself there more thoroughly, then gasped when she must have discovered that particular spot where a woman’s pleasure was centered. She jerked her hand away as if burned.

Vagn hadn’t had so much fun in ages and ages, and he wasn’t about to let it end so soon. “More, Helga—go back to that small bud and stroke it like you would the petals of a flower. Gently. As if your fingertip is the wing of a butterfly.”

To his utter amazement, Helga, who could be the most obstinate woman in other circumstances, chose to heed his demands now. But then, she was a woman with a mission.

She stroked herself with one hand down below, and twirled a nipple with the fingers of the other hand. Vagn was so aroused, his blood roared and his cock pulsed. If he was not careful, he would come to peak beneath the bed furs, alone.

Suddenly Helga stopped and looked at him directly. “Are you going to make love with me, Vagn?”

It was the hardest thing Vagn ever did, but after a long pause, he said, “Nay, but I can bring us both pleasure without actually completing the act.”

She tilted her head to the side. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to understand how that could happen or if she was contemplating his offer. In the end, she commented, “What would be the point of that?”

“Pleasure.”

“But no babe?”

“No babe.”

She sighed deeply, then walked to the door, where she picked up her cloak and wrapped herself tightly in its folds. Before she left, she turned and told him, “I won’t stop trying.”

He smiled grimly—how else could he smile but grimly, when his body was tuned like an overstrung harp?—and countered, “And I will look forward to those efforts…with a passion.”

Once she was gone, a voice in Vagn’s head said, Dumb, dumb, dumb!

Turning the screws…

It was two more days before Helga had the nerve to try her skills at seduction again.

The ice storm that had hit Northumbria was deemed the greatest in a century. Lucky for her. She was fairly certain that Vagn would have run from Briarstead like a scared rabbit if the roads had been clear. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed her first attempt at temptation, she was sure. He’d enjoyed himself, no doubt about it.

Now, on to step two of her seduction plan.

“Exactly what is step two?” she asked Rona. It was late afternoon, and they stood in the salon folding and inventorying ells of embroidered cloth to be sold at market this spring. She and Rona were the only ones there due to the poor light caused by the continuing winter storms.

“The Pull-Back,” Rona said without hesitation.

Helga stopped working and stared at Rona with amazement. “I hope this one isn’t as scandalous as the first one. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Rona flashed her a dimpled grin. “Admit it, m’lady. You enjoyed yourself.”

Helga pursed her lips and pretended offense, but only for a moment. “I did. Hell and Valhalla! I made myself so hot, I fair went up in flames. So, what is this Pull-Back?”

“Now that you’ve got his attention, pretend to change your mind. Well, not change your mind so much as change your direction.”

“I’m afraid to ask what you mean by that.”

“Show interest in some other man.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know. Any man.”

Just then, Finn Finehair walked by their open doorway, never even bothering to look in. Helga looked at Rona and Rona looked at Helga. Then they both smiled. Finn, second in command of Gorm’s bird of soldiers, was called Finehair because of his impeccably groomed black hair and forked beard and trim mustache. A vainer man there never was. Some said he spent an hour a day just trimming his facial hairs. Others claimed he did the same for his chest hairs, but Helga could hardly credit that. At one time, her father had tried to interest her in Finn as a potential mate, to no avail. The man had the fighting arm of Thor, but the brains of a wood louse