Page 18 of Claimed By the Viking

“I don’t deserve it,” he said simply.

“‘Tis good that we don’t always receive exactly what we deserve. In any case, I think you’re too harsh upon yourself.” She moved around and, dipping a cloth in the water, removed the stain from his cheeks.

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head to one side, resting against her palm as she took the cleansing stroke to his brow. Droplets sat upon his flesh and, not for the first time, she wondered at the musculature of his body. All men worked, but the strength in Viggo’s back and in his shoulders and arms wasbeyond any she’d seen before. The curve of his upper torso was defined, creating two taut plates of muscle above his nipples.

Were they as sensitive as her own?

Setting aside the washcloth, she placed her hands flat upon his chest, tracing outward from the center through tawny hair.

He took a sharp breath, stiffening as she skimmed the small, brown tips.

Her own breasts responded, as if ‘twas herself she teased. Lightly, she moved her thumb upon him and was aware of her nipples hardening.

Her gaze dropped lower to his tapering waist and narrow hips, to where the hair began again, disappearing beneath the water. She looked brazenly between his legs, where the smooth head of his manhood bobbed to the surface. As if he knew where she observed him, he let his legs fall farther apart, and more of his phallus became visible alongside the loose orbs below, furred lightly with golden hair.

His hand came over hers, guiding it downward from his chest to his abdomen, then lower still, until she was clasping him. His palm held her there.

“‘Tis yours.” His voice contained a slight tremble. It was clear he sought her touch, that he needed it.

She’d caressed him before, of course, but this felt different. ‘Twas more an invitation than a command.

He lolled his head back, exposing his throat as she worked upon him, at the root, then encasing his length with longer motions. By the time she drew the foreskin back and forth at the head with a faster stroke, he was clutching the sides of the tub, his hips straining upward.

Breathless, he supplicated her, and she felt her power over him—not because she had her eyes and he did not, but because she could give him pleasure, and he desired it.

“Take me in your mouth, I beg you!” Widening his thighs, he hooked his legs over the tub at the knee, lifting himself clear of the water.

She bent over, uncaring that her bodice and sleeves became wet. She took him wholly between her lips and reveled in it, sliding him repeatedly past the warm softness of her cheeks to the opening of her throat.

His hoarse moan encouraged her. She licked and sucked the engorged head, playing about its rim, paying attention to the place that made him gasp the most, beneath the swollen glans.

She kept one hand encircled about his shaft while cupping the twin sacks drawn tight to his body.

“Fuck! Yes!” His cry was urgent, his body jerking upward.

She withdrew, wanting to watch as his seed left his phallus. It jetted white, spattering upon his belly and the water. His face was briefly tortured, gasping as if he was in pain.

When he was done, he opened his eyes once more. Though there was a languor to him, he looked more present.

“My thanks. I’m… grateful.”

“I wished to do it,” Signy’s reply was soft. “You must know, you’re the only man I’ve ever… and I’m not sorry. I’m glad ‘tis you.”

He sat up straighter. “The gods both hate and love me, it seems.”

“Enough of that. Let’s get you out.” She proffered him her hand, and taking it, he buried his face in her palm.

“I have pleasure to repay in kind. Lead me to your bed, and let me show you.” The water sloshed over as he stood, dampening both the floor and Signy’s skirts.

She was determined notto let anything spoil this. He knew of her scars and didn’t seem to care. She only hoped he wouldn’t touch her too much there and make her think of them. Signy made short work of flinging off her clothes, wanting to be as naked as he, wanting him to touch her unhindered. She wanted him inside her again, filling her with his heated, demanding thrusts. As he knelt upon the bed, she moved close and took his phallus in hand.

“Patience.” He caught her wrist. “I’ve only just spent. Let me caress you, and I’ll soon be ready once more.”

His hands came up to cup her breasts, and she sighed as he kneaded and stroked, thumbing the nipples and suckling them until each nub ached and prickled. The attention sent the now familiar pang to her crux. He was surely aware of how much she needed him, but he made no move to penetrate her, instead seeking out the leather tie which secured the long, thick plait of her hair. This he unraveled before dragging his fingers through the braided locks, separating them.

At last, the skein hung freely over her right breast, and he lifted it to his face. Almost reverentially, he rubbed the silken length to his cheek and touched his lips upon it, then inhaled deeply.

“Milk and honey, like the rest of you. Tell me, what color is your hair?”

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