Page 110 of Truly, Madly Viking

He pulled back slightly. "I make a pledge to you, sweetling. Ne'er will I kiss another woman again...

unless it be my lady mother or my sister. This delicious exercise that I have learned to savor belongs only to you."

Tears welled in her eyes, and he knew why. It was the unspoken message that he would be back in his own time, where he would have occasion to kiss his mother and sister. Well, so be it. It was a fact—or possible fact—that must be faced. But he could lighten her spirits. "I cannot promise that I will ne'er swive another female for the remainder of my days, though. The male urge is too strong. But I can deny myself the pleasure of kissing. In truth, I misdoubt it would even be a pleasure with another lady."

She gave him a weak punch in the arm. "Lout! Don't you dare think of making love with another woman."

He smiled at her ferociousness. They both knew she would be in no position to know what he did or to do anything about his transgressions.

But then he moved his ministrations lower, caressing her neck and shoulders, even her hairless armpits and the silken skin of her sides leading down to her waist. He grinned when he saw her navel ring glittering in the moonlight.

"Kiss it," she demanded.

Her words caused his groin to tighten and his male organ to swell. He gave the golden ornament and the enticing little cavity behind it a soft lick with his tongue.

She inhaled sharply.

That was a good sign. Viking men knew how to read erotic signals better than any others. At least, that was what Norse fathers had taught their sons.

Best I look for more signs now, he thought with a barely suppressed chuckle. He worshiped her breasts then. Wetting them to sensitivity, he watched appreciatively as the rosy tips sprang to life under his expert fingers.

"Your mouth is so hot," she said, moaning as he suckled her deeply.

He considered that a compliment, and so did his engorging staff. Another sign. He took her nipple deeper, including the puffy areola. His tongue pressed up from the underside, and the roof of his mouth held her breast from the top.

Then, and only then, did he show her things he would warrant no modern man ever had. She had taught him about kissing. Now he was showing her the best ways to pleasure a woman.

When he was through tasting her breasts, he reposed on one elbow and examined his work. She had peaked once already—a definite sign—and her nipples were wet, rigid pebbles, standing up on swollen breasts like rose-colored sentinels.

If he knew what he was doing—and he did—even the air would feel like a caress on her hardened buds now. He would guess that she ached for him... not just in her breasts, but below. Signs, one and all.

Still leaning over her on a braced elbow, he let his fingers walk their way from breasts to abdomen, which she sucked in sharply, over the slight hillock of her belly, to the dark curls below. Without hesitation, he dipped into her womanly folds and came away with telltale slickness.

"You are ready," he informed her with a groan.

"Yes," she said, spreading her legs in welcome. "Come inside me. Now."

"Yea, I will." He gave her a quick kiss. "But not quite yet. There is something I need to do first."

She groaned. "I'm already wild for you, Joe. What else do you want?"

"This," he said, and rolled over atop her, kneeling betwixt her thighs. He could see by her widened eyes that she knew what he intended next.

She surprised him, though, by saying, "I want to do the same for you, Joe." And then she used wicked, deliciously wanton and explicit words to tell him exactly what she would do to him... later. Apparently she was not as timid as he'd thought.

He almost spilled his seed upon the sheets. So much for signs!

With adoration, he made love to that part of her body now. He felt almost possessive about the distended folds and sleek moisture, and especially the raised nub that was the seat of her woman-pleasure. The end result was that she lay writhing for satisfaction. The scent and taste and texture of her would remain with him forever.

There was probably a sign in there somewhere, but he'd stopped counting or caring.

Soon he eased himself into her hot sheath. She pulsed as inch by inch he slid into her depth till he was deeply seated, and they were one. Only then did he gaze into her eyes, which were wide and blue and staring directly back at him, reciprocating the adoration he had lavished on her. "I love you," he vowed then.

The spoken sentiment came effortlessly to him now... straight from his breaking heart.

"I love you, too, Joe," she whispered, and the words imbedded themselves in his soul... to be replayed over and over in some solitary future.

He made slow love to her then, as he had pledged. And from then on, till their simultaneous, crashing peaks, they murmured words of love to each other, poignant expressions of feelings so deep and eternal they seemed hard enough to last a lifetime, and so fragile that they could very well shatter at any moment.