The Pirate Bride (17 page)

“Can I not be both?”

“Apparently you are.”

“You were a pirate at one time, too. ’Tis hardly fair of you to criticize me for doing the same.”

“There is a difference. You are a woman and I am a man.” He paused to let her know he was well aware of the difference after their recent activity.

“Men have been using that excuse for centuries. And women have been proving them wrong for centuries.”

He wasn’t precisely sure what ways women had outdone men, but she was probably correct. All the women in his family were independent and capable of caring for themselves . . . his mother, his aunt Eadyth, his cousins. “I was a pirate for a good cause. To undermine that evil King Edred.”

“And we are pirates to survive.”

“Must you always be at cross-wills with me?” When she just shrugged, he added, “Besides, I never criticized you for being a pirate. Just for being a pirate who captured
me
.”

She shrugged again. He was coming to mislike her shrugs, not that his view would stop her.

“If you were pirating for a good cause, why is your father so upset with you?”

He could feel his face heat with color. “That was not the only bad thing I have ever done.”

She made a muffled sound of suppressed laughter.

“Beware, M’Lady Pirate. Now that I no longer have to be good to please my father, I may try my bad on you.”

“I thought you already had.”

“Not even a bit.”

Enough of this line of conversation afore he tossed her to the ground and tried her charms, again. He walked away from her and glanced around their surroundings and out to sea. All was calm. The two dots that were Sigrun and Salvana moved about Small Island, working industriously on some chore that involved dragging a long piece of driftwood, probably intended for firewood. The big dog was tugging one way while they tugged the other. “Too bad the pond is so far away. I could use a good wash after all that exercise.” Medana had come up to stand beside him. He waggled his eyebrows to indicate what exercise he meant. When he was a younger, less experienced male, he used to practice waggling his eyebrows in front of his mother’s polished brass. In time, he’d perfected the art. There were so many types of waggles for so many occasions, most of them sexual in tone.

She ignored the waggle and said, “There is no pond up here, of course, but there are headwaters for the mountain stream. A small waterfall and an equally small pool.”

“Lead on, my winsome leader,” he said.

She mumbled something about “winsome indeed!” but she didn’t protest when he laced his fingers with hers while they walked a distance from the clearing along a well-trod path that she explained without his asking. “The guardswomen up here use the headwaters for drinking water. And bathing.”

It was indeed a small waterfall and the spillover pool no more than thigh-high and two arm’s lengths across. It was not a true headwater, either, since it merely led to a tiny stream trickling down into the valley. An unreliable source of water for the women.

But the water here was cool and clean. After sluicing himself with handfuls of water, he gave in and just lay down under the water. When he came back up, Medana had removed her chemise and was sitting in the deepest part, her breasts demurely covered. Not that he couldn’t see through the clear water, but he decided not to inform her of that fact.

It always amazed Thork how women could perform the most wanton acts during the night and then turn blushing virgin on the morn. Not that they’d coupled in the dark or that Medana had been all that wanton. But it was early hours yet. He could only hope.

Thork’s stomach growled then, and he realized he was ravenously hungry. “Is there any food left?” he asked Medana.

“I was thinking the same thing. Yea, there’s plenty.”

On the way back to the clearing, Thork glanced at Medana and winked. “Have you ever heard of the Viking S-spot?”

Chapter Sixteen

Alas, paradise can last only so long. Thus, Paradise Lost . . .

M
edana soon came to the conclusion that Thork was insatiable. And to her shame, she was proving insatiable, too.

What if she developed a craving for sex? What if she had a dormant harlot inside her that Thork had managed to tap to life? What if she liked it so much that she became like some of her more wanton women, those who could not wait ’til they went to market towns so they could be tupped by men? And not just for babies, either. Would she be encouraging the pirate women to capture more men in the future, just so they had sex partners for a time before discarding them like used goods? Like men did to women?

When they’d returned to the clearing, Thork’s hunger had dissipated, or rather was replaced with a different kind of hunger, and he’d coaxed her into removing her chemise so he could examine her for ticks. He’d sworn he saw some in the woods. And, damn her foolish heart, but she’d let herself be coaxed. And checked him for ticks, too.

Then he’d proceeded to show her the Viking S-spot. With his tongue! On her body! Or in her body, to be more precise. Praise be Valkyries! She blushed even recalling what he had done. What she had allowed him to do.

Afterward, they’d devoured the rest of the food and wine, and now the insatiable rogue was giving her that look again.

“What?” she asked, a dimwitted thing to say in the circumstances.

“Do you not think it is time for you to reciprocate?”

“Reciprocate what?” Another dimwitted question.

“Making love.”

“I would not know where to start.” Which was the wrong thing to say because he lay himself down on the blanket. Still naked. Folded his hands behind his head and looked up at her with the innocence of a shark.

“Just do whatever you want. You could start by touching me.”

She just barely stopped herself from asking where. He would probably point to his staff that was already beginning to rise. Again.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be reading her mind. “Not there! Leastways, not yet.”

“Turn over,” she said. “I get too distracted by . . .” She waved a hand at
it
. “I will have more nerve to touch you if you are not giving me those lascivious looks.”

“Lascivious!” he hooted, but turned over onto his folded arms after taking care to adjust his cockstand.

She began by brushing his braid to the side and charting the strong tendons in his neck with her fingertips. Next she gave attention to the wide breadth of his shoulders. She gained inordinate pleasure watching his muscles bunch at those mere touches.

He had scars all over, as any Viking warrior did, including a wide slash from one shoulder to the opposite waist. She traced it with one fingertip and asked, “Where did you get this?”

“The Battle of Essex. I joined King Harald Bluetooth for a period in fighting King Edred’s ranks. The Saxon foeman got much worse than a mere scar, believe you me. Attacking a man from behind! But then, that is the Saxon way.”

“It is our way, too,” Medana confessed. “When we women of Thrudr are forced to fight, we must use any means possible, being weaker than men in physical strength. Cunning is a necessity for female pirates.”

She thought he would laugh or make some derogatory remark about cunning coming natural to women, but he remained silent.

So she continued touching him. The ropes of muscles in his arms. The striated planes of his back, which tapered to his waist and narrow hips. His buttocks she saved for later. If she dared! Instead, she walked her fingers down his thighs and legs.

He shivered and spread his legs slightly.

“Am I doing it wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, Medana! You are doing it just right.”

Encouraged, she examined the backs of his knees and his ankles and his long, narrow feet. He was a well-formed male, there was no doubt about that. Only then did she allow herself to touch his backside. His buttocks were hard, high globes of sheer muscle, unlike hers that seemed to be soft and squishy, something she’d noted when bathing. Through the parting of his thighs she could see his ballocks covered with a light furring of fine blond hairs.

She said something then that she never thought she’d say to a man, “You have a very nice arse.”

“I know. ’Tis one of my best features.”

His face was hidden, but he was probably smiling. “Unlike humility, which has to be far down the list.”

“How did you know I have a list of my assets?” he teased.

She leaned forward and kissed the enticing curve at the small of his back. A vulnerable-looking spot.

He rolled over, and she was kneeling at his side. His best side, truth to tell. Even if she only referred to his face.

Stark cheekbones highlighted a bronzed face. Then there were those incredible emerald-fire eyes. He had a strong nose and full lips, which were parted now with arousal.

She loved that she could arouse such a rascal of a man.

He folded his arms under his head again, as if giving her freedom to do what she willed. That position called attention to his underarms, where straight blond hairs protected the soft skin. She rather liked that part of him, too. In fact, she touched the hair in one hollow to see if it felt as silky as it looked. It did.

His flat male nipples drew her. Fondling them in the same manner as he had treated hers, she was pleased to hear his indrawn breath. When she leaned forward and put her mouth to one of them, he stiffened. When she suckled, he groaned and muttered an expletive.

“You do not like that?”

“I like it too much, and you know it, too.”

She smiled. “Shall I do it some more?”

“If you don’t, I might have to kill you.”

She took that for a yes. When she had played his nipples for a long time, he growled, “Enough! Move on!”

Glancing downward, she saw that his shaft reared up from a thick thatch of blond curls. He was so engorged that a bud of man seed seeped out on its tip. Blue veins stood out on its long length, and the mushroom head was ruddy in color. “Can I touch?”

“Please.” He took her hands and showed her how he liked to be caressed with fists that did not meet around his breadth, one above the other. Pumping lightly, then not so lightly. With a roar of pure male satisfaction, he growled, “Take off that bloody chemise afore I tear it in shreds and toss it out to sea.”

She did as he asked, without question. How had she gotten so aroused just trying to arouse him? Was it the reverse of what Thork had told her earlier, that a man’s pleasure was a woman’s joy?

“Now climb on top of me,” he ordered gruffly when she’d lifted the chemise up and off her body.

“Huh?”

He leaned over and picked her up by the waist, settling her on his thighs. She could feel the dampness in her nether parts. By the gleam in his eyes as he stared at her there, he was aware of that dampness, too.

“Take my cock in your hands and guide me to paradise,” he ordered.

She did not need him to explain what he meant. She lifted her bottom slightly up and forward. Then, taking his staff in hand once more, guided him to her woman’s channel, and little by agonizing little, she sank down onto him.

For a brief moment, she thought she might faint, so intense was the ecstasy of being filled by this man. Her inner muscles were clenching him in welcome, and he looked as if he might also faint.

“How does that feel, Medana?” he husked out.

She did not want to discuss it. She just wanted to feel it. Still she told him, “Like I am being impaled by living, breathing, warm marble.”

He nodded. Again, humility was not one of his great traits.

“And you?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

“Like I am being coated in warm honey. And hugged. Your moist folds are hugging me in welcome.”

Just as she’d thought.

“Lift yourself up and then down, slowly. Like riding a horse.”

“I have not ridden a horse since I was a girling. And that was bareback in a farmstead field.”

“ ’Tis said a person never forgets. And bareback is appropriate, don’t you think?”

I do not want to think. I just want to feel.
“Stop talking and show me what to do.”

With a chuckle at her ordering him about, he showed her with his hands on her hips the way to undulate to a certain rhythm. She was a good pupil, apparently, because at one point, he told her to stop and rest, and with him still filling her, he tunneled his fingers in her hair and pulled her face down to his.

“Kiss me, Medana,” he urged. “Kiss me like I am your man just home from a-Viking and you have missed me sorely.”

To her amazement, she was able to do so, probably because a lackwitted part of her liked the image of him being her man. And while she settled her lips over his and gave him kisses full of all the nuances she could come up with, he played with her breasts. When she drew on his tongue, he responded by plunging deep into her mouth. And her lower regions did their own counter rhythm. Every time she tried to move on him, he held her still and said, “Not yet. I am not ready yet.”

If possible, he seemed to have grown even more inside her. And she seemed to unfurl even more to assist his enlargement.

Finally, she tore her mouth off of his and sat back firmly on her buttocks, which sat firmly on his ballocks. Panting for breath, she said, “If you do not move soon, I am going to throttle you.”

He grinned. “Now I am ready.” With those words, he flipped her over on her back, managing to keep himself inside her, probably because he was lodged so deep. With a laugh of sheer joy, he lifted her knees up and over his shoulders and began to pummel her with hard, lengthy strokes that caused stars to explode behind her eyelids. All the skin on her oversensitized body sparked with carnal fire. Everything centered on what he was doing to her down below. When he placed a thumb between their bodies over that bud she’d come to know as the source of woman pleasure, she could not contain her excitement anymore. Keening out her ecstasy, she shattered around him with wildly convulsing spasms.

And he, with chest heaving, catapulted right after her with a triumphant shout. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected that he’d forgotten, or been unable, to pull out at the last minute. For now, satiety overwhelmed her, and she felt her body relaxing into the most peaceful sleep. Only half awake, she sensed Thork rising off her and pulling her into his arms. He, too, fell asleep.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, when she heard, “Bloody hell! I canna ken this scene afore us. Is it the Christian Garden of Eden, or Odin’s Garden of Delight?”

“Must be Eden. There’s Adam the Viking. And Eve,” another voice said.

“I dinna see any snake,” the first voice remarked.

“Right there. Betwixt Adam’s thighs.”

“Ah! The only thing missing is the apple.”

“I see two apples. With berries on top.”

Medana’s eyes shot open, and standing there gazing down at them were Jamie and Bolthor.

Bolthor stared through his one good eye at her body, still in Thork’s embrace, and said, “This would make a good saga. ‘When Adam Was a Viking.’ Or ‘The Pirate and the Viking.’ ”

She shoved a laughing Thork off the blanket and used it to cover her nakedness as she scrambled to her feet. Thork, on the other hand, suffered no such modesty. He stood with an arrogance that was maddening.

“What are you two doing here?” Thork asked, hands on naked hips.

“We thought we should come get you if we are going to get the longship through the tunnel tonight,” Jamie explained. “I mean . . .” Jamie realized his mistake immediately and glanced to Thork for help.

Thork just shook his head and scowled at the witless scamp.

At first, Medana had trouble weighing the significance of the Scotsman’s words. Was he saying . . . ?

“I keep telling the dumb Highlander that a storm is coming tonight, but he would not listen. So I came along to check out the view.” Instead of looking out toward the sea, Bolthor was gazing at her with the oddest tilt to his head, as if trying to figure out something. Probably how a seemingly sane woman would be demented enough to let a rascal like Thork swive her silly.

Medana had other thoughts on her mind, though, as understanding began to seep into her befuddled brain. She turned to Thork, “You plan on taking my longship through the tunnel? Tonight? All day you have been seducing me with lies and deceits whilst planning to put the knife of betrayal in my back.”

“Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?” He smiled at her.

She did not smile back.

“It is not what you think, dearling,” he said, and stepped toward her.

She put up a halting hand while the other held the blanket closed. Fighting to control the hurt that caused her heart to ache, she spat out, “Do not ‘dearling’ me, you troll.” On those words, she turned and began to stomp away and down the path to the hunters’ longhut. Tears filled her eyes and she let them run freely.

When would she ever learn? Men were loathsome louts.

“Did you call me a loathsome lout?” he called after her.

She made a universally known, coarse gesture of disdain over her shoulder, the one particularly favored by seamen and Vikings.