Page 37

I t took but a few moments to remove the ginger from her unresisting arse. Brynhild’s modesty was entirely vanquished, it seemed, as she lay acquiescent for him. The used root discarded on the floor, he removed his trousers again then rolled her onto her side to face him as he lay down beside her.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears still glistened amid the azure but she managed a tremulous smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and leaned up to brush her lips across his. The kiss was a shy one, hesitant and uncertain, as though she half- expected to be rebuffed, even now. He recalled what she had said about being cold, undemonstrative. His proud Viking had much to learn.

Taranc cupped her jaw in his hand and slanted his mouth over hers.

She reached for him, twisting her fingers in his hair.

He deepened the kiss, angling his lips over hers and teasing his tongue over the seam until she parted to allow him in.

He tasted her, tested the warmth and wetness of her inner space, played with her as he danced his tongue over hers.

Brynhild gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

Slowly, uncertainly, she began to respond, her tongue tangling about his as she sucked gently.

Sweet Jesu, where did she learn such a trick?

Taranc rolled onto her, his palms now flattened against her breasts.

The plump mounds swelled in his hands, nipples pebbling as he caught the delicate peaks between his fingers.

He broke the kiss, intending to take her stiff little bud in his mouth, but paused when she went rigid in his arms. He glanced into her face, now more clearly visible as his eyes accustomed to the dark.

She stared back at him, terror and yearning at war across her tense features.

With a silent curse at his own thoughtlessness Taranc rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she landed on top, her nude body draped across his chest. She cried out, grabbing for his shoulders.

"What? What are you doing? I do not want to stop, I..."

"Then do not stop. Kiss me, Brynhild."

"But I do not know how..."

"You did it before. Lay your mouth on mine.

We shall go from there." He combed his fingers through her hair, blessing the sweet Saviour that she chose to wear it loose when in their bed, and drew her down toward him.

Her lips met his, and she softened into the kiss.

He darted his tongue between her lips again and their sensual dance continued unabated.

Ah, but his little Viking was a fast learner.

She scrambled further onto him, her legs braced on either side of his hips as she rubbed against him, her wetness coating his lower abdomen.

She was oblivious, he knew that. Brynhild had no idea that her arousal pooled on his skin, that her readiness, her desire was so redolent he could actually smell the sweet aroma of her.

He feathered his touch across her shoulders and down her spine, probing each vertebra in turn as she writhed under his hands.

When he palmed her tender, punished buttocks her kiss became more desperate, more untutored yet all the sweeter for it.

He cared nothing for delicate technique and all for unbridled sensuality.

"I want... I need..." Her words were frantic, breathy. She pushed herself up on her hands to peer into his face. "Tell me what to do."

"Straddle me," he commanded. "Take my cock in your hands and direct it toward you."

"I cannot. I do not know how."

"I shall show you."

He helped her to arrange herself as he had described, her hot quim hovering just a fraction away from the head of his cock.

He took his erection in his own hand, angled it to her entrance and thrust his hips up.

Her slick lips parted to accept just the tip of his cock, but he did not press home.

Instead he smeared his own juices with hers, spreading their wetness about, coating her lower lips from the tight ring of her arse to the quivering nub of her clitty.

She moaned as he rubbed the smooth, slick head of his cock against that sensitive button, the delicate flesh plump and trembling as he worked her harder.

He positioned his cock at her entrance, just inside, then released his grip to allow her own lips to hold him there.

His hand now free, he rubbed her clitty in earnest, from side to side, then as she squirmed and panted he circled with his fingertip.

She lowered her body, almost imperceptibly taking more of him inside her.

Brynhild was lost, her moans becoming more frenetic as she sought something he knew she did not really understand but pursued with an intensity she could not control.

He could exercise restraint, however, and one of them must. He would not allow this to fail, it was too vital, too critical to their future together.

This had to be good. For her. She must succeed here, now, tonight.

He brought her higher, closer, his skilled fingers teasing and stroking and caressing her clitty as she soared toward her release. He lifted his hips, pressing forward, upward. Her body stretched and opened to accept him.

Brynhild gasped. Taranc paused, waited. She circled her hips, lowering herself a fraction more, working him inside her.

"It feels...tight. It will not fit."

He detected the wondering despair in her tone and was not having it.

"It is tight, gloriously so, but we fit beautifully."

"I... oh!" She let out a sharp cry as he pressed forward again.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Do not stop."

He buried his face in the hollow of her neck as he squeezed and tugged on her clitty. Her body quivered in his arms, trembling as her response surged forth.

"Oh, I... I..."

He knew the exact moment of her release and used the sudden, uncontrolled softening of her body as his opportunity to drive his cock fully home. She screamed, a rasping, guttural sound of pleasure laced with pain, and her cunt convulsed around him.

Taranc held still, his palms now on her buttocks to hold her in place. Brynhild was unmoving, her body reshaping to accept his intrusion. Taranc kissed her hair, murmured words intended to calm, to reassure, to thank her. Brynhild tilted her head back to meet his gaze.

"So, Celt, you are finally fucking me." Her tone was triumphant.

"Twould seem so."

"Is this it? All that there is?" She rotated her hips in a large, slow circle.

He shook his head. "Not entirely. I prefer to take my time though. We shall go slow, and gentle, and with infinite tenderness."

"Tenderness?" She furrowed her brow. "Why tenderness? Why is that necessary? I thought?—"

He kissed the end of her nose. "I know what you thought, and why. But you were wrong. There will be tenderness between us. You ask too many questions, little Viking. I have one for you though. Is there any pain still?"

She frowned all the more. "Why, no. No, there is not. How? I mean, I thought..."

"Tenderness," he repeated, tightening his grip on her sore buttocks to rotate her hips since she had stopped. He groaned as she instinctively squeezed her inner muscles around his cock. "Oh, Sweet Jesu, you feel so good."

"As do you, Celt." She clenched again and resumed the motion herself now, rolling her hips and picking up on his sensual manipulation as she moved to take control of her own pleasure and his.

Typical Brynhild, he mused. Always taking charge, always wanting to lead, to give rather than to take. He would allow it, this time, this first time because he sensed that she needed this in order to start to restore her confidence. But it would not always be thus.

Brynhild rocked her hips above him, lifted her body then sank back down to take him fully inside her.

His hands on her waist helped to take her weight, but the initiative was all hers.

He allowed her to play, to test and experiment, to explore what felt right and good and where the pleasure pooled.

Her breasts bobbed and swayed before his eyes, the plump, rosy-tipped mounds begging to be licked.

Taranc took one nipple between his lips and sucked hard.

Brynhild arched toward him, thrusting her breasts at him, wordlessly demanding more.

Her second release was swift, more intense than the first he fancied as she shook with the force of it.

Brynhild wrapped her arms about his head to hug him to her pressing her breast into his mouth.

She pumped up and down on his cock, greedy and insatiable now, demanding and insistent as she ground her body down onto his.

He could not hold out much longer, but neither would he allow himself to finish before she was done. He slid his hand between their bodies again to take her clitty between his finger and thumb and roll the sensitive nubbin. She panted, ready, straining, seeking, reaching...

Taranc reached around her with his other hand to insinuate his fingers in the seam of her bottom. He found her rear hole, circled once, pressed, and slipped the tip of his middle finger inside.

Brynhild screamed. She screamed long and hard and loud, the sound barely muffled at all against his shoulder.

He blessed the foresight which had led him to bar the door as he entered. The last thing he wanted at this juncture was his mother and his aunt bursting in armed with pitchforks and torches, bent upon rescue.

His own release followed hers but scant moments later. Taranc let out his own groan of satisfaction as his balls tightened, twisted within their sack and his semen surged forth to fill his she-Viking's hot, tight channel. He grimaced into the darkness, a smile playing on his lips.

He was content.