Page 43 of Viking in Love

He preferred to take it as a clear invitation.

He took his time settling his lips over hers, just so. They fitted perfectly. Relishing the tactile sensation of skin on skin, nerve endings on nerve endings, he pressed, moving his mouth from side to side until her lips clung to his. Drawing back, he murmured, “You taste like honey,” licked her lips, and added, “Sweet.”

“You are still a loathsome lout,” she said, even as she raised her head slightly to meet his next kiss.

This time he was not so gentle. “Open for me.”

She refused, muttering, “Mrfpghh.”

So, he nipped her bottom lip, causing her to gasp, which allowed his tongue to slide inside her honey-sweet mouth.

He could tell she was shocked. It was probably the first time any man had tongue-kissed her. If that was so, it was definitely the first time a man had lain atop her with his cock nestled in her crotch.

But then, praise God and all the saints, she relaxed and opened for him even more. Better yet, her arms went up about his shoulders and tugged him closer.

He smiled against her mouth, but did not raise his lips. Thus, a smile-kiss, he thought with a smile.

Now, not only was he kissing her voraciously, but she was responding. Sucking at his tongue when he thrust inside, moving her hips from side to side as if to create a friction in her female parts. In fact, when he put a hand to her sticky breast, she did not resist, or slap him as would be her wont in any other situation.

He used his wet tongue to stab at her ear, then blow dry, over and over. “Your breast is sticky,” he told her, which was a marvel that he could notice such an irrelevant thing when her nipple was budding against his palm.

“Your son,” she said, and licked his ear, then nipped at the lobe.

He felt the lick and nip all the way to his fingertips, toes, and rock-hard staff, all of which were tingling. “What?” he gasped out.

“Your son Piers got my tunic sticky with honey,” she explained.

“He is not my son,” he answered with lust-sodden irrelevance. “Not really.”

“Well, he is adorable nonetheless, whoever his father is.”

“Mayhap I am his father after all.”

She took him by the ears and lifted his head. Smiling through kiss-swollen, slick lips, she said, “What are you doing to me?”

“Kissing you?”

“More than that!” she huffed. “I am tingling all over.”

“Breanne, Breanne, Breanne. You should not be telling me that.”

“Why not?”

“I will use it against you.”

She gave him a saucy grin. “You cannot use me unless I allow you to.”

“Oh, you naive wench! There are ways, believe you me.”

He kissed her again, voraciously. He could not seem to get enough of her lush mouth. And her body. Cupping her buttocks, he raised her up so she was forced to brace her feet on the slate roof and bend her knees.

She began to moan.

Or mayhap it was him.

Through a haze of mind-melting arousal, he heard a discordant voice. “KAAAD-mon! KAAAD-mon!”

Raising his head, disoriented, he tried to clear his fuzzy brain.