Page 40 of The Viking’s Captive

He shaped her mouth, he nipped her, he laved her with his tongue, then sucked at her. His lips were hard, demanding something of her. Finally he gritted out against her mouth, “Open.”

She did.

“Wider.”

She did.

Then, by all the gods and goddesses, he showed her what a man could do with his tongue in a woman’s mouth. The wetness … she should have been revolted; instead, she sighed inwardly at the delicious taste of him. The aggression … she should have shoved him off the bench; instead, she allowed him to take charge. The sinfulness of the thrusting action … she should have felt guilty; instead, she reveled in her first experience with a man’s lust for her.

Somehow, in the midst of this brain-muddling kiss, he moved himself atop her.

“Why do you whimper, sweetling?” he whispered against her ear.

Sweetling? He called me sweetling.She could not keep herself from smiling against his neck. “I thought it was you that whimpered,” she whispered back.

He was leaving a trail of kisses along her jawline when she spoke. He laughed against her mouth and admitted, “Mayhap it was.” Then he resumed kissing her, and his hands … his wicked hands … moved everywhere on her. Everywhere.

Tyra loved the way he kissed. She loved the way he touched her, ravenously, as if he could not get enough of her. She loved the way he made her feel … feminine and desirable.

“Dost know what the best thing is about these insufferable braies you wear?” he asked her.

“What?” she asked, though she recognized the teasing mirth in his voice.

“This,” he answered, putting his hands under each of her buttocks, then twisting his ankles about her ankles and spreading both their legs wide. The result: his manhood was nestled firmly against her womanhood.

He gasped.

She gasped.

“Oh … my … God!” he said.

“Oh … my … God!” she said, too. Sometimes only a good Christian expletive would do.

Now when he resumed kissing her, she had the double pleasure of feeling him move against her there. Tyra thought she had died and gone to Valhalla, so intense was the pleasure.

The one time when she experimented and dipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth, he jerked against her. What a wonderful gift! To know that she … Tyra the Big … Tyra the Man-Woman … could have that kind of effect on a man like Adam … well, ‘twas nothing less than a gift from the gods.

“Why are they groanin’ so much?” a little boy’s voice asked.

“Are they makin’ a baby?” a little girl’s voice asked.

“Nay. You have to be naked to make babies,” a voice that could only be Alrek responded. “Leastways, I think that is the way it works.”

Tyra and Adam did indeed groan then. They turned as one, with him still lying flat atop her on the well bench.

It was Alrek, all right, with the baby Besji in his arms, sleeping apparently, her little head cradled against his shoulder. On either side of him were Tunni and Kristin.

Adam pressed his forehead against Tyra’s and seemed to be counting to ten. When he was done, he sat up gingerly. And she did the same.

“What do you want?” Adam demanded testily. Tyra could sympathize with his frustration.

“Rashid sent us to find you,” Alrek said in a shaky voice.

“He did? Are you sure?”

Tyra understood Adam’s confusion. Rashid knew what a nuisance these children were to his master.

“Tell me exactly what were Rashid’s words.”