Page 73 of My Fair Viking

Bloody hell, do I dare not? he countered to himself, even as he stood, picked up Tyra by the waist, then sat back down with her straddling his lap, her back to his chest. Breanne immediately took the vacated seat, with Drifa and Ingrith sitting on either arm. The three of them smiled their thanks at him.

"You brute!" Tyra tried to squirm away, to no avail. He had both arms wrapped firmly around her waist, and the table blocked her from the front.

"Keep squirming, wench. It gives me a good view of your nipples," he said into her ear.

She immediately stilled and looked downward… then groaned. "Did everyone else see, too?" she asked in a mortified whisper.

"Nay, just me. And very nice nipples they are, too."

She tried to pry his hands off her waist, but he held tight, like a vise.

"I ought to cut off your fingers with my dagger."

"If you did that, I would be unable to finger-pleasure you."

That certainly caught her attention. He could practically hear her brain pondering what he'd just said. "What… what is finger-pleasuring?" she finally choked out.

He had no idea, that word being a sudden inspiration of his. Well, actually, he could imagine what it might be. But words would do it no justice. That kind of erotic wisdom deserved a demonstration. So, while he still held on tightly to her with his left hand, he deftly slipped his right hand under the hem of her gown onto the bare skin of her leg.

"Oh." That was her only response. He was fairly certain she liked it if her soft sigh of delight was any indication… and the fact that she didn't chop off his fingers.

Because of the table, the dim light, and the fact that all eyes were on Agnis, the young maid singing and playing the lute, no one noticed what Adam was about.

His hand was only on her calf, but she went stiff as a pike.

Deliberately he spread his knees, which caused her knees to spread as well. He had her exactly where he wanted her… on his lap, and exposed.

"You cannot," she said as his hand moved in a slow caress from her calf to her knee, then up, up, up to her thigh.

"I can," he countered, and moved his hand from her outer thigh to her inner thigh. With just his fingertips, he lightly caressed her inner thighs in slow circles, from knees almost to her woman's fleece. Up one thigh, down the other, up one thigh, down the other.

Not only was she stiff as a pike now, but she was holding her breath.

"When I caress you here, do your breasts begin to ache?"

She nodded, to his surprise. He had not-expected such honesty.

"Do you feel a throbbing here… as I do?" He put the heel of his hand against that lowest portion of her belly, just above the pubic bone.

She released her pent-up breath and tried to hold his hand there, through the cloth of her gown, which still covered her discreetly. But he was already back to finger-brushing her thighs.

"Adam, I heard about the babe you lost today," Alinor said in the short break between entertainments. The lutist was done, and now Rashid was preparing to tell one of his long Arab tales… something about a young man and a magic tapestry. "I am so sorry you were unable to save the wee one."

Not now, Alinor. Oh, please, God, not now. He hoped his silent nod, accepting her sympathies, would be enough.

But already Tyra was turning in his lap, looking at him over her shoulder. "I forgot to ask you about Dagma. Oh, nay, don't tell me…"

"Dagma will be fine," he was quick to assure her. "She lost much blood, and is very weak after a full day and a half of labor, but the babe died in the womb."

"Oh, Adam," Tyra and Alinor said at the same time.

"It could not be helped; the cord was wrapped around the infant's neck. It must have been dead for days now."

"Oh, Adam," they repeated.

"Sometimes things, even bad things, happen for a reason," Alinor said then. "She is very young. She can have other children, can't she?"

"Probably."