In one last-ditch effort to change his mind, she said, “You will hate yourself in the morning if you do this thing.”
How little you know! “On the contrary. I will hate myself in the morning if I do not. Now, sweetling, like all good Vikings, ’tis time for us go exploring.”
She perked up at that suggestion. “Where? What are we going to explore? The palace? The garden?”
“You.” He flipped the foolish woman over onto her back so that he could lean over her.
He could see that she wanted to argue, that she waged a silent war within herself. Sex or secrets. Sex won out, thank Odin, Thor, Frey, and every other god in the Norse universe.
“Oh. If you must.” She closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow and her arms at her side, like a corpse, or a martyr.
Not for long, he vowed.
“Get it over with quickly, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. This exploration is going to be long and slow with many discoveries along the way, that I assure you.” For now he was enjoying a visual exploration. Drifa had aged well, he observed. He had expected more softness and sagging, but she was nigh perfect, curves in all the right places. And no signs of childbirth that he could see, but mayhap not all women showed outward signs.
“Why? Why can’t we hurry?”
Blather, blather, blather. She asks more questions than a boyling on first learning about sex. “You would not want me to rush my voyage and miss something important, would you?” Where to start? Where to start? ’Twas like sitting before a feast and not knowing which delectable dish to try first.
“Gods forbid!”
“Dost think sarcasm is wise at this point, lily of my heart?” I have no idea what she is gods-forbidding about. Pfff. It does not matter. He caressed her jaw with a fingertip.
“Please, don’t start with the flower nonsense again. I can take only so much torture.” She was still in her corpse pose, but the hands at her sides fisted when he used the same fingertip to draw a path from her collarbone down her chest, all the way to her navel. He interpreted the fisted hands as a good sign that she was getting aroused. On the other hand, perchance it was just a sign that a pottery pitcher would be welcome to her about now.
Enough with talking. Time for action. “The first thing a good explorer does is map out his territory.”
And he did.
“Ah, the North Star,” he said, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue. The top, the bottom, the seam. When she was glistening and parted for him, he edged his tongue inside. At first he just basked in the pleasure of filling her, thankful that she hadn’t bitten him, but then she sucked on him—a reflex, no doubt—and he groaned into her mouth. Drawing away slightly, he remarked against her lips, “Methinks I have discovered a new fjord. Its waters are wet and warm and delicious.”
She murmured, “Fool!” but then she belied her insult by sighing.
An invitation, if he ever heard one.
“Look here what I found, you clever woman. Two islands. One on the east, and one on the west. They’re pretty and not too small, either.”
“They’re too big,” she said, cracking one eye open.
“Nay. Just right.” In truth, her breasts were big for her slim body, but that’s what made them so attractive. To a man, leastways. To him, especially. “And here is the best part. There are berries on your islands, and I am very hungry.”
Her hands were still fisted at her side, her eyes scrunched tight, and her body braced for the assault she expected him to launch. Silly maid! He was Lord of the Bedplay. There were no defenses.
He blew against one breast, then the other.
Her eyes opened with surprise. “What in bloody hell are you doing?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk! Such language!” He blew again. “A strong north wind is crossing your islands.” And that’s all he did for a while. Just blowing. But then he licked around each areola, never touching the nipples, just the rosy circles, which he then blew dry. Lick and blow. Lick and blow. “A rainy north wind,” he explained.
When she began to arch her chest slightly, as if seeking the wind, he knew he was succeeding. But it was still too soon, in his opinion. So he added another feature to his island exploration. He lifted both breasts from underneath, and continued to lick and blow.
Finally she swore under her breath, grabbed his head, and yanked him down. “Eat the damn berries, you slime-sucking son of a troll.”
“Endearments will get you everything, sweetling,” he said, laughing against her breast where she had planted his face. Time to give his teasing a rest, he decided, and concentrated on her lovely nipples, already hard as pebbles ... or berries ... and begging for his attention. Without warning, he began to suckle her hard, then drew away through puckered lips so that a moist, popping sound echoed in the room. Before she had a chance to smack him for the vulgar sound, he did the same to the other breast. “Your berries are sweeter than honey.”
She was breathing heavier now. In fact, her arms were raised above her head in a relaxed position of readiness. Too easy! This was supposed to be a “punishment” of sorts. He rolled off the bed and walked to the bottom.