Page 63 of Viking in Love

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Where?”

He took her hand and placed it over his manpart, which was hard and thick. When she jerked her hand back, she noticed that he had momentarily closed his eyes and was shuddering, as if in pain.

“Do you tingle with all women?”

He laughed. “I ne’er have before.”

She slanted him a skeptical look.

“’Tis true.”

“Would I tingle with any man?” She already knew the answer to that because she never had before, even when she had been kissed a time or two.

“I hope not,” he said.

Why would he care? I would not care if he kissed other women. Would I? “What are we going to do now?”

“Everything.”

He cupped her buttocks and tugged her closer so that her bottom now rode the hard ridge of his erection, and her breasts nestled in his chest hairs. Breanne felt light-headed and tense, waiting for…something.

“What do you want, Breanne?” He was kissing her ear. Nay, he was licking the whorls of her ear, stabbing the inner channel with his tongue, then blowing the wetness dry, just as he had done on the roof.

It was a revelation to Breanne that there seemed to be a direct connection between her ear channel and her female channel, which not only tingled now, but throbbed, as well. “I do not know,” she answered. “Everything?”

He put a hand to her nape and drew her mouth down for a kiss, openmouthed and devouring. Without thinking, her lips became pliant and clung to his as if for sustenance. Even as he kissed her mindless, his hands were playing with her breasts. At one point, he stopped kissing her and put his mouth to her breasts. Licking. Fluttering his tongue against the nipples, then sucking deeply.

Instinctively, Breanne was undulating her hips against the hard rod beneath his braies.

“Slow down, sweetling. Slow down.”

How? she wondered. My body seems to have a mind of its own.

He resumed kissing her then, but his lewd fingers had moved downward to her private parts, touching her with an intimacy she had never engaged in, not even imagined. She tried to back off, but he held her tight with the other hand at her back.

“You are wet for me,” he announced as if it was some great triumph for him and not an embarrassment to her.

Did I piss myself? “Oh, good heavens! I am sorry,” she murmured, mortified. “I am leaking.”

He chuckled. “Do not be sorry. ’Tis your woman dew. Your body is readying itself for me.”

Oh. But then she could think no more as his fingers explored her swollen nether lips and a raised bud of intense sensation she had not realized was there. He even put a long finger inside her.

The throbbing was tortuous now with her hips jerking spasmodically. It felt as if dozens of butterflies with cobweb-thin wings were fluttering deep in her belly. She would die if something did not happen soon.

“Look at me, Breanne. Nay, do not look away. I want to see your eyes when you peak.”

“Peek at what?”

He laughed. “Your peaking. Your summit of pleasure. Now look at me and do as I say. That is it, tip backwards a bit, and hold onto my thighs. Do not let go.”

He stuck his middle finger inside her grasping inner sheath, and used the middle finger of the other hand to vibrate back and forth across the distended nub.

Immediately the tension rose high and higher and higher still. Her lower body lost all control as she rode his finger. And then…and then it was as if she had reached the peak and fell over, shattering into a million fluttering spasms.