“Thank you,” she managed. “You are too, Rorik. You’re very different from me.”
That made him laugh. He crossed the few feet between them and pulled her into his arms, pressing his hands against her buttocks to bring her firmly against him. “Ah,” he whispered, feeling all of her, and knowing deep inside that it was good, beyond good, and that it was right. His hands came up her back, and he felt the suppleness of her, the narrowness of her waist, as he stroked the soft flesh, feeling the lithe muscles. He hugged her, kissing her ear. Then he took her face between his hands, drawing her up, and he kissed her, very gently, light nipping kisses.
“You feel very strange to me, Rorik,” she said, her breath warm in his mouth and very sweet from the wine she’d drunk. “I like your mouth especially.”
He laughed. “A woman who knows her own mind. That pleases me too. Now, kiss me. That’s right, open your mouth and give me your tongue.”
Mirana was glad she didn’t hesitate, for the feelings that stormed through her when his tongue touched hers made every uncertain thought flee her mind. She gave herself to him in that moment, gave him herself and her trust, and Rorik felt her acceptance. It amazed him and astounded him and made him want to fall to his knees and thank Thor and Odin All-Father and especially Frey, who would surely bless their union with many children.
He kissed her, holding her head in his hands, feeling her soft hair, stroking through the deep ripples, and growing harder by the instant.
He pressed against her, never releasing her, until she fell back onto the box bed. He came over her, his knees gently opening her thighs. He came down between her legs, felt her breasts soft against his chest, felt his member pressing hot and hard against her woman’s flesh.
He dimly realized that she was lying very still beneath him. He was going too rapidly for her. She was a woman, slower to peak in her desires than a man, and more than that, she was a virgin, untried in the ways of men and women. He forced himself to draw up onto his elbows. He looked down at her breasts, soft and white as her belly, and closed his eyes against the intense pleasure as he pushed himself against her. He felt the warmth of her, the smoothness of her flesh, the lingering softness of her thighs and her belly.
He watched her as she closed her eyes. Very slowly, she pressed upward.
Rorik groaned, fell on her and kissed her until both of them were panting for breath. It shouldn’t be possible, but it was. He wanted her so badly, he knew he’d spill his seed if he didn’t have her, now, at this very instant. “Mirana, I must have you now. Will you accept me?”
She stared up at him, knowing what he would do, but still just looking at him, at his beautiful eyes that were glazed with his need, at the flush on his cheeks. She stroked her hands down his back to his buttocks. Very slowly, she opened her thighs wider.
“Aye, Rorik,” she said, nothing more, and he went wild with her acceptance of him, rearing back, pressing her thighs wider apart, and then he was staring at her woman’s flesh, his fingers there, parting her, and he was breathing so hard he thought his heart would burst within his chest, but he didn’t care, he only wanted to come inside her and stay there until he . . .
“Mirana,” he moaned, and slowly came into her. “By all the gods, it is too much.” Coming into her was more than he’d thought it could possibly be, though what he’d thought, if anything reasonable, he didn’t remember. Her warmth, the smallness of her, made gaining entrance difficult and this tightness chaffed his flesh, making him mad with lust, but he held himself in control, going very slowly, now watching her face, seeing her begin to feel the pain he couldn’t prevent, seeing her want to pull away from him even though she didn’t move, and he tried to draw back just a bit, but she lifted her hips, now biting her lower lip in her pain, but he came in more deeply and he couldn’t have pulled out of her had the longhouse been afire. Slowly, he repeated to himself over and over, he must go slowly. He mustn’t savage her. He finally felt her maidenhead, and he shoved against it, going out of his mind now, lust pounding through him, shoving at him, making him want to thrust deep into her, so deep he would be at her womb and he would feel all of her and know her, actually be a part of her for a few precious moments. By the gods, it was impossible not to thrust with all his strength now, to breach that barrier that kept her from him, that kept him from his ultimate knowledge of her. And so he did, throwing his head back, thrusting deep, hearing her cry above the pounding of his heart, above the mad swirling of his blood throughout his body, hard and driving and hot, and he was deep inside her, pressing frantically against her womb, and he knew he couldn’t wait, simply couldn’t hold back for another moment, another instant.
She felt him tensing over her and opened her eyes. He was arched back, all his weight on his hands, the muscles bulging and knotting in his arms, and the cords in his throat strong and working wildly, and he was moaning, deep raw moans, and then he was tearing into her and crying out as if he were dying. She felt the wet of his seed then, felt him stiffen with the power of his release.
He almost fell on top of her, but managed at the last moment to keep some of his weight from her. He was breathing heavily, his body sweating and limp against her.
A man’s pleasure, she thought, but didn’t begrudge him his short eternity of madness. The pain had lessened, it was nearly nothing now. Only a weak fool would bemoan the discomfort. He wasn’t so full inside her now and there was his wetness to ease her. She felt herself begin to relax beneath him, though his weight flattened her into the feather mattress. She lightly touched her palms to his back and his shoulders. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, and tugged.
He raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes beautiful and quite vague.
“I want you to kiss me,” she said.
He smiled and did. For a very long time. Until she realized that he wasn’t inside her any longer, that he seemed oblivious of what he was doing.
She gently shoved at him. He gave her another vague look and rolled onto his side. His arm fell over her belly, his fingertips lightly stroking her pelvic bone. In the next moment, he was deeply asleep. Mirana moved his arm to his side, then came up on her elbow to stare down at him, this time enjoying her freedom to study him, without him watching her, without him knowing she was
looking her fill at him. His member was flaccid, wet from himself and from her, and now nestled in the thick golden hair at his groin. She saw blood on herself and on him and knew it was from the rending of her maidenhead. She felt no fear. She continued to stare at him. Strange that he could change and grow so very much in such a short time.
Lightly, she splayed her palm on his belly. The feeling of the crisp golden hair, the dampness of his flesh, the unconscious clenching of his muscles beneath her fingers, it all delighted her. Very lightly, her fingers touched him, gently encircled him, but when he suddenly moaned, deep in his throat, his hips coming up, she released him. He quieted again.
She leaned down and lightly kissed his mouth. She was quite pleased that she’d married him. This part of it hadn’t been so very bad, aye, the kissing she had much enjoyed and, too, his strength. She admired strength. But to have his strength bring her pleasure was beyond what she’d ever imagined. The rest of it was interesting, and she accepted it. She also knew there wouldn’t be the rending pain the next time they came together. He had gained much pleasure, of that she had no doubt.
She was glad she had pleased him. She was glad she had pleased him so much he’d fallen off her and dropped into a deep sleep. She’d brought a mighty warrior low with his lust, and she was a female of no experience.
She felt somewhat proud of herself. She’d never before imagined this sort of power a woman could wield over a man. She wondered if it would always be so. She thought of Einar’s two mistresses, silly sheep, both of them. She doubted that he thought of them beyond the pleasure they gave him. She doubted they had ever held any power over him.
Mirana looked down at her husband again. She wished he would wake up. She wanted to kiss him again.
When she woke again, Mirana was sprawled on her back, her legs spread, and he was between them, staring down at himself and at her, as he pushed inside her. The sleeping chamber was dim with early morning light. She stared up at him, not understanding for a moment, then she realized that he was scarcely awake himself, his eyes closed, his body full on her now, his sex hard inside her, moving in and out, until before she even had a chance of bringing his head down so she could kiss him, he was arching, his head thrown back, and his seed was deep inside her once again. Nothing more than that and it was done. So little warning, no kisses at all, just him over her, deep inside her, and it was done.
She frowned, tightening her hands on his shoulders.
He awoke completely from one instant to the next. He stared down at himself, now pulling out of her body, feeling the profound lethargy that followed release. Then he looked at his wife, saw her frowning in confusion, and shook his head at himself, trying to clear away the sleep from his mind, the pleasant dreams that had brought him to take her again, trying to understand the pleasure that had been so intense he’d lost himself completely in it and failed her of course, falling asleep like a dolt. And now he’d done it again, not even fully awake, he’d come into her. He’d never done that in his life.
He’d taken her again without giving her anything in return. It wasn’t well done of him.