Page 63 of Her Rogue Viking

He chuckled. “No, you are not. Not quite.” He tightened his grip on her hair. “Look at me, little one.”

He waited until she turned her brilliant slate-grey gaze on him. “Breathe. Breathe slow, deep, one breath after another. In… yes. Now, out.”

She did as he bade, and when he was satisfied that she had settled he laid his free hand just below her left breast. Her heartbeat was rapid, but slowed as he rested there, as she drew in one calming breath after another, as he continued to caress her scalp through the tangled mass of her hair.

He suspected more than ten minutes elapsed as he soothed and steadied her but he was not concerned with that. This had never been about punishment, not really. It was a game, one of their sensual, even slightly perverted games, and he needed her to relish it as he did. Too little, and it would lose that edge they both craved; too much and she would be genuinely afraid of what he might do to her in an unguarded moment. Ulfric knew the importance of getting this right. The power was his, as wasthe responsibility. He would bring her right to her limit, and back again, and she would be forever bound to him.

He had freed her, but he would never let her go.

“Finish it.”

“Little Celt?”

“Finish it, Please. Just… do it. Anything. Everything. I want you to fuck me, and kiss me, and make me lose control. I will not call a halt again.”

“Will you not? Why?”

“Because…” She hesitated. He might have pressed her but sensed it would be better to wait, to let her articulate what she felt. He was rewarded when she turned to look at him. “Because I love you, Viking. I want you, and I want all that you can do for me,tome.”

“You shall have it, little Celt. You shall have all of it.” He smiled as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too.”

“I know. I always knew that you would. Eventually.”

He shook his head, quite mesmerised. She might be the one bound to the table, but he was as much a captive as she was.

Ulfric started again on his quest to cover her body with kisses. He traversed her neck, shoulders, breasts, stomach, the intriguing little mound topped by dark curls, the hollows where thigh met the very edges of her soft pussy. There he paused to tease and to explore, loving the way her breath hitched, her hips jerked as she sought to draw his tongue to her greedy clit. He had enticed her to the very edge of her sensual endurance, and had yet to touch her there.

He paused to slick his fingers with oil again, then drove two into her arse. She sighed, circled her hips, lifted her bottom up in silent entreaty. He added a third, and knew he tested her limits. Fiona gasped, her body tensed, then slackened again as she accepted what he did to her. He brought her back to her previouslevel of abandonment with just a couple of deft thrusts, then he waited until she opened her eyes.

“Ulfric? Viking…?”

“You shall be my wife.”

“I… yes. I shall.” She offered him her shy, tentative smile. It was enough. He lowered his face to her plump clit and took the quivering nub between his lips. He caught it between his teeth, flicked with his tongue, and he sucked.

Fiona screamed. Her body convulsed, writhing and jerking against her bonds. Her inner muscles clamped around his digits as he rammed them hard into her arse. She ground out his name, then another word in her native Gaelic. He considered it expressive enough and resolved to ask her about that… later.

Her release seemed endless. Wave after wave of pleasure gripped his fingers, caressed his tongue. Fiona bucked and twisted on the table, eventually slowing though aftershocks continued to rack her slender form. Only when she went utterly still did he withdraw his fingers and release her clit.

“Four strokes, little Celt. And there is oil left, though the flame gutters now. I shall make it six, I believe, before we lose the light entirely.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He lifted one eyebrow though he knew she could not see. “Do I detect a note of belligerence?”

“I want… Please, I meant no insult, but I need you. Now.”

“I know what you want, what you need, but I would have you surrender one final release to me first.”

“Yes, anything.”

He pondered briefly, but the rapid flickering of the dying lamp urged him into action. He might have teased, might have nudged her more gradually toward this final precipice but there was not sufficient time for such luxuries. He trailed the backsof his fingers down her stomach, combed them through the triangle of curls, then drew a lazy circle around her clit.

“Will this do it, do you imagine?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “You know that it will.”

“What do you prefer? Shall I stroke, like this…?” He rubbed the pad of his finger over the very crest of the swollen nub and was gratified when she let out a long, low moan. “Or this?” He squeezed now, and she winced. “Does that hurt you, little Celt?”

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