The Norse King's Daughter

  He went back out and got the wine and goblets. When he returned, she was no longer in a daze. She stood at the foot of his bed, wrapped in his bed covering like a shroud. She was holding the cloth together with one hand, and in the other she had his broadsword dragging on the floor. The weapon was heavy for a man. A woman, especially one of her weight, would scarce be able to lift it with two hands, let alone one. Of course she could drop her shroud. That was a picture he’d like to have in his memory . . . a naked Drifa wielding a sword. “I fulfilled my part for tonight,” she said.

  “Oh nay, you little schemer. That little bit of diddling did not count for one night.”

  “ ’Twas sex,” she argued.

  “ ’Twas foresport. Do not think to get off so easily.”

  “Easy?” she nigh shrieked. “That was not easy.”

  “Put the sword down, Drifa, afore you hurt yourself. And have some wine to calm your nerves.”

  “My nerves are just fine, but this charade is ending. You’ve had your fun, and now ’tis time—”

  “Drifa, Drifa, Drifa, does it look like I have had enough fun yet?” He gave a meaningful glance downward. “They have contests in the Hippodrome for every blessed thing. If they start having them for the man with the biggest cockstand, I would win easily.”

  “This is beyond embarrassing.” She was staring at his bulge.

  She’s embarrassed? I’m the one who should be embarrassed. Well, not really.

  “I feel like a small child who wet the bed, and you are a rude dolt for calling attention to it.”

  “Huh?”

  She dropped the sword with a loud clank on the marble floor. He hoped she didn’t put a crack in the stone. He would check later. Then she waddled along, almost tripping over the dragging bed covering, to the stand where he’d placed the goblets and took several big sips out of one of them, hoping to get brave with drink, no doubt. Only then did she explain by motioning with her goblet toward the dark spot on the crotch of his braies. “I dampened you.”

  She’d dampened him, all right, but not in the way she imagined. “Pfff! That is mostly from me, not you.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she watched as he lowered his braies, gingerly, and began to wash himself with a small cloth he’d moistened in the pottery bowl of water.

  She gasped.

  He glanced over and saw her eyes riveted on his manpart that, if anything, was even bigger. But really, was there ever a greater compliment to a man than a woman’s gasp when he dropped his braies?

  “Why is it red on the end? Does it hurt?”

  He started to speak and choked. After a short bout of coughing, he said, “It hurts good.”

  “What kind of male illogic is that. Oh! You mean like that sweet torment you just inflicted on me.”

  Sweet torment. He liked the sound of that. “Precisely.”

  “Give me a cloth so I can cleanse myself.”

  “You would have to drop your shroud to do that,” he pointed out. Please do.

  “You could turn your head.”

  “Or not.”

  “Give me the damn cloth.”

  He laughed and held the cloth away from her. “I like seeing the woman dew glistening on your curly hairs.” Come closer, my little bug. This spider would like to spin some more dew in you.

  “I don’t have curly . . . Oh, good gods, that is perverted.”

  “Not even nearly.” He walked over to the bed and lowered himself to lie with his arms folded under his head.

  “You look ridiculous,” she said.

  “So do you.”

  “I meant you look ridiculous because of that . . . that thing standing up in the air.”

  “Dost think so?” He gazed down at himself. It looked mighty impressive if you asked him.

  “Surely you do not think it would fit.”

  “I know it would fit.” Come closer, little bug, and I will show you how.

  She shifted uneasily from foot to foot, probably wondering if she should run.

  That would be a sight to titillate the jaded courtiers. A naked Varangian chasing a naked Viking princess down the halls. Mayhap we can try it later. Or not.

  “There is still time to end this farce, Sidroc.”

  Thor’s breath! She is still talking. “Only if you tell me your secrets.”

  “I cannot. Not yet.”

  He shrugged. In truth, he would rather have her than her secrets at the moment. “Come to bed, Drifa, and fulfill your bargain, or could it be you have some special entertainment planned for me?”

  She made a snorting sound that should have been disgusting, but, on the contrary, was rather adorable. “Like what?”

  He shrugged again. She made being a spider so easy. “Nude dancing. Nude acrobatics. Nude self-pleasuring.”

  Her jaw dropped with each of his suggestions.

  Hmmm. Those ideas sounded pretty good to him, if he did say so himself. Mayhap later.

  Suddenly he reached out a long arm and yanked on the edge of her covering, thus causing her to lurch forward. He caught and lifted her all in one motion, ending up with her lying atop him, her shroud on the floor. “Got you!” he crowed.

  She gasped and tried to squirm out of his embrace, to no avail, of course. Instead he adjusted her so that her breasts nestled in his chest hairs, and his favorite body part nestled in her nether hairs. A perfect fit, in his opinion.

  He was caressing the soft skin of her back, from shoulders to buttocks, over and over.

  A full-body shiver rippled over her.

  He was fairly certain it was due to his touch and not distaste.

  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.

  “Wha-what?”

  There was no headboard or footboard; so, before she could say, Wha-what? again, he grabbed her ankles and tugged until her buttocks and the bottoms of her feet rested on the edge of the mattress. “Are you ready for a different kind of exploration?” Best you agree because, ready or not, you are getting it.

  “What kind?”

  Thank you for asking, little bug. “Well, my fingers are getting rather tired, and I thought I would use another body part for my discoveries.” He paused for a moment so she could imagine the worst.

  “Your palm?” she guessed, hopefully.

  Think more “perverted,” my innocent flower. “My tongue.”

  She was slow in understanding his meaning, which gave him the opportunity to quickly kneel on the floor and spread her legs wide. By thunder! Was there ever a sight prettier to a man on a mission? A seduction mission?

  She yelped and tried to sit up, her arms flailing.

  He shoved her back down. None too gently, either.

  “I knew you were depraved, but this passes all bounds. You toad. How dare you? How . . . oh! Oh my gods!”

  He had just pressed his tongue against the secret bud of pleasure all women had, and he knew without a doubt, he had her now. “Dost like that, Drifa?”

  Her only response was a gurgle, but her legs went limp, and she allowed him to spread her farther.

  “I must be the best explorer in the world, Drifa. Mayhap I will go exploring with Erik the Red to that new world beyond Iceland. Mayhap I have discovered a secret waterway to paradise. There are all these shoals, of course, and hidden channels, but mayhap there will be a dam up ahead. Never fear, my longboat can make it through, that I assure you.”

  “Mayhap, mayhap, mayhap. If your longboat gets any longer, it will be stuck in the shallows, of that I assure you,” she countered.

  “I love a woman who can make jest in the midst of bedsport.” And that was the gods’ truth. Life was too hard and unmerciful at times. Laughter and smiles eased a man’s life path.

  “That was no jest. That was . . . Frigg’s foot! . . . What are you doing now?”

  “Just using my paddle to explore the water.” He laved her with his tongue in long stokes. He flicked certain parts with the tip of his tongue. By the time he began to kiss her sweet spot, she was arching off the bed. He could not have that, so he looped her knees over his shoulders and suckled her bud as he had her nipples.

  She peaked and peaked and peaked. He could feel it against his mouth, if he hadn’t already come to that conclusion by her almost continuous moaning.

  “No more, no more,” she protested as he moved her back up the bed and laid himself over her.

  “Shhh,” he said, “I will take care of everything.” He pushed the stray strands of hair off her face and kissed her lightly.

  “That is what I’m afraid of. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

  “Oh really? How is it supposed to be?”

  “Quick.”

  “Quick is good betimes. At others, ’tis best to make the journey last a long time, to enjoy the scenery along the way, to prolong the bliss.”

  “My scenery is supposed to be private, and I do not think I can stand any more bliss. Must you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Rub your chest hairs across my nipples. It is . . .”

  “It is what, Drifa?

  “Unsettling.”

  He did a mental punch in the air of triumph. “That is because your body yearns for more.”

  “You are making that up.”

  He rose up a bit and made more of a production of rubbing his chest hairs over her nipples. When her eyes glazed over, he said, “See. But now it is my turn. Wrap your legs around my hips.” He put his hands under her buttocks and raised her up, positioning himself at her woman-portal. “This might hurt the first time, sweetling. Do you want it fast or slow?”

  “Fast.”

  That was all he needed to hear. She was more than moist enough, but she was tight. Very tight. It took three thrusts before he breached her maidenhead and was in as far as her body could take him. He was the one who moaned then, so intense was his pleasure. And not just the tight fit. Her inner muscles were clasping and unclasping him in welcome.

  When he was able to speak above a whimper, he rose up on extended arms and looked down at her.

  She appeared stunned, her eyes huge and unblinking. Her mouth formed a little circle of astonishment.

  “Are you all right, Drifa?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  She shook her head. “It pinched at first, but now it just feels odd. Are we done?”

  Was she really this naïve? Must be. “I am just waiting for you to recover.”

  “Recover what?”

  He tried to smile but found he was unable to, so consumed was he with another activity. Moving out slowly, he relished the drag of her inner muscles that resisted his withdrawal. Then he thrust back in again. This time he went in a little farther.

  Surely the way women were built for men was a gift from the gods.

  Surely the sex act was a gift from the gods.

  Surely D
rifa was a gift from the gods.

  She blinked up at him and said, “Do that again.”

  Definitely a gift. He did smile then. “With pleasure.”

  Drifa might have been a virgin moments ago, but she soon learned the rhythm. She met him thrust for thrust until he was embedded in her to the hilt, and they were both panting on the climb toward what he hoped would be a joint peaking.

  For the next three short strokes he made sure he hit her sweet bud, and suddenly she was convulsing around him down below and screaming with joy up above. It took the most painful discipline for him to pull out and spill his seed onto her thigh.

  As his breathing slowed and his heart no longer felt as if it would burst from his chest, he realized that he lay heavily atop Drifa, who was surprisingly silent for once. He should move. But he hated what he knew sure as sunshine would happen next. Drifa would begin to berate him for this and that. He was not yet ready to spoil what had been the best swiving he had ever engaged in, and being one and thirty, there had been plenty.

  He was also not quite ready to examine what had just happened. Surely it was more than sex. What that more might be, he feared to think. Not with Drifa, with all her secrets. Not with Drifa, who might kill him in his sleep.

  The witch surprised the spit out of him then by biting him on the shoulder and instead of saying something like Are we done yet, you loathsome lout?, she purred. She honest-to-gods purred. And she bloody damn licked the inner whorls of his ear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Viking cowgirl?

  Who knew? Drifa certainly hadn’t. And why had none of her sisters explained, in detail, exactly what would happen in the sex act, and how mind-melting pleasurable it would be? Even with a dolt like Sidroc. She would have a thing or two to say to them when she returned to the Norselands.

  “Did you like that, Drifa?” the dolt inquired in a drawl that reeked of male satisfaction as he rolled off her and wiped her thigh with an edge of the bed linen. Then he had the audacity to kiss her thigh on that very spot. Insufferable man! As if sensing her imminent rebellion at his lewdness, he tucked her into his side with her head on his shoulder.