Kiss of Pride

by Sandra Hill

  He put his hands on her butt, despite her earlier admonition, yanked her closer, and whispered against her ear, “You ne’er told me that your kind of dancing was but a form of foresport.”

  “See, old man that you are, there is something you can learn from me.”

  “I ne’er doubted that, sweetling.”

  “What else have I taught you?” she asked, leaning her head back to look at him.

  “How to love,” he replied, before he had a chance to bridle his tongue.

  But she did not even blink at his words. Instead she said, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

  That wasn’t what he’d meant.

  Was it?

  “Uh,” he said. How dull-witted was that? Pathetic, really. He was a hardened warrior, a man seasoned by a thousand years of hard work and fighting. Always fighting. Ne’er had he avoided battle or foe, and yet he shivered like a boyling in his first bout of swordplay.

  And he said nothing.

  Thirteen

  The path to love is often a broken road . . .

  Transylvania feature, Kelly Page 1

  Draft Nine

  Love is in the air in Transylvania.

  Perhaps it is the popularity of vampires in books, TV, and movies, but there’s something about a dark, tortured hero with incredible staying power, and not of the long life kind. The only thing sexier than a vampire today is an angel. Yes, angels are the new hot hero . . . especially fallen angels.

  But what if the two were combined? Vampires and angels. Be still, beating hearts of American women, but that’s just what you’ll find in the sleepy town of Transylvania, Pennsylvania.

  The only question is: How to catch a vampire angel? Or more important, what kind of future is there with a man who lives forever?

  Maybe the answer is to . . .

  Alex saw the expression of fear on Vikar’s face and had to laugh. A sad laugh.

  “Silly! I didn’t tell you that because I expected a response.” Although it would have been nice. “Good Lord, you look as if you swallowed a bushel of sour apples.” She put a hand to his clean-shaven face and went up on tiptoes to kiss him lightly on his stunned lips.

  “Silly? You call me silly,” he growled and kissed her back, harder and longer. “Because I hesitate does not mean I do not share your feelings. On the contrary, my heartling.”

  Heartling. Hopes that Alex had thought long dead began to ignite, like embers from the ashes of her grief. She had been cold for so long.

  “I am not an impulsive man, and this is all new to me.”

  Oh, sweetheart! Me too.

  “I have never felt this way before.”

  Sad to say, neither have I.

  “In truth, I do not understand how I am feeling, and why you have been sent to me at this time in my life, a life which truly feels godforsaken on occasion. I have nothing to offer a woman like you. A human, no less.”

  Hah! You think you have the patent on confusion? Bad enough that I’m falling for a vampire, but an angel, as well. She shook her head. “Not godforsaken at all, I suspect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe all this bloodsucking business has altered my brain in some way, but I feel good. For the first time in years I’m not obsessing over my dead daughter and vengeance and how dismal my future looks.” Could it be that cleansing stuff really works? “If there is a God, and if He did in fact send me here, then there must be a purpose to it all. What, I’m not sure. But it doesn’t feel like any forsaking going on. I’m not making sense, am I?”

  “More than you know.”

  They stood in place, just swaying in each other’s arms, listening to the band morph into another slow song, this time Sheryl Crow’s “The First Cut Is the Deepest.”

  After a while, she broke their silence, without raising her head from his shoulder. “I think we need to take what’s been handed to us as a gift. Maybe a temporary gift. But let’s relish it while we can.” I can’t think about leaving here. Not yet. One day at a time.

  She could feel him smile against her hair. “Does that mean I get to unwrap my gift later?” he asked.

  “Better than that,” she said, raising her head to see his twinkling eyes. He had the most beautiful blue eyes, all the vangels did, but when he was excited, they turned silvery. “I have a really good idea for near-sex.” It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet! “You won’t believe—”

  “Shh,” he said, putting a forefinger on her lips. “Don’t tell me. Surprise me.” Tucking her face back into the crook of his neck, he added, “Besides, you’ll make me peak here in the middle of the dance floor. Bad enough you make my cock dance with this music foresport.”

  She could feel how aroused he already was and opted for teasing. “I thought that was your sword.”

  “It is. My mansword.” They swayed from side to side for several moments, now to the music of “The Broken Road,” the words of which seemed particularly meaningful to both of them. But then Vikar stiffened. “Uh-oh!”

  “What?”

  “Time to go home,” he said, and made some kind of signal to Sigurd, who nodded.

  “What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He motioned toward Armod, who was slow dancing with the girl, his chin resting on the top of her head. Even though his eyes were closed, his fangs were out. “He can’t help himself,” Vikar said.

  Soon they were on their way back to the castle with Armod chattering away excitedly, telling them everything she said, he said, what they did, how she felt, how he felt. Alex gave the big Viking brothers kudos for listening and not making fun of the boy, although she saw Mordr and Ivak exchange amused glances.

  “I will tell you one thing,” Mordr said. “You will ne’er see me dancing. No matter how much I might want a woman, you would not catch me making such a fool of myself.”

  “It can be fun,” Ivak contended.

  “You looked like an idiot,” Mordr said.

  “I could have had the woman in the parking lot, if I wanted, after a few dance steps. How many women were lining up for your favors?” Ivak countered.

  “You did not need to dance for that, Ivak,” Sigurd remarked. “At least two women approached you at the bar.”

  “I liked the dancing,” Vikar interjected. “ ’Twas like foresport.”

  Did he have to divulge that? Alex felt her face heat.

  “We all noticed,” Cnut hooted gleefully.

  Her face heated even more.

  “What you were doing was not dancing, Vikar. That was just mutual rubbing,” Mordr declared.

  I must have steam rising off my cheeks.

  “I was referring to the jiggling and jumping that Ivak and Armod engaged in,” Mordr explained.

  “Whaaat?” Armod exclaimed. “I do not jiggle when I dance.”

  “Only my best parts jiggle,” Ivak added.

  They all laughed then.

  Vikar took her hand in his, linking their fingers. Silence settled over the interior of the van as they drove up the lane to the castle. “I do, you know,” he whispered against her ear. “I love you.”

  Imaginary sex was never so imaginative . . .

  Two hours later, after making sure the castle was secure for the night, Vikar knelt down in his bedchamber and said a short prayer for strength. “I love her. God help me, but I love her. What should I do?”

  It had to be the first time in history a man sought celestial blessing for illicit sexual activity. Oh, he wasn’t asking for permission to go all the way. Even he, in his brain-fuzzy, lustsome state, was not that lackwitted. But he feared that he was on shaky ground even with near-sex.

  He stood and prepared to go up to Alex’s tower room.

  Now would be the time for Michael to smite him down for daring to bother them with such trivial matters. Trivial for them, not him. But nothing happened.

  Any other thoughts he had dissolved quicker than a Lucipire on the way to Hell when he saw what Alex
had prepared for him. The tower room was alight with a dozen different candles. She wore naught but a one-piece, thigh-length, silk garment with thin straps. On her legs were the wonderful silk hose and the high-heeled shoes. And, most ominous, she had arranged two straight-backed, armless chairs, facing each other, at least eight feet apart.

  He raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I have something special planned for you,” she said huskily.

  He loved the huskiness of her voice. It portended good things. For him. For them both. “I can see that.” Oh, my racing heart! I can see . . . and imagine.

  She shook her head. “No, you can’t see what I have planned. We are going to have imaginary sex.”

  Like minds? “I do not like the sound of that,” he said. “I have enough imaginary sex with myself.”

  “Trust me.” At his hesitation, she added, “C’mon. You’re a Viking. Be adventuresome. Put yourself in my hands.”

  Oh, sweetling, you are pure temptation. “I better not.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  Afraid of how much I would like being in your hands. “Well, if you insist. What do you want me to do?”

  “Take off your clothing. All of it. And sit on that chair over there.”

  Some men preferred virgins for bed partners, but not him. Was there anything more alluring than a woman who asserts herself in the bedsport? “You do not waste time with preliminaries, do you?”

  “There is a time for that. This isn’t it.”

  He removed his garments down to the bare skin, head to toe, and sat down, spreading his legs a bit to accommodate his already impressive thickening. “Are you going to come sit down on my lap?”

  She laughed, giving his cock a sardonic study. “No.”

  That was blunt. “Not at all?”

  She shook her head with a saucy glint in her green eyes. “No touching at all. Not on my dime.”

  Is she demented? “That is interesting.” I have news for you, wench. There is going to be touching. On my dime. He waved a hand toward her. “Proceed.”

  She arched her brows at his peremptory gesture, then perched her pert butt on the edge of the opposite chair.

  “You are not going to disrobe? Oh, I do not like that disparity. Not at all.”

  “In a minute. We’re going to play a game.”

  Games, games, games! Why can women not just get on with it, like men do? “I am a great game player.” He folded his arms over his chest, splayed his legs out in a relaxed pose, and inquired lazily, “What are the rules of this game?”

  “We are going to make love without touching each other.”

  And I am to be happy about that? “Oh, that is just wonderful! My favorite kind of lovemaking!” If you believe that, wench . . . He sighed deeply. “Let the games begin.”

  “Okay, I’ll start. Close your eyes. Now picture that I am touching your face. Gently. Just with my fingertips. Along your jaw, over your nose, your eyebrows, your ears, your lips.”

  Ho-hum.

  “Now I’m going to kiss you, but first I’ll use the tip of my tongue to outline their shape.”

  A little better.

  “You have beautiful lips, did you know that?”

  Do you jest? I am guilty of the sin of pride. Of course I am aware of my physical attributes.

  “Your lips are full and well-defined. Perfect lips for a man.”

  Can we get on with the good stuff?

  “Now I’m threading my fingers through your hair to hold you at the right angle, and I’m placing my lips over yours, moving gently from side to side until I get just the right fit.”

  Enough with the gentleness! Hard. Kiss me hard.

  “I love the way you kiss me back without grabbing for me.”

  Ah, but I’d like to grab.

  “Just your lips. You are loving me with your lips only. Part for me, darling. That’s the way. Can you feel me sticking just the pointy end of my tongue inside your mouth?”

  Hah! I feel it all the way to my loins.

  “Oh, you rascal! You sucked me in and are drawing on me, not letting me escape. Now I’m out and in again. Over and over. You taste like minty mouthwash and your own unique flavor. Did you know you have a unique flavor, Vikar?”

  Mayhap games are not so bad after all.

  “Ah, you are breathing hard. Did you like my kiss?”

  It’s over? His eyes shot open.

  She stared at him through misty green, sex-hazed eyes. Her lips were parted and moist. Was she aroused just from watching him get aroused? She was!

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Ah, he began to understand the plan of her game . . . and its allure. He smiled and said, “Let us see what skill I have in game playing, shall we? Close your eyes, witch.”

  She did. Biddable, for once. Thank you . . . Someone.

  “I have had enough of lip kisses, though I enjoyed yours overmuch. Arch your head back so I can access your sweet neck. Now, feel my whispery kissing along your stubborn jaw with a little nip at that dent in the center. Now, the arch of your neck, right there on the curve. Ummm. Delicious. Can I suck on it a little?” His fangs were out and aching. “You like my kiss there, I can tell. Your pulse is racing.” In truth, his pulse was racing, too.”

  Her eyelids fluttered at his words.

  “No, do not open your eyes. Remember the rules.”

  “Tyrant,” she muttered.

  “I’m looking lower now.” Whoa! I am definitely looking. “I like your garment.” If Norsewomen in the ninth century had garments like that, their men would not have gone a-Viking so much. “I like that it leaves all that creamy skin exposed and all those delicious freckles.”

  “What is it with you and freckles?”

  “Shh! My turn to talk. You listen.”

  “Tyrant,” she muttered again, but she had a slight smile on her lips.

  “I am touching your skin with my fingertips. From your neck on one side, over the shoulder, down your arm to your wrist. I turn your arm over and trace your skin from your palm, over the inside of the wrist, the inside of the elbow, even your shaved armpits. Then I do the same on the other side. Does your skin tingle?” I know mine does. A tingling Viking. What is happening to me?

  “Yes, I tingle. You are good at this game. You must have played before.”

  “Never.” I probably would have, though, if I’d known it could be so fun.

  “Are you done?”

  “You jest.” I have just begun, sweetling. I have just begun. “Lower both of the straps. Slowly. And let the garment pool at your waist.”

  He gasped. He could not help himself. That was the effect her exposed breasts had on him. Another part of his body was equally affected. If cocks could speak, his would be singing Hallelujahs.

  Her breasts were creamy globes the size of grapefruit halves, sprinkled with freckles. In their center were dark rose areolae and even darker nipples. A perfect size, not so big but giving the appearance of being deliciously overendowed because of her slim frame.

  “Lift your breasts from underneath. Pretend I am testing their weight to see how they would fit in my big palms. Perfect. And now I am touching each of the nipples to bring them to peak. Do it for me. Pretty little buds, they are, but let’s make them bigger, shall we? Let’s flick them. Harder. That is the way. Now, shall I suckle you? Just a little?”

  “Please,” she choked out.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Wonderful,” she said, then, “harder.”

  He chuckled. “Demanding wench! Is this better? I have drawn your breast, areola and all, into my mouth and am suckling hard. Very hard. Ah, but I don’t want to hurt you. So I will lave your breast, all over. And now I will do the same to the other breast.”

  Without being asked, she parted her legs and stiffened her legs.

  Hot damn! She is peaking. Just by using wicked words. “Relax, sweetling. Let it happen. Open your legs wider. Are you wet? Do not answer. I know you are. Put your forefing
er there, just for a moment, just to test.”

  She did and he watched as she came apart before his eyes.

  He put a hand to himself to hold back his own peaking. Think of something unsexual. Cold icy glaciers in the Norselands. Stinky lutefisk. A two-day alehead. Lucipires.

  His efforts paid off. A little. He did not ejaculate, but he was still bone-hard and throbbing.

  “Are you still there? Why are you so quiet?” Her eyes opened and then went wider. “Why are you holding yourself? No fair!”

  “I am only holding myself to keep from spilling my seed.” He dropped his hands to his side.

  “Good heavens! I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so big outside a porn flick.”

  Filled with male satisfaction at what he took to be a compliment, he studied her for a long moment. Still bare from the waist up, a flush now tinted her skin all the way over her chest, her neck, up to her forehead. It was the sex flush that came after peaking. He got undue pleasure seeing her thus, as if he’d accomplished some great mission. He had. Pleasing his woman was one of a Viking’s greatest fulfillments, next to riding the waves on a favorite longship, or drinking a horn of good mead after a day’s hard work.

  Best he rein in his pride, though. “I have seen bigger. Ketil the Horseface had one so big that maids ran when they saw him coming. And Arnstein Wartnose had one so long it hung to his knees.” At the look of disgust on her face, he decided that perchance he’d shared too much.

  “Close your eyes, Viking. It’s my turn to spin this fantasy.”

  “Very well, but whilst my eyes are closed, remove your garment so that the first thing I see when I look again will be your fluffy mons. Leave your shoes and hose on. I have a hankering to see you prance about the chamber wearing those.”

  As he closed his eyes, he heard her make a choking sound. “I do not prance.”

  “Strut then.”

  “I do not strut, either.”

  “Bloody hell! Just walk then. Now, proceed. My cock is about to explode.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m taking off the rest of my teddy. That’s what they call this garment. Now I’m sitting back down, but you must picture me straddling your lap. You spread your knees wider to expose me more. You wretch. I need to put my hands on your shoulder to stay upright.”