by Sandra Hill
Angela wanted to disagree, but she was experiencing many of the same symptoms. And all for a man who was presumably uneducated… who had eleven children, for God's sake… who carried a sword like some modern-day gladiator (except he was lots better-looking than Russell Crowe)! She had never felt this instant chemistry with any other man. What could it be but destiny?
"Is it settled then?" he asked.
She nodded.
He stood and kicked aside his chair and the one next to it. Then he slid the table over.
She stood and kicked her chair aside, too. There was empty space now between herself and the most handsome hunk she'd ever met in her life. And she was going to make love with him… sort of. She had to smile at the prospect.
He cocked his head to the side in question. But a grin of anticipation crept over his lips. Magnus was obviously waiting for her cue in this strange love game they were about to play.
"Oh, I forgot," Angela said suddenly. "There is one last term I forgot to mention."
Magnus put his face in his hands. "Spare me, Odin. The woman is going to talk some more."
"Now, now," she teased. "I just wanted to say that you can't touch me unless I ask. You have to let me be in control."
"Cannot touch you? Cannot touch you?" His voice was harsh with outrage. "I refuse your terms."
Don't be so hasty, Magnus. Wait for the other shoe to drop. "I will do all the touching."
"You? You will touch me?" She could see his glower change to a twitch of a smile as the implications of her words sank in. "Well, I might reconsider…"
"It will be better than the best sex you've ever had." I cannot believe I just said that. Where is all this nerve coming from? I must be operating on hormone overload here.
"Hmmm."
"I will even…" She said something then that was so provocative, Magnus's eyes widened, and she wondered if she even knew how. Yep, Hormones "R" Us.
"Agreed," he said before she had a chance to reconsider. "Unless you change your mind, of course, about wanting my touch. I ever was persuasive in the bedsport." He waggled his eyebrows at her.
Angela did the most brazen thing then—so brazen she surprised even herself. She untied the cloth belt of her silk robe and stepped out of it. She was totally naked… except for tiny red lace bikini panties.
Magnus gasped. She was pretty sure he was as surprised as she was.
"M'lady, if you are not my destiny, then the gods are playing a cruel jest on me."
"Does that mean you like what you see?" It was difficult for Angela to bare herself so blatantly. Not that she was humble about her attributes. Good genes and regular exercise were responsible for the not-so-bad appearance she knew she presented.
"Are you trying to torture me, m'lady?" he choked out.
"What do you mean?"
"You are naked, in case you hadn't noticed." He wagged a forefinger at her in playful chastisement. "I thought we were only going to engage in a little love-play. Naked equals big, to my mind. Naked in no way, in no country, in no culture equals a little anything. Naked portends something much more serious than 'a little loveplay.' Methinks you are trying to seduce me into breaking my vow."
"Uh-uh! No way! That's not what I meant, and I'm not totally naked, by the way."
He gave her a look, head to toe, that said she was splitting hairs.
"I just want to fool around… naked. Perhaps we will torture each other a little bit." Her defensive explanation sounded weak, even to her ears.
"Whatever," Magnus said with a slow smile. It was becoming one of his favorite words, she'd noticed.
"Does that mean that you don't object?"
"Object? If I were any more willing, certain body parts of mine could start a bonfire." He gave her a rueful look, then added, "But if you are going to torture me, it is only fair that I do the same." With a slow smile he shimmied out of his sweatpants and underwear, both at the same time, and Angela was faced with an astounding fact. Magnus resembled a tree in height; she'd known that from the first. Now she knew that he had some very impressive branches… one in particular.
She must have gasped, as Magnus had, because he winked at her… just before he pulled the jockey shorts back up. She knew why, too, and it was not just to mirror her attire. Dry tupping. That required some item of clothing separating them, didn't it? And actually, he looked just as good in his revealing briefs.
Destiny was pretty appealing right now.
Chapter Nine
Even Vikings get lucky sometimes…
Magnus could not believe his eyes.
The woman he had been waiting for all his life— without knowing it, of course—was standing before him practically naked. And she wanted him. Him… the most lack-witted Viking in all the Norse world. He had to be lack-witted to have wasted all these years with so many other women. Why had he not gone searching for her? Why had he bred babe after babe in meaningless encounters when he could have shared a love child with her?
Although she was not the most comely woman Magnus had ever coupled with, she was beautiful. Though tall for a woman, she barely reached his shoulder. But then he was exceptionally tall, even for a Viking. He had been with some women who could have kissed his navel, they were so short… not that there hadn't been an appeal in that activity at the time. But he knew now he'd been a fool to waste his time so.
Angela's hair formed a cloud of black silk about her heart-shaped face. Her lips were painted crimson red… to match the enticing undergarment, he supposed. He could not wait to kiss it off—the lip color, that is.
Her body was rounded in all the right places. Narrow waist, wider hips. Long, shapely legs. And her breasts… ah, her breasts were high and full and rose-tipped.
He wished he had met her many years ago.
"Why?" she asked.
He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud.
"Because I would not have made so many mistakes in women. Because I would not have had so many children with other women. Because I would have been worthy of you then."
"And because you wouldn't have taken the vow?"
The woman is too perceptive, by far. "That, too," he admitted with a laugh, and opened his arms for her. She had said she wanted to do the touching, but they had to start somewhere. Much more dithering and he was going to do something really disgraceful… like beg. And he knew—not from personal experience— that the sight of a Viking on his knees was not a sight to be relished… unless, of course, the man in question was doing something interesting sexually. That latter he did know from personal experience. Slightly. Only slightly. Holy Thor! Why am I feeling guilty over things I did years ago? It is as if even when I did not know her, I was betraying her.
Angela took one look at his open arms, crossed her own arms over her breasts in delayed modesty, and strolled right by him. The impudent wench! But he got an opportunity to gaze at her saucy behind in the skimpy red undergarment, so he didn't mind her bypassing him too much. She pointed to a long, low piece of furniture made of white cane, which was referred to in this country as a "chaise," and ordered him, "Lie down."
Be still, my heart… and other body parts. If m'lady thinks I am going to balk at her erotic orders, she had best think again. I am game for anything she might toss my way. Well, almost anything, as long as it does not involve breaking my vow… or perversions. Actually, it depends on the perversion. "Do I have to?" he griped in his best youthling whine.
"You agreed to the terms, honey."
Honey? I like that as an endearment… almost as much as sweetling. Mayhap I will use that term myself on occasion. With Angela only, of course. Not with any other woman.
"Lie down," she repeated.
Let the chase begin, he thought as he immediately obeyed. "What now, sweetling?" He was on his back, arms folded under his neck, ankles crossed, staring up at her. Even in this dim light—even with his jaw-keys— he could see his man part standing up like a tent pole. He could also see Angela trying her best not to noti
ce his… uh, tent pole, which was an impossibility. 'Twould be like ignoring an elephant in a brass tub. 'Twas one of the best things about Vikings, his brother Geirolf always said—their tent poles. His brother Jorund claimed it was the Viking ability to maintain erections for an impressive period of time. Usually his brothers had imbibed a huge amount of mead when expounding these wisdoms. Personally he agreed with both philosophies.
"Move over," she said.
He didn't have to be told twice. Now he was on the far side of the chaise, on his left side, facing Angela, who carefully folded herself down beside him, lying on her back, the whole time holding one forearm over her breasts. What a talented lady! What she didn't know was that he could see her endowments anyway. What a talented man!
"You can kiss me," she said, "but that is all. There is no harm in that."
Ha! I will show her just how much "harm" I can do with no touching at all. Magnus leaned over and placed his lips against hers, but in the process he made sure that his chest brushed against her breasts, just a slight whisper of a caress, but enough for her to gasp against his mouth. He smiled even as he moved his lips over hers, shaping and testing. This lady was sorely misguided if she thought she could beat him in the game of bedsport. There were some arenas where he was confident of his expertise. This was one of them.
"I want to make love to you so badly," he confessed.
"Don't," she said on a soft groan.
He raised his head. "What? Speaking is forbidden, as well as touching? You cannot keep changing the terms, Angela."
"No, speaking is not forbidden, you fool."
Ha! I will show her just how much of a fool I am. He kissed Angela then. And kissed her. And kissed her. Long, endless kisses that alternated between gentle and demanding, soft and hard, wet and… well, wet. Mostly openmouthed. And sinfully expressive of his sexual need… and hers, as well. Angela was giving as good as she was getting. Mayhap their kissing bout did not go on for hours and hours, as she had described "making out" as a young girl, but it seemed like hours to him. And she was certainly panting prettily. So was he… though probably not as prettily.
While he was complying with her no-touching order, she was following a different rule. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his back, his buttocks through the thin cloth of his jaw-keys, both sides of his face as if holding him in place for her fervent kisses. He found her touch to be exceedingly arousing, and he would have relished returning the favors, but he did not because of his promise. He was a man who kept his vows.
But who was to say what amounted to touching? He decided that touching meant hands. Therefore he could caress her in other ways… with his mouth, or teeth, or tongue. Even with his legs. Yea, that would be his interpretation.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked.
Like a wolf in the sheep pen, I am. All that is missing is my howl, and that might just come soon. "You make me happy," he replied, which was not really a lie. He began his own assault in earnest then. Moving slowly so as to give her a chance to protest his interpretation of the rules, he kissed his way along her jaw, down to the pulse point in her neck—and thank the gods it was jumping nicely!—on downward toward her breasts the points of which were pressed enticingly against his own skin.
He traced the contours of her lovely breasts, first one, then the other, with his tongue. He nudged her from side to side with his cheeks. There was no waiting for permission when he took one of the engorged nipples into his mouth—all the way—and began to suckle rhythmically with the tip hitting against the roof of his mouth.
She let loose a long, high-pitched moan, and at the same time she arched her back upward and put her hands against his nape, encouraging more. He played her breasts then, employing every trick and talent he had developed over the years; in truth, he invented some new ones with Angela, whose breasts were beyond beautiful, and so very responsive. Like the kisses, his mouth-fondling of her breasts seemed to go on for hours. He wasn't sure either of them could stand much more. Angela was keening softly and writhing from side to side. His blood was racing beneath his skin at breakneck speed, and the erection inside his jaw-keys was nigh to bursting.
Without thinking, he rolled himself atop Angela and parted her thighs with his own legs, thus placing his rampant desire against her rampant desire. Even then, he did not touch her. Instead, he braced his arms on either side of her head and began to move against her, simulating the sex act. He could not control the woofing sounds he made as he attempted to control his out-of-control arousal. He would have been embarrassed, but Angela was counterpointing his woofs with little noises of her own: "Oh, oh, oh, oh…"
They reached their peaks at the same time, his with a triumphant roar, hers with an elongated, "Oooooh!"
It was the best "dry tupping" he had ever had. In act, it was almost as good as intercourse itself. Almost. He and Angela were well matched for sexplay. Of that ere was no doubt.
Magnus started to say, "Thank you," for the gift of pleasure she had given him, but instead, out of nowhere, other words entered his head, and he said, "I love you."
Angela was just as surprised as he was.
Who knew a Viking could rock her world… ?
Angela was stunned.
The man—almost a perfect stranger—had just said that he loved her. Well, not a perfect stranger, after what they'd just done. She had to say she knew him intimately now… sort of.
And Magnus appeared just as stunned as she by his unexpected admission.
"Angela," he murmured.
She was about to tell him that he didn't have to ply her with smooth talk. She'd already made it clear from the beginning that theirs would be a no-commitment relationship. She had no chance to say anything, though, because Magnus had other ideas.
"It is my turn now, sweetling." He was leaning over her once again, and the expression on his face could only be described as determined.
"Your turn?" She almost swallowed her tongue.
He nodded. "The no-touching rule is over. Now we play the game my way." Before she could blink, or raise another question, or a protest, if she was so inclined, Magnus placed a big hand on her tummy, then slid his fingers under the waistband of her panties, skimming her pubic hair, and delving right into her cleft.
"Wet," he pronounced with great satisfaction, and smiled at her.
"Well, of course I'm wet. What did you expect?" Mortified, she tried to squirm away from his probing fingers, but he would not allow that. "Oh, no… Magnus!… really, I don't think—"
"Shhhh!" he whispered against her ear. "Let me."
And she did.
Angela had no idea she had the expertise, or the nerve, or the moves. She had somehow turned into a sex goddess. Within moments—way-too-short, embarrassing moments—she climaxed again.
He raised a brow in amusement when she tried once again to squirm away and avoid his scrutiny.
"What can I say? I must be a slut."
He laughed. "Nay, I just have talented fingers."
"No one can accuse you of humility," she said. "It's more likely that I'm just pathetic."
"Perchance we are both pathetic… in our need for each other."
"Whatever," she said.
Magnus threw back his head and laughed. What an odd reaction to such a simple word.
But then she had no more time to think about simple things… like words. Magnus was aroused again. She knew by the way his new erection pressed against her thigh. And he could tell that she knew, as evidenced by his soft chuckle as he rolled over on his back and adjusted her astride him. The change in position was a feat in itself, since the chaise longue was not all that wide.
He had a self-satisfied expression on his face, which she couldn't let stand… although she hated to move away from the delicious sensations created by her crotch resting against his crotch. Still…
She slid her bottom down his thigh, tugged on the waistband of his shorts, and let his penis spring forth. His very huge, very hard penis. Her eye
s probably bulged with amazement before she took him in both hands and moved.
"Holy Thor!" he said through gritted teeth. Then, "Holy, holy, holy Thor!"
Before she could move the circle of her hands up and down the smooth column more than two times, Magnus swore again, shoved her hands aside, pulled up his pants, and jerked her up to straddle him again.
"Ride," he ordered.
And she knew just what he wanted. But, golly, she would have thought that she would be the one in control when she'd ordered him not to touch her. Somehow she had quickly lost control. And now, when she'd reversed roles and taken him in hand, she was the one out of control again.
"I want you to be wanton, Angela," he pleaded hoarsely as he put his hands on her hips and showed her the movements he liked. "No inhibitions. Lose control… for me."
Is the man a mind reader, too?
But Angela soon lost the thread of that thought as her control melted like butter under a hot knife, and that hot knife was stabbing at her most erotic places with a delicious rhythm. She imagined that her eyes were rolling in their sockets like a pinball machine. When they came this time, powerful shudders shook them both and she lay collapsed across him like a rag doll.
It was more than sex, more than a physical act. In a way she could not explain, she felt as if some electrical current had zigzagged back and forth between them, burning and bonding them. Aftershocks shook them both.
And they hadn't even had intercourse.
Amazing!
Finally she raised herself up on her arms and stared down at him. He was as solemn and incredulous as she was.
"What just happened here?" she asked.
He thought for a moment and then replied, "Destiny."
The morning after… sort of…
First thing the following morning, Angela was having second thoughts.
Who was that person who bared her body like a horny harlot?
What could I have been thinking?
When did I start engaging in stranger sex? Stranger in more ways than one…