Kiss of Wrath

by Sandra Hill

  “Mordr, group therapy is serious. What is your sexual problem? What brings you here today?”

  Big mistake!

  “Ah! You should finally ask!” He rolled his eyes meaningfully at the rest of the group. “I have had sex only ten times in the past thousand or so years. Four of those times in one night and six the following day. With Miranda, of course. I was especially fond of the mouth tupping under the desk. And now she has refused to see me again.”

  “Four times in one night!” Helen sighed with envy.

  “I am not having sex under a desk,” Bob asserted.

  “Exactly what kind of sex is mouth tupping? Details, honey? Details?” Jenny was licking her red lips with anticipation.

  “Bullshit!” Marty said with a sneer. “No guy can do it that many times in a day and a half.”

  “I am a Viking,” Mordr told Marty. “We are better endowed than the average man.”

  “Bullshit!” Marty repeated.

  “I did not even have a chance to show her the Viking S-spot.” Mordr put on a woeful puppy-dog face. Where was Mr. Grim now?

  “The whaaat?” Jenny was practically hyperventilating.

  “Uh, I think we need to end this session early today,” Miranda intervened, fearing what might come next. “Mordr and I have some things to discuss. Next time we’ll stay an extra half hour, if that’s okay with you all.”

  The others slowly exited with knowing grins and snickers.

  When they were gone, Miranda put her hands on her hips and glared at Mordr. “This was outrageous, even for you. How could you, Mordr? I work here. You can’t barge in and interrupt my professional work.”

  He shrugged. “You would not grant me entrance to your home. Come. I have something to show you.”

  “I’m not interested. Do you understand how improper it was for you to interrupt my work sessions?”

  “Being proper has never been of much importance to me. Come.” He held out a hand for her.

  She swatted the hand away. “And what’s with the motorcycle gear anyhow?”

  “I bought a motorcycle. Is this not what one wears on a motorcycle?”

  “You bought a motorcycle? What next? A longship?”

  “How did you know?” At the expression of shock on her face, he flicked her gaping mouth shut with a forefinger, then disclosed, “No, I did not buy a ship . . . precisely. I did buy a motorboat. And I bought a car. Not a car . . . precisely.”

  “Enough with the ‘precisely’ crap. What did you buy?”

  “A van which will easily hold a man, a woman, five children, and a dog. And a boat. A motorboat, not a longship. Actually, I went to the car market to buy the car, and saw the boat and motorcycle there. I made a good bargain. The family package.”

  She stamped her foot. “We are not your family.”

  “You should be,” he said. “You will be.”

  She stamped her foot again. “No, no, no!”

  He stamped his boot. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  She frowned at him.

  He smiled at her.

  “Trond told me that motorcycles are a surefire way to melt a woman’s heart, or leastways her female parts. Spread legs. Vibrations. Holding on to her man. Wind on the nether regions.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “I cannot believe you said that.”

  “Believe it,” he said. “Enough squabbling, wench!” On those ominous words, he picked her up by the waist, tossed her over his shoulder, then walked out of the office and over to the elevator, down to the parking garage where there was, indeed, a motorcycle with two helmets. Along the way when they passed stunned folks, Mordr told them, “Do not worry. The wench and I are playing a sex game.”

  “Are you going to kidnap me now?”

  “If that is what it takes?”

  In the elevator, a weary-looking cleaning lady asked Miranda, “Do you want me to call 911?”

  Miranda craned her head up from where it was hanging down his back to better see the woman. “No. I’ll call myself. After I kill him.”

  A half hour later—and, yes, certain body parts were feeling the effect of the vibrating machine—they arrived at a house sitting on about five acres of land. There was a stone fence with an iron gate surrounding the property. Using a remote, Mordr opened the gate and they rode through onto a curved driveway.

  “You’re trespassing,” she sputtered as he cut the motor before the front entrance and lifted her off the bike. At first, he had to hold her up because her legs were so shaky.

  “No, I am not. It is my home. Our home.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “You should. It was not easy finding the perfect dwelling and buying it all within one week.”

  “Perfect for whom?” She tried not to stare at the house that was beyond beautiful. A two-story cedar home with long porches and a French door leading to colorful garden patios, and, if she was not mistaken, an in-ground pool in back.

  “For all of us. I know that you are annoyed with me for not coming to you immediately after being released by Michael, but I am not a man prone to acting with haste.”

  “Haste? Pfff! More like turtle slow.”

  He pinched her butt for the interruption. “The sex betwixt us was good, you must admit—”

  “I wouldn’t know. It’s been so long that I forget.”

  He pinched her other butt cheek. “. . . but I knew you needed more than that. A permanent man in your and the children’s life was essential.”

  “Who says every woman needs a man? Sometimes a good vibrator will do.”

  “You have a vibrator? Never mind. We will come back to that later. So, I pondered the best way that I could show that I intend to stay around. A home, that is what I decided. Well, Vikar advised me on that course. Being wed with two children, he is much in favor of home and hearth these days.”

  “You’re seeking love advice from your brothers?” she asked with a laugh.

  “Hah! I will take any help I can get, even from my mocking, halfbrained brothers,” he said. “And, of course, I had to provide a place of safety, Cnut reminded me. Sorry I am to say this, sweetling, but your home is not safe. I will always be fighting Lucipires, and I cannot have my family exposed to potential danger in a development such as yours. Besides, your children need a father.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one. I thought of it myself.” When she still stood before him, unmoved, he said, “Above all else, I am the one in need.” He gulped, and his voice was raspy as he concluded, “I need you. All of you.”

  “Oh, Mordr!”

  He could tell that she was melting, but to give him credit, he didn’t immediately do a fist pump in the air for victory, or jump her bones. Instead, he took her hand and led her on a tour. The house was unfurnished but he had a vision for all the rooms, including a bedroom for each of the children, separate rooms over the garage for a housekeeper and a gardener, and a master suite with privacy for themselves.

  His eyes gleamed with mischief for a moment. “That last was Ivak’s idea. Much sex needs much privacy. Those were his exact words.”

  She was standing at the windows of the master bedroom looking out over the back lawn. It was a perfect house. Large, but not pretentious. Cozy, despite its dimensions. She should be offended that he’d made such a big decision without her input, but she couldn’t find anything missing.

  “I thought Mayberry was your idea of an ideal home,” she said, swiping at a tear.

  His face fell. “You would rather have a house in a small town? I thought you preferred being near your work.”

  “I was teasing.”

  “Oh.” He stared at her. “Will you marry me?” he asked without preamble. Before she had a chance to answer, he said, “No. Do not say anything. Let me convince you.” He was already peeling off his jacket and toeing off his boots.

  “Which brother gave you that advice?”

  “None. I am not entirely without imagination.”

  She
backed up. “Wait. Sex isn’t the answer to everything.” Did I really say such a dumb thing? Must be all that vibration loosened something in my brain.

  “Hah! It’s damn near enough.” His blue eyes were turning silver with arousal. Already.

  To be honest, she’d been ready since she hopped onto that wretched motorcycle.

  She should have been continuing to protest, but she was too fascinated by Mordr’s striptease. At least, it felt like teasing to her. Actually, he was naked within moments. And hung like a horse . . . or was that “hung like a Norse”? My brain really is falling apart to make such a crude joke with myself. Good thing I didn’t say it out loud.

  “All of us Vikings are,” he remarked.

  Oh damn! I did say it out loud.

  Instead of coming up to her then, he leaned against the opposite wall and said, “Your turn. Disrobe for me, sweetling. Slowly.”

  She laughed. “You’re the one supposed to be seducing me.”

  “Betimes a man can seduce a woman just by watching her unveil her hidden body secrets. And, no, I did not learn that from one of my brothers. There are some talents I perfected on my own.”

  “Sex talents?”

  He nodded and waved a hand peremptorily for her to begin her stripping.

  Her pride and her hurt over his absence still had not been assuaged. And she had legitimate reasons for thinking their future together would be a shaky one. “No,” she said, reminding herself that she had to make decisions for six, not just herself.

  Instead of frowning, he smiled with satisfaction. “I thought you would say that.” He walked over to a door, which he opened wide, causing an inner light to go on automatically. It was a narrow walk-in closet with a mirror at one end and hanging pegs along both side walls. From two of those pegs hung long silk scarves.

  She made the mistake of walking in to examine the closet closer, realizing too late that the door was closing behind them, dimming the lights. Mordr was in the closet with her and he immediately turned on a manual light switch.

  “Now the seduction begins,” he purred.

  And it did.

  Boy, did it ever!

  Despite her protests and squirming body, he stripped her down, faster than a starving boy could peel a banana. Too soon, or too late, he had her hands tied to either wall and she was facing the mirror. Buck naked. With a buck naked Mordr standing behind her.

  She cringed. “I don’t like this, Mordr. Most women don’t like looking at their nude bodies in a mirror. We see all our imperfections.”

  “Ah. Then it will be my job to extol all your perfections,” he said, staring at her reflection over one shoulder while his arms encircled her from behind and his big hands cupped her breasts from underneath. “Like these sweet fruits.” He flicked the nipples with his thumbs while still raising her breasts higher. “See how they bloom, like big pink berries. I cannot wait to taste them.”

  She made a gurgling sound, of pleasure or protest, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Her Viking was moving on to new sites.

  “Do you still not like this?” he murmured as he kissed her shoulder and rubbed his erection against the crease of her buttocks. He had to bend his knees slightly to put them on the same level and spread to bring himself closer. Meanwhile, his hands were busy caressing her abdomen and belly and hips and—thank you, God—lower. “Sweet cream, your skin is. I cannot wait to lick you all over, like a cat. Your smooth skin, my rough tongue.”

  That image had just about sunk in when she felt a light sweep of calloused palms over her red curls. “Threads of fire, coated with honey. Mmmmm.”

  It was fascinating to see the contrast of his big hands against her smaller-boned body. It was tantalizing to hear his sex-husky voice murmur against her ear. It was heaven to see how much a man like him could want a woman like her.

  “You did not answer me, Miranda.”

  “What?”

  “I asked if you still don’t like this mirror foresport? Never mind. I got my answer.”

  She turned her head and found his lips. Kissing him like this when she couldn’t engage other parts of her body, just her mouth, was a novel experience. She moved right and left and back again, seeking the best fit. She parted his lips with her tongue and explored, even passing her tongue over his fangs, which seemed especially sensitive.

  He growled, seductively, and took over the kiss. Masterfully.

  She could barely stand when he was done with her mouth and moved his kisses to her neck, where he was licking and nipping, restraining himself from fanging her.

  Staring forward, she could barely recognize herself. Her hair, which had been in a neat ponytail, was now loose and wild and curly. Her eyes were half lidded. Her lips were bruised and rosy hued from kissing. From this prism, she didn’t look half bad, she decided. A male fantasy, for sure. Who was she kidding? It was a female fantasy, too.

  “Don’t you want to know if I’m seduced yet?” she murmured as she arched her breasts out to ease the ache that throbbed in them.

  “Not yet.”

  “Touch me some more,” she told him, rubbing her bottom against his erection, which felt hot and even bigger. Harder.

  “I have a better idea, sweetling.” He undid the scarves, but when she tried to turn in his arms, he stopped her. “Touch yourself.”

  “What? No.”

  “Do not go shy on me now, love. I want to watch when you bring yourself to peak.”

  Miranda had never done this before. Well, not in front of a mirror. And definitely not in front of a man. But Mordr wasn’t any man. And he had called her “love.”

  So she caressed her own body and took the most pleasure in his glittering silver eyes, his flared nostrils, his parted lips, his hands which were fisted and pressed against either wall. When she could feel her climax coming, she turned and reached for him. “Not alone.”

  Braced against the wall now, he lifted her up and onto his penis. Slow, slow, slow until he filled her. His hands held her up from under the buttocks and guided the rhythm. Meanwhile he kissed her and whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” When her orgasm came with a pounding crash, she found herself lying on the carpeted floor with Mordr above her, neck stretched back, straining to his own climax. Before the end, he put his fangs to her neck and bit her. “Just a little, just a little.” Which caused her arousal to rise all over again in shooting waves of the most intense pleasure as her inner folds locked around him, trying to keep him inside. She came again, and then again.

  When Mordr’s breathing slowed and she felt as if she might actually live, he raised his head and extended his arms, relieving his weight off her. “Will you marry me, Miranda?”

  She put a loving hand up to his face. “You have a lot of baggage, Mordr. Marrying you is not as simple as marrying most men.”

  “I know. It would be asking a lot of you to share my kind of life. Selfish, in fact. But I cannot help but ask. The thought of living another year, let alone dozens . . . hundreds . . . of years alone is just too painful to contemplate.”

  Her heart ached for him, for the man he had been when she first met him. Grim, sad, desperately alone with his guilt and rage. Could she condemn him to that fate again?

  “I promise to love you and take care of you and your children. I cannot give you children of your own womb, but I will help you with those children of your heart. I will try my best to be a good husband and father.”

  Tears welled in her eyes at his heartfelt promises. “Will Michael allow us to be together?”

  “I think so. He is not happy with me, but, yes, he will agree.”

  “What if he changes his mind, for whatever reason, next month or next year? I don’t think I could bear to go through this kind of separation again. And the children, too. They are just now getting used to your not being around.”

  “I asked them for your hand in marriage, and they agreed.”

  She gazed up at him with mock indignation, “Don’t you think you should have
asked me first?”

  “I did, but you said no.”

  She shook her head at his hopelessness. “Ask again.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  She nodded and when he smiled—Mordr had a wonderful smile—she told him, “You had me with the heart bump.”

  “The what?”

  “Heart bump.” She showed him by pounding a fist over her heart once and extending the open palm toward him. A graceful gesture done best in slow motion.

  “I do that?”

  “You do.”

  They both glanced upward then. Michael.

  Epilogue

  A garden party, Viking style . . .

  Mordr Sigurdsson and Miranda Hart were married three weeks later in the backyard of their new home.

  A rental company provided a large tent to accommodate the fifty family members and guests who attended. Caterers provided a fancy buffet for the reception that followed. Some folks were surprised to see Oreos on the table. The bartender was told to make sure there was plenty of beer. Vikings did like their beer! There was also a case of Fake-O in the basement refrigerator for any vangels in need.

  To show that he was a modern man and willing to live a modern life for his new wife, Mordr wore a black tuxedo, not the usual Norse wedding attire. Because he’d been out on a mission last week, saving sinners threatened by Lucipires in Atlantic City, his skin was a deep tan, a handsome complement to his blond hair, which was growing out, something his new wife encouraged. She had loved his war braids, which she preferred to call “love braids” when they were in the privacy of their own room.

  His brother Vikar, his best man, and his five groomsmen, Trond, Ivak, Cnut, Harek, and Sigurd, wore tuxedos, as well. Darla, who was Miranda’s maid of honor, said it was the best eye candy she’d ever seen and soon had everyone calling Sigurd Dr. McDreamy, to which he just smiled, not at all embarrassed. He probably got that a lot at Johns Hopkins. Also, Vikings liked to embarrass one another. It was in their genes.

  Miranda wore a calf-length, long-sleeved, scoop-necked cocktail dress of cream-colored lace. Her red hair was piled atop her head, interweaved with a circlet of miniature cream roses and white baby’s breath. Mordr whispered to her that the best thing about lace was the skin that peeked through. Pure temptation. She wore an amber heart in an ancient gold pendant about her neck, a bride gift from Mordr the night before. She’d thanked him appropriately.