The Norse King's Daughter

  She bit his shoulder, just to show she was not that enthralled by his talents. “I swear, if you smirk, I will . . .”

  “What? Hit me over the head with a pottery jug?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “Admit it, Drifa, you enjoyed your first sexplay?”

  “Of course I did. Damn the Norns of Fate who made it be with you.”

  “Be careful when maligning the goddesses. They may just destine you to repeat the act, over and over and over.”

  If he meant to imply that would be a punishment, he was in for a bigger surprise than she planned. Time to show you, Varangian troll, just which woman you are with at the moment. I will not be your sex puppet. “So, this exploring business . . . does it go both ways? Does the woman get to explore, too?”

  Sidroc stiffened and turned further to stare at her. “Are you suggesting . . . ?”

  She shrugged. Let’s see how you like having a woman pull your erotic strings. “I might have a yen to go exploring myself.”

  “A yen?” he choked out.

  ’Twas a good sign that she could make him choke, Drifa believed. “Yea. The only problem I have is that I have no expertise with steering a longship over the seas. Methinks I would have to explore mountains. Aha! What do I see here? A forest.” She ran her fingertip over the silky chestnut-colored hairs on his chest, same color as on his head. She ran her fingers through the curls and was gratified to hear his sharp inhale.

  She had to admit, he was a fine specimen of a man, even for a Viking. He was long, and lean and well-muscled, with a smile that the jester god Loki must have graced him with to beguile women.

  “Drifa,” he cautioned with that damn beguiling smile. “Be careful when putting your head in the lion’s mouth.”

  “Betimes lions are just big cats, you know.”

  “Do not underestimate me.”

  I already did. Otherwise I would not find myself in your bed with my woman-dew weeping for another bout of sexplay. “Would I do that?” she inquired sweetly, glancing meaningfully to his manpart that was already rising again. Fool thing! Tempting fool thing, she immediately amended.

  “Lie still and let me explore,” she ordered.

  “Whate’er you say, m’lady.”

  After that she spoke to him in her most sexual voice, if in fact she had one. Her discovery of a gully in her travels, midway between his waist and his thighs. The two immense boulders covered with moss through which emerged a tree, its trunk straight and true. The thick veins that protruded were its bark and the bulging top was a mushroom, she declared, the kind that sometimes emerged out of tree trunks.

  By that time, Sidroc was laughing and enjoying her attention immensely if the size of his “tree” was any indication.

  “Methinks your exploration on this mountain is getting too tiring for you,” he said finally. “You need a horse to ride.” With those words, he lifted her so that she straddled his hips. He put his fingertips to her cleft and declared in a raw voice of wonder, “You are wet for me Drifa.”

  “ ’Tis just your leftover seed, no doubt.” Her heated face had to be flaming.

  “Nay, your fjord overflows to ease my longboat’s passage.”

  “Enough with your fjord longboat nonsense!”

  “It means you are ready for me. Come, Drifa, take my longboat . . . uh, thirsty tree in hand and guide it inside your body where it may be quenched. That’s the way, dearling, lower yourself slowly.”

  Longboat, tree, staff of torture, it was all the same to her. If anyone had told her hours ago that she would do such a thing and sigh with the bliss of being filled by the lout, she would have laughed. Now she could scarce breathe.

  With hands on her hips, he guided her. “It really is like riding a horse, isn’t it?”

  He grinned.

  If there was anything more tantalizing than his smile, it was his grin.

  “How are you at galloping?”

  Are we having fun yet? . . .

  Sidroc sat on a shallow ledge of the bathing pool across from Drifa, who had her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. As if she could escape his attentions so easily!

  It was a small pool; he could touch her with his toes if he stretched out his legs. The pool was filled with warm or cold water, or emptied, with the mere flick of a lever. Right now the water was slightly warm and soothing to the overused muscles. And he had overused some of Drifa’s muscles, for a certainty.

  “When will you leave for your mission?” she asked, her eyes closed, her head resting on the lip of the pool.

  “Early morn. I will meet Finn in the stables of the tagmata.”

  “And when you return, you will leave Byzantium. For where?”

  “I am not certain. Finn and I will surely discuss this very subject whilst away. I have a longship that has been beached outside the city. It will be made sea ready in my absence. Mayhap the Orkneys. Mayhap somewhere in the Norselands. Mayhap even some estate near Stoneheim.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she glared at him for bringing up the subject he’d promised to avoid.

  “Just teasing. Just teasing.”

  She gave him an extra glare for good measure and closed her eyes again. Sinking deeper in the water, she sighed and ran her fingers through the waters. She was relaxed. Too relaxed.

  “You are not to worry, dearling. We will still have nights together on my return.”

  “But not forty-two. Rather forty-one.”

  “Come, Drifa, you have rested enough. Time to dry off and try something new.”

  Her eyes were open now, and wary. “New?”

  “ ’Twill be a surprise.” He rose from the water and used a long linen for drying himself, taking extra care as Drifa studied his body, despite herself. Then he walked to the other side and drew her upward. As he dried her body, he admired and commented on the various parts.

  “Your skin is softer than Byzantine silk,” he said.

  “But it is ofttimes grimy when I am gardening,” she said.

  “Your breasts are the size of pomegranates and twice as sweet,” he said.

  “More like overripe melons, squishy,” she said.

  “Your maiden hair is like the combed fleece of a golden-haired sheep.”

  “There is no such thing as a golden-haired sheep. Besides, raw wool is coarse and rough.”

  “Your buttocks make me breathless.”

  “Buttocks! Enough!” she finally protested. “Next you will be making praise odes to my toenails.”

  “Now that you mention it . . .”

  She groaned.

  He smiled. And he knew, because she’d told him so in a weak moment, that his smiles made her breathless. “Come, Drifa, there is something special I have planned for you.” For us, actually. For me, particularly.

  He led her to the far side of the bathing pool where there was a wall panel that could be pushed inward. When it revolved, a massive slab of polished brass was on the other side, now facing them. It was taller than a man and twice as wide.

  She gasped in wonder. “I have ne’er seen a brass mirror this size afore or one so highly polished as to be like a mirror.” Momentarily, she forgot that she stood nude before it. He knew the moment when she realized the state of her undress. “Oh, good gods!” She tried to cover herself with an arm across her breasts and a hand over her groin.

  “Nay, Drifa, put your arms down. See yourself as I see you whilst I gather some things.”

  Though continuing to gape at the wondrous mirror, she was still trying to cover herself when he returned with several oil lamps, two fat candles, and a small carved olivewood chest, inlaid on top with an ivory longship.

  If she only knew, the view from the back was almost as good as from the front. Her legs were long and muscled from all her gardening, no doubt. Her buttocks were high and deliciously round. The curve of her hips accented her small waist, and the small of her back was indented and lovely. Sidroc had a particular fascination with the small of a woman’s back.

&
nbsp; He lit the candles and lamps and arranged them on either side of the mirror, which added to the moonlight streaming into the room. It was almost as good as daylight.

  “Dost think I would be able to purchase one of these brass mirrors here in Miklagard?”

  She might not want a reminder after this night was through. “Probably, but it would cost a fortune.”

  “I have a fortune.”

  He shrugged. “ ’Tis time to try something different,” he said then.

  Drifa jerked, having just realized he stood behind her, very close. “How different?” she squeaked out. “Will it be perverted?”

  “Drifa, Drifa, Drifa, what is it with you and perverted?” He forced her arms to her sides and wrapped his arms around her waist. “But, yea, this time it will be perverted, by some people’s standards.”

  She made a small whimpering sound, but did not argue with him. She’d learned that he liked overcoming her arguments.

  “Look how nice we look together, Drifa.”

  “We are naked!”

  “That is the best part.”

  “I do not think I will ever forget the things you made me do tonight.”

  “Uh-uh! You do not get away with blaming it all on me. I may have led you on a sensual journey, but you were with me in the end. Besides, I like the memory pictures we are creating.”

  “You would.”

  “Lean your head back to my shoulder and put your hands behind your back,” he said then.

  “Why?”

  “And do not talk. You are my sex thrall, remember. You must do as your master bids.”

  She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. Before she realized what he was about, he tied her wrists together with a scarf.

  Her posture caused her back to arch and her breasts to push forward. The nipples were flushed and erect from his earlier ministrations. Still, he pinched them, then soothed them with soft caresses of his palms.

  “The thing I would have you learn in this bout of sexplay is that there is a fine line betwixt pain and pleasure. When you are aroused, as you are now, your breasts and other erotic spots on your body respond to both. For example, I am about to put some jewelry on you which should demonstrate perfectly.”

  He reached down to the chest at his feet and took out two small gold rings. They were made of gold so thin it was malleable. He put one on her right breast and pinched it tight, and then tighter so that the nipple was encircled totally by the wire, leaving a small loop below.

  “Ouch!” she said, and tried to struggle out of his arms, which caused her breasts to bounce and the pressure on her nipple ring to dig in farther.

  “Some women, and even men, have their nipples pierced to hold the rings, but I would not do that to you.”

  “You’re hurting me,” she complained.

  “Shhh. It will be fine in a moment.” He did the same to the other nipple before she realized what he was about.

  “You look beautiful, Drifa. Look how much bigger your nipples are now, and red as cherries.”

  “First pomegranates and now cherries. What next?”

  “This,” he said, “a little syrup for your cherries.”

  He took a stopper from a small vial of oil and dribbled it on her breasts, then worked it in with his fingertips. “How does that feel?”

  She refused to answer but her beautiful eyes were glazed and her nostrils flared with rising enthusiasm. His enthusiasm was rising, too, and pressing against the cleft of her buttocks.

  “You can wear these nipple rings when I am gone, under your gunna, to remind you of me.”

  She made a snorting sound that translated to Not in a Norse lifetime. He would wager she would be tempted, though.

  “Let me show you something else,” he said then.

  “Oh gods, is this not enough?”

  “Not nearly.” He chuckled and attached several dangling beads from both rings, giving them weight, and added titillation, he hoped.

  Her only response was a whimper and leaning her head back farther on his shoulder, exposing her neck and arching her breasts even more.

  “How does it feel?” he asked against her ear.

  “Wicked.”

  “And wonderful?”

  She nodded.

  “We are going to sit down now, Drifa, so that I may teach you something.” Before she could protest yet again, he sank down to the marble floor and arranged her between his thighs, then he spread her wide so that she might see her womanparts. He doubted she had ever looked there afore. “Dost see how wet you are for me?”

  He used the fingertips of both hands to part her farther. “And see that bud there that is swollen and more ruddy than the folds around it? That is the seat of a woman’s pleasure. Just strumming it can bring some women to peak.”

  “Are you going to strum it?”

  He shook his head. “I am going to grow it bigger and warmer ’til you are so hungry for a peaking you will beg me to enter you.”

  “I do not like this game.” She tried to close her legs and rise, but he would not allow that. Instead he reached for yet another vial in his chest, and told her, “This is a special oil that makes whatever skin it touches grow hot and throb. It takes only one drop to . . .” He let the stopper hang over her open folds, and one drop fell exactly where he wanted.

  Almost immediately she was gaping at what was happening before her eyes. “Do something. Oh, oh, I burn, I yearn. Nay, I throb. Oh, do something, you brute.”

  “In a moment.” He dipped the stopper back in the vial and put one droplet on each of her nipples. They grew before his eyes and became even redder.

  “Release me. I must touch myself.”

  That remark caused him to about peak, which was way too soon. “Mayhap next time.”

  He put his middle finger between her fold and spread the fluid back and forth over the bud, which was now twice its original size. Then he used the same fingertip to caress her folds and enter her inner channel itself.

  She was weeping and crying her ecstasy in almost a continual croon now. He released the scarf from her wrists and guided her down so that her hands and knees were all on the floor and she was facing the mirror. Then, after hesitating only a moment, he added two more beads to each nipple ring, causing her breasts to be drawn down slightly.

  “Look at you, Drifa. Look at us.”

  “I look like a wild woman,” she whined. “I look like a wild dog.”

  “Nay, you look beautiful.”

  He took her, from behind. When he thrust into her, her breasts bobbed with their weights. He soothed and aroused them further with his fingertips, flicking back and forth across them. Then he did the same to the bud betwixt her legs.

  “Do you want me to stop, Drifa?” He paused with the tip of his cock barely inside her. “Tell me what you want.”

  She tried to wriggle her behind against him to draw him in, but he would have naught of that. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “I want you,” she finally begged. “Now.”

  “Whate’er you want, dearling.” He pounded her then with long and slow strokes, alternating with short and hard. She peaked not once, or twice, but thrice afore she was satisfied, and he was able to take his own joy.

  Later, as he soothed her body in his bed, and her eyes drooped with weariness, he said, “Thank you, Drifa.”

  “For what?” she murmured against his chest and nestled closer, one leg thrown over his thighs.

  “For giving me such pleasure. For taking your own pleasure in sexplay that was a mite . . . extreme.”

  “At least you admit it was extreme.” She paused, drawing circles in his chest hairs with a fingertip. “Would you have done these kinds of things to me back then, five years ago?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not. I have developed an appreciation for . . . other things . . . in my travels to other countries. That does not mean there is no pleasure in ‘regular’ sex. I shouldn’t have pushed you so far so fast.”

  “Does that mean
you release me from my . . . obligations?”

  “Hah! I can’t wait to see what we will do next.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A good man is hard to find . . .

  Two more hours left by count of the timekeeping candle until Drifa’s night of horror ended.

  The worst thing, though, was that Drifa wasn’t as horrified as she should be. She had enjoyed herself too much, even the depraved things Sidroc asked of her. She could pretend until all the Valkyries went home to Valhalla that she had been forced, but she was a truthful person at heart, and truth was, she had been a willing participant in the end. Seduced, yea. Forced, nay.

  What did that make her? Wanton to the bone? Or susceptible to this man only? That latter was a horrible prospect. If she allowed the lecherous lout any inroads into her emotions, he would use the weakness against her. Best to gird her loins against him. And she needed to be strong for that moment when she told him of his daughter and her hopes that he would allow Runa to continue living with her at Stoneheim.

  “Why are you stiffening up?” Sidroc whispered against her ear. She’d thought him asleep beside her in his bed, finally depleted. “Are you going to play the corpse again? If so, you will not be wearing a shroud.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, although he could not see, tucked up against her back as he was. If he did see, he would probably consider it an invitation for more wicked activity.

  But his thing was not prodding her behind, so she figured she was safe. For now.

  Belatedly she answered him. “I am asleep.”

  He chuckled, and she felt his breath against her ear, which was sensitive due to all his ministrations. And, yea, she had to admit it. The man had made love to even her ears. “Then why did you stiffen in your sleep? Bad dreams?”

  Nay, a nightmare. “Go back to sleep. We must rise soon, and you will have a long day of riding ahead of you into the mountains.” Although he had told her that he and Finn were to be engaged on a military mission into one of the many Greek mountains, he had not told her where or why.

  “I can sleep in a saddle, whether it be horse or camel. ’Tis a talent I learned when traveling up one coast of the Saxon lands and down the other in endless battles for King Harald Bluetooth. We gained so much danegeld that betimes we horse soldiers walked so the horses could carry our plunder. I got a blister on my big toe the size of an onion.”