Page 64 of Her Celtic Captor

"Here? Why?"

"Yes, here." He grinned into her started face. "And do it because I asked it of you."

She eased herself onto her back, eyeing him with undisguised suspicion. Her brow furrowed even more when he moved to kneel between her feet, but she did not protest when he lifted her skirt to her waist.

Blonde curls greeted him. Taranc bent to press his nose into them, inhaling the sweet, musky aroma of her, a scent which he loved. He fancied he could detect the slight change which denoted her pregnancy, though of course that was whimsical and she would laugh out loud were he to voice such romantic nonsense. His practical Brynhild had no time for such capricious sentiment.

He spread her thighs and drew the flat of his tongue through her folds, already damp. Her breath hitched as he eased the tip of his tongue inside her entrance, she lifted her hips, thrustforward. He pushed her knees up toward her chest, raising and opening her to him. His beautiful she-Viking, so prickly moments before, relaxed in his hands and allowed her thighs to part. She flung her hands behind her head, her eyes closed as he lapped at the sensitive button of her clitty. The delicate flesh swelled, peeped out from within the hood which had shrouded it just moments before, darkening to a deep, rich pink as her arousal built.

He could fuck her. She would love that, he knew, as would he. But not this time. This time, he had something else in mind. He scraped his teeth across the tip of her clit, then suckled gently upon it. Brynhild writhed on the ground before him, twisting her hips one way then the other as she sought to increase the intensity of sensation.

Taranc held her still. On this occasion, he would control and she would accept. There would be no coercion, just a determined and ruthless erotic storm designed end executed with deliberate intent to send her past the point of oblivion. It was time his Viking learnt the true meaning of surrender.

He brought her to the edge of her release, then retreated. Brynhild arched her back, her heels now planted on the blanket as she pressed her demanding cunt against his mouth. She tasted so luscious, so exquisite, so utterly delicious he could have wept.

"Taranc, please..." her voice was ragged, her moan verging on desperation.

This was good, but his beautiful Nordic lover had some distance to travel yet, Taranc determined. She would beg and plead and weep for her release, and her pleasure would be all the sweeter for it. He slipped two fingers into her channel, then a third.

Her inner walls fluttered about his thrusting digits as he plunged deep. He turned his hand, angling his fingers as hesought that spot which would send her wild. He found it, smiled as she lurched under his skilled touch.

"Now. Taranc, I need you to... to... oh!Oh!"She thrashed her head from side to side on the cloak, her fingers now tunnelling through his hair as she sought to control the precise angle and pressure of his assault on her senses. Her efforts were to no avail, Taranc was determined upon that, but he enjoyed witnessing her futile attempts to force the pace.

He lifted his head and gazed up at her, her features were flushed now, the rosy hue spreading from beneath her cloak and creeping up her neck. Her jaw was tight, her lips flattened against her teeth. She glared at him.

"What are you waiting for. I am ready."

He splayed the palm of his hand across her lower abdomen, his thumb lazily tracing a gentle caress over the tip of her clitty. She gasped and arched upwards.

"You like that?"

"Yes," she ground out.

"What else do you like?"

"You know what I like."

"Tell me. Tell me what you want, and you shall have it."

"My release. I want my release. Why are you doing this?"

"How do you want it? Tell me."

"I do not understand. You know?—"

"What do you want me to do to you? How would you prefer to be touched?"

"With your mouth!" She yelled the words at him. "Your mouth, your tongue, inside me."

Taranc smiled. "Ah, not so hard after all, once you stop resisting your desires. My tongue, then..." He leaned back in and parted the lips of her cunny with his thumbs, then plunged his tongue as deep as he was able inside her quivering entrance.

Brynhild trembled. She shuddered, panting softly as he drew his tongue in and out.

"Your fingers now. Deeper..."

"My pleasure," he murmured, driving three fingers deep again. He wondered if she would have the words, the awareness of her own body which would enable her to ask him to stroke that pleasure spot.

"There is somewhere, a place where it is more..."

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