Page 115 of The Reluctant Viking

The impertinent wench surprised him by winking and countering saucily, “I will hold you to that promise.”

Slow hand! By the faith, where did the woman come up with these ideas? Already that day, he had overheard Poppa and her women discussing lingerie and the shaving of legs. Hrolf told him in no uncertain terms that he was to make sure his wife did not discuss birth control in Normandy. As if he could direct her actions!

Then Ruby demanded that Thork reciprocate by singing a ballad for her. “Not on this side of Valhalla!” he refused, but he finally agreed to recite a few lines from a skaldic poem he remembered—“Rigspula,” or “The Song of Rig.” Oddly, although the poem dealt with the humorous, certainly unromantic, notion of the Viking social order, a few of the lines reminded him of Ruby and himself:

“…Her brows were bright, her breast was shining,

Whiter her neck than new-fallen snow…

Blond was his hair, and bright his cheeks,

Grim as a snake’s were his glowing eyes…”

The tears that sparkled in his wife’s eyes when he finished were compensation enough for any discomfort he may have felt in reciting poetry in front of his fighting men. When they finally escaped the great hall and were alone in their sleeping chamber, Thork quickly removed his clothes and lay naked on the bed with arms folded behind his head, inquiring, “Shall you entertain me now, wife, by modeling your undergarment for me?” He yawned loudly and stretched languorously, adding, “Or do you think there will be a dullness to our lovemaking now that we are wed?”

Ruby’s eyes lit up at his challenge. “Hah! Not if I can help it.”

“And this slow hand business—does that go both ways? Or is it only women who are permitted to seek such lovers in your country?”

“No, it goes both ways.” Ruby grinned. “Shall I show you?”

And she did. Oh, Lord, she did!

Chapter Twenty

Ruby shed her clothing slowly, teasingly, drawing out the process an exceedingly long time. When she was down to the teddy, she posed and dawdled, removing the wispy garment one bloody inch at a time until Thork was sorry he had ever voiced a liking for the foolish item.

“Come to bed now, Ruby,” Thork urged raspily when she was naked. But, nay, the contrary miss had other plans. He ground his teeth and waited, refusing to grovel for her favors, especially on his wedding night.

“Not yet,” Ruby evaded with a teasing lilt in her voice. “First I want to ask you something,” she said, coming closer to the bed, but not so close he could grab her, which Thork was sorely tempted to do as Ruby leaned forward provocatively. Her firm, upthrust breasts swayed slightly, enticing him to do anything but engage in a conversation.

And her hips! Holy Freya! The wench’s slender waist flared out just so to the cradle of hips he’d hoped would be under his by now, then on to the down-covered delta he planned to explore endlessly this night.

If she ever got into bed!

“Thork, you’re not listening to me.”

“Huh?”

Ruby smiled knowingly and asked a totally irrelevant question, to his frustration. “Do you remember that first day I arrived in Jorvik?”

Thork nodded his head suspiciously. What was she up to now? Lord, she would have to be blind not to see his raging need. Hah! If she would only come a little closer, he would teach her a few memory games. He forced himself to remain calm, to wait for just the right moment to pounce.

“Remember when we were walking to Olaf’s house, and you said you could never be attracted to a woman like me, that Viking men liked women who were softer and less waspish?”

“I remember it well. Surely, you do not hold that over my head now, of all times! Come to bed, sweetling.”

“In a minute.” The mischievous maid turned slightly, giving him a wicked view of her rounded buttocks. Thork felt his arousal swell practically to bursting. He gritted his teeth as she looked back at him over her shoulder and asked in a low, seductive voice, “I was just wondering…don’t you think I’m sweet at all?”

“Sweet! ’Tis the last word I would use to describe you. Maddening, alluring, yea. Sweet, never!”

Ruby’s lips twitched. “That’s just what I thought you’d say.” She turned and picked up a small crock with a spoon in it from a table near the bed.

Thork sat up and stared at her. It was a pot of honey. Did she intend to feed him? Now? Holy Thor! That was not the raging hunger he needed to appease, but he did not want to hurt her feelings.

“I wouldn’t want you to be married to a woman who wasn’t sweet,” she said coyly and dipped her fingertip in the thick syrup and coated her lips with it. Then she took the spoon and…oh, my God!…drizzled the honey over her breasts, onto her stomach, down the inside of her thighs, then…for the love of Freya!…between her legs.

Thork lurched from the bed and tried to haul her back with him, but she eluded him by ducking under his arm with a low, sensual laugh.