Page 56 of The Viking’s Captive

She thought a moment. “I would rather be the one in charge of this kissing. Will you yield to me?”

He didn’t even think for a moment. “Yea.”

“You do not mind yielding to a woman?”

She could tell that he was fighting a grin. “Tyra, I would love to yield to you. Not any woman. You.”

So many emotions swirled through Tyra then.

Fear … she knew she was treading in dangerous waters.

Excitement … she’d never initiated a kiss with a man before, and, ever the competitor, she did love a challenge. Will I be good? Oh, I hope so.

Arousal … she didn’t understand the sensations that assailed her in Adam’s presence, but she wanted to. Her womanliness seemed attuned to his manliness so that all her senses were heightened when he was in the vicinity.

Smells were more fragrant, like the particular scent of his skin, or his breath, which was surprisingly pleasant.

Food tasted better … his kisses certainly tasted delicious.

Her hearing was so acute these days that the mere whisper of “Tyra” from his lips seemed to carry some sensual meaning.

And her vision—the mere sight of him coming into a room caused her heart to race. And she missed him when he was gone. The way he stared at her now—with feral intent … like a cat … a big cat—was exhilarating rather than threatening.

Lastly, there was touch. How could it be that the feather-light brush of his lips or the press of his fingers on her arm caused her breasts to swell and her woman-place to ache?

For days Tyra had fought all these emotions … signs of womanly weakness, to be sure. But now she seemed to relish her femininity and was about to step willingly into the lair of the wolf.

She leaned forward so her breasts pressed against his chest, then placed her hands behind his neck. He was only a few inches taller than she; they fitted well together. Very well.

He stared at her, saying nothing. Doing nothing. He was allowing her to lead in this game. But she saw by the tautness of his jaw and the flare of his nose that he was not unmoved, and that bolstered her nerve. Well, she had to admit, the three meads she had imbibed had probably bolstered her nerve as well.

At first she just placed her lips against his, shifting and settling till she got the position right. Then she pressed, and moved, and pressed.

“Tyra,” he said against her mouth.

“What?” she asked dreamily, wanting to resume her explorations.

“You’re supposed to close your eyes.”

“I am? Then how will I know what is happening?”

He laughed, and she felt the delicious ripple of his mirth against her mouth. Another new sensation. She liked it.

“Feel the kiss. Do not see it. Feel it.”

“Oh, I see.” She was outlining the contours of his lips with the tip of her tongue while she spoke. She thought he made a gurgling sound … of pleasure, she was hoping. But then another thought came to her unbidden. “How did you know my eyes were not closed? Were yours open? That does not seem fair.”

He laughed again, causing more of those wonderful ripples against her mouth, especially when he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. “I was just checking.”

And so she closed her eyes, and he closed his (she checked), and the kiss was so much better, just as he had said.

His prior kisses were still imbedded in her mind, and she called on those memories. She moved her mouth against his. She licked his lips. She bit him lightly. She plunged her tongue inside his mouth and almost swooned at the intensity of her pleasure. He must be nigh swooning too if his groans were any indication. At some point, she could not say when, Adam joined in the kissing. Not taking charge exactly. But giving and taking. Fair play. She liked that. In fact, she was beginning to like too much about the man.

So dazed was she by this incredible exercise of kissing that she scarce noticed when he loosened the ribbon lacing of her gown, which wrapped around her body from abdomen to hips. When she felt the air on her bare breasts, it was already too late.

How could any woman resist the hungry look of a handsome man gazing at her body?

“Don’t move,” he ordered as he tugged the neckline and sleeves of her gown downward to her waist and wrists respectively. In truth, she could not have moved even if she had wanted to; she was trapped by the confines of her gown.