Page 112 of Kiss of Wrath

“Ah! You should finally ask!” He rolled his eyes meaningfully at the rest of the group. “I have had sex only ten times in the past thousand or so years. Four of those times in one night and six the following day. With Miranda, of course. I was especially fond of the mouth tupping under the desk. And now she has refused to see me again.”

“Four times in one night!” Helen sighed with envy.

“I am not having sex under a desk,” Bob asserted.

“Exactly what kind of sex is mouth tupping? Details, honey? Details?” Jenny was licking her red lips with anticipation.

“Bullshit!” Marty said with a sneer. “No guy can do it that many times in a day and a half.”

“I am a Viking,” Mordr told Marty. “We are better endowed than the average man.”

“Bullshit!” Marty repeated.

“I did not even have a chance to show her the Viking S-spot.” Mordr put on a woeful puppy-dog face. Where was Mr. Grim now?

“The whaaat?” Jenny was practically hyperventilating.

“Uh, I think we need to end this session early today,” Miranda intervened, fearing what might come next. “Mordr and I have some things to discuss. Next time we’ll stay an extra half hour, if that’s okay with you all.”

The others slowly exited with knowing grins and snickers.

When they were gone, Miranda put her hands on her hips and glared at Mordr. “This was outrageous, even for you. How could you, Mordr? I work here. You can’t barge in and interrupt my professional work.”

He shrugged. “You would not grant me entrance to your home. Come. I have something to show you.”

“I’m not interested. Do you understand how improper it was for you to interrupt my work sessions?”

“Being proper has never been of much importance to me. Come.” He held out a hand for her.

She swatted the hand away. “And what’s with the motorcycle gear anyhow?”

“I bought a motorcycle. Is this not what one wears on a motorcycle?”

“You bought a motorcycle? What next? A longship?”

“How did you know?” At the expression of shock on her face, he flicked her gaping mouth shut with a forefinger, then disclosed, “No, I did not buy a ship . . . precisely. I did buy a motorboat. And I bought a car. Not a car . . . precisely.”

“Enough with the ‘precisely’ crap. What did you buy?”

“A van which will easily hold a man, a woman, five children, and a dog. And a boat. A motorboat, not a longship. Actually, I went to the car market to buy the car, and saw the boat and motorcycle there. I made a good bargain. The family package.”

She stamped her foot. “We are not your family.”

“You should be,” he said. “You will be.”

She stamped her foot again. “No, no, no!”

He stamped his boot. “Yes, yes, yes!”

She frowned at him.

He smiled at her.

“Trond told me that motorcycles are a surefire way to melt a woman’s heart, or leastways her female parts. Spread legs. Vibrations. Holding on to her man. Wind on the nether regions.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“I cannot believe you said that.”

“Believe it,” he said. “Enough squabbling, wench!” On those ominous words, he picked her up by the waist, tossed her over his shoulder, then walked out of the office and over to the elevator, down to the parking garage where there was, indeed, a motorcycle with two helmets. Along the way when they passed stunned folks, Mordr told them, “Do not worry. The wench and I are playing a sex game.”