Page 97 of The Viking’s Captive

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

What lackwit said sex was a burden for women? …

Tyra was so excited she could scarce contain herself. How she would survive this wondrous night, she had no idea, but she could not wait to find out.

She sat as still as any woman could in her position. And wasn’t that an amazing feat … that two people … a man and a woman … could fit together so well? She was not sure what she had expected, but not this … fullness, accompanied by the most delicious tension. Why didn’t women tell other women how wonderful it was? Why keep it a secret? Or could it be that she was the only woman who experienced such bliss … or that only this man could bring it on?

“Why are you smiling, witchling?” he asked, chucking her playfully under the chin with his knuckles.

“It is a secret,” she replied, hoping the smile on her face was one of mystery now, and not a silly grin.

“Ah, then, I will have to torture your secrets from you.” Even as he spoke, he put his hands on her buttocks and rolled them over so she was on her back once again. Luckily, his manpart had remained within her, but then, mayhap it could not escape once it reached this size. She would have to ask … later.

Adam began an assault on her then that could only be described as sweet agony. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her till she did not know where he ended and she began, whether his tongue was in her mouth or hers was in his.

He wet the inner whorls of her ears, then blew them dry with such erotic appeal that she felt as if there were a thread connecting her ears to that special place between her legs. She wanted so very badly for him to move there, but she was following orders, for a change, and she liked it.

He allowed her to return his kisses and caresses, but nothing more. She liked that, too.

He worshiped her breasts. She would be sore on the morrow, but that soreness would be a reminder of how much she had enjoyed his attentions.

He whispered wicked, wicked things about her body and the things they would do. Some of them were surely physically impossible, though she would be willing to try.

They were both panting loudly by the time he sat back on his haunches and pulled out of her slightly. Wrapping his heels under her thighs, he spread her wider, then ordered, “Watch this, dearling. I want you to see yourself.”

She propped herself on her elbows and gazed downward where she could see her woman-folds and the portion of his manpart that was not inside her. He did the most tantalizing thing then. He wet his middle finger in the moisture they had made there and began to strum the exposed pleasure bud that rose up, distended.

At the first touch of his finger, she let out an agonized, wail, then began to keen, “Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. It is too much.” In truth, it was not enough.

“Shhhh. Let it happen, sweetling,” Adam said, his voice hardly recognizable for its hoarseness.

Flutters began inside her that quickly turned to clasps of his male organ, then a continuous series of full-blown spasms. She thought she might have screamed at the peak, so mindless was she.

“Now it is my turn,” he said. “God willing, I will last longer this time than a boy with his first maid.”

His turn. She had thought it was over. She certainly felt complete. But no, he had raised himself up on straightened arms and now began to thrust in and out of her … long strokes that went on forever, dragging on her inner walls, sucking her back into the vortex of passion with a jolt of even more intense pleasure.

She could not think. She bucked her hips. She writhed from side to side. She wailed her building arousal, much, much more powerful than the previous ones.

“Do something,” she screamed. “Do it, do it, do it!” She had no idea what she was urging him to do to put her out of her agony. All she knew was that the infuriating man just continued those long, slow strokes that were driving her mad … although she noticed that his teeth were gritted now, and veins stood out on his arched neck and forehead.

She reached out behind him and squeezed his buttocks.

He rewarded her with a groan. Only then did he begin shorter, harder strokes that drove her across the bed. She was meeting him, thrust for thrust, her legs spread as wide as they would go with her feet flat on the mattress. Her insides were grasping him so hard, it was a wonder he was not in pain. Finally it was too much. He roared out his male triumph as his hot seed spurted into her womb, and her pleasure spiraled and spiraled and spiraled till her insides shattered into a million small ripples of woman-joy.

Adam lay atop her for a long time, breathing as heavily as a warhorse. She sounded no better.

When he finally raised his head to look at her through glazed blue eyes, he kissed her swollen lips and whispered, “That was wonderful, my sweet warrior lady.”

Her heart sang at his softly murmured sentiment. She asked a simple question then—one which any sensible-minded woman would have asked, in her opinion, but which prompted long peals of laughter from the rogue. “Oh, Tyra, you are priceless,” he sputtered as she shoved him off her and onto the floor.

And all she’d said was, “Can we do it again?”

Some sports need no intermission …

Tyra was straightening out the bed linens, and Adam was making crude but complimentary remarks about her buttocks and what he referred to as her “butt-scar” as she bent over the mattress, when there was a soft knock on the door.

She looked at Adam, who shrugged.