Page 40 of The Caged Viking

After testing the wetness between her legs, he tore off the scrap of cloth and arranged himself more comfortably. He put a hand to her face, forcing her to look at him, and said in a husky whisper. “Do you come to me willingly, wife?”

She stared up at him through eyes that were hazy with arousal. She nodded.

Taking himself in hand, he entered her slowly. He had to be careful. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, and her channel was so tight, and he feared this might end in an embarrassing one-thrust wonder. But she made it hard for him to slow down as her inner muscles clasped and unclasped around him, stretching to accommodate his length and breadth, which were mighty after such a prolonged abstinence. But finally he was imbedded in her to the hilt. Even then her female channel shifted to make room for his size.

For a long moment, he just lay over her, forehead to forehead, elbows braced on the furs above her shoulders. When he was able to speak without blubbering, he gazed down at her and said, “You feel so good. Slick as honey, warm as cream fresh from the cow.”

“I like that combination. Honey and cream. But I don’t know about the cow.” She laughed, then rolled her hips in a most enticing manner, almost as if she was caressing him from the inside.

A hissing sound escaped from behind his gritted teeth before he was able to ask, “What…was…that?”

She looked embarrassed as she revealed, “Churning the butter.”

He let out a hoot of laughter. He had not expected her to be so…earthy.

She was the one to say “Shhh” then as they both paused and listened, relaxing only when they heard the two discordant snores from the other side.

“We do fit rather well together,” she told him.

He had to smile at that. “As if any man and any woman wouldn’t fit!”

She shrugged.

“What? In your time, some men and women do not fit together?”

“Some fit better than others,” she contended. “I’m just sayin’.”

Once he pondered that idea, he decided that they did fit well…very well. Mayhap this was different, better than other matings. A fanciful idea, that! But then, he thought, My wife, and a warmth seemed to fill him, pumping out from his heart to all his extremities.

“You have a beautiful smile,” she said.

He smiled wider. “I wish we had more time.”

“Sometimes short and sweet is enough.”

Sweet was not his goal, and short was no man’s ideal time in the tupping.

“Have you rested enough? Can we start now?” she inquired with exaggerated sweetness.

He growled and said, “I was not resting. I was giving you time to adjust to my…um, magnitude.” Before she could make a comment about that, he withdrew his staff almost to her entrance. Then he began the long in-and-out strokes that had probably been invented by Adam and Eve in that Biblical Garden of Eden.

Kirstin did not just lay back but participated in the coupling, linking her hands behind his nape, which gave him access to her moist, eager lips, raising her knees to hug his hips, which gave him more room to plunge deeper.

Way too soon, the long, slow strokes turned short and fast. He couldn’t help himself. And her almost continuous moans did not help him reduce his pace. In truth, her excitement excited him.

With the utmost effort, he paused and concentrated on what he was doing, after which he managed to flex himself inside of her.

She countered by rippling around him, but, in her defense, he did not think she did it deliberately. Her body was as out-of-control as his own.

Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his arms quivered with the tension of remaining rigid and still. But somehow he managed to stay unmoving inside of her.

“What are you doing to me, you brute?” she asked.

“What are you doing to me, sweetling?”

“Sweetling? I like that.”

“I like you,” he said.