Page 82 of Truly, Madly Viking

"Yea, I do," he remarked pridefully. Was that not the way it was supposed to be with a man and a woman? "Should I stop?"

She laughed, a seductive, feminine trill. "Don't you dare." She drew her knees up, wrapping her legs about his hips as if to lock him in.

He needed no such encouragement. He was not able to let her go. This time he lunged so deep, he feared his penetration had reached her womb. He paused in question.

She blinked at him repeatedly. Then she said, "Goodness!"

He assumed that meant she was pleased at how well he filled her, so he continued. Caught in the throes of a hurricane, his sexplay became a raw act of possession as he drove into her, hard. He was wild.

She was wild.

The power of their joining was a palpable thing swirling between them as they gazed in wonder at each other. His burning eyes held hers, but she did not look away. Had a coupling of man and woman ever been so staggering to the senses?

"I love you," she whispered as the pinnacle of their rapture approached, and he continued to hammer himself into her. Her words surprised him and did not surprise him at the same time. He could not say that he was displeased, but he did not repeat the words back to her. He could not.

Still, he gave her the greatest pleasure he could with his shaft and his expert fingers and mouth. At the height of her fierce undulations and his deep strokes, he slid his fingers between her legs from behind. At that one touch, her molten folds exploded around his shaft, which was now so engorged it pained him.

Jorund reared his head back, released a harsh, masculine roar of victory, and came to pulsating satisfaction.

Then he fell heavily on top of her, sated to the point of bonelessness. I love you, sweetling , he said inside his head. But he did not say the words aloud. In truth, he did not know where the sentiment came from. He did not really love this modern woman. Did he? He was no longer capable of love. Was he?

Cloudy thoughts swam in his brain as he eased himself off the too-small sofa, onto the carpeted floor. He took Mag-he with him, nestling her face in the crook of his neck, one of her arms over his chest, and one leg draped over his.

He wanted to say something to her, to thank her for the most incredible experience of his life, but "thank you" seemed so inadequate to express all he felt. Instead he hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

Maggie must have swooned, or slept. All she knew was that some time must have passed since the most spectacular sexual marathon of her life—of anyone's life, she would bet—and Joe was sleeping soundly beside her.

Her face was resting against his shoulder, her palm over his chest, where his heart beat slowly in sleep, and a leg was thrown over his, with her knee pressed up against his genitals—genitals that were now semi-limp. Did the man never give totally... even in sleep? Was he always half up and ready to go?

Her body felt bruised and battered from Joe's lovemaking... and wonderfully satisfied, too. She was exhausted, no doubt due to her being out of shape. And more than anything, she was confused by the whirlwind that had overcome her in the form of a very sexy Viking. This was so much more than she'd ever expected.

He was so much more than she'd ever expected.

A warm shower, that was what she needed. Then she was going to crawl into bed and sleep till noon.

Only then would she feel rejuvenated enough to contemplate with a logical mind all that had happened to her tonight.Carefully she eased herself off of Joe. He was in a deep sleep. She attempted to stand, but her legs gave way. She sank back to the floor, on her knees, and giggled. Then she clamped a hand over her mouth and glanced guiltily at Joe. He snored softy. Well, good. There was some small gratification in knowing she'd worn him out, too. It was an ignominious posture, but Maggie began to crawl from the room on her hands and knees. When she got to the hall she would stand, with the support of walls and stair rails.

"Going somewhere, wench?" a silky, male voice inquired. At the same time, an iron hand snaked out and grasped her ankle.

Maggie peeked over her shoulder and groaned. Joe was approaching her, on hands and knees, too, like a big, stalking cat. That image was only reinforced when he came up and over her from behind, covering her with his massive body, and purred into her ear. Already she could feel his erection against her leg.

"No, Joe, not again. Haven't you had enough for now?"

"Did I not say afore that my biggest talent was my stamina?" he boasted. She didn't look, but she suspected he was smiling.

"Is that like the Viking version of understatement?" she remarked dryly, and tried to crawl away.

He swatted her on the behind and yanked her back. She could feel the heat of his skin as he undulated over her, like a cat, though he barely touched her skin.

"It's too soon," she protested. "I couldn't. Really. Oh, my goodness!"

In one sleek, feline move, he lifted her hips and entered her from behind.

And Maggie soon discovered that, in fact, she could.

While his male member stroked her inside with long, leisurely plunges, his fingers and his whispered words praised her breasts... then the wet folds that she had thought were too sensitive to be touched again so soon.

But—oh... oh... oh—they were not.