A TALE OF TWO VIKINGS By Sandra Hill

He raised her knees and spread them wider, poising himself at her entrance, his arms braced on either side of her head. With a barely stifled grunt, he drove into her, to the hilt.

She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

“Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”

“Just a twinge. Don’t move. Let me get accustomed… oh. Oh. That is better. Oh, you fill me. And grow. I can feel you growing.”

Her voice carried amazement. Bloody hell, he was amazed, too. As her inner folds shifted to accommodate him, his cock had grown even bigger.

“I need to move, Helga. Can I move?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out with a little laugh. “Can you?”

Turned out he could.

He tried to be gentle. He tried to go slow. But it had been so long. And she was so hot and receptive as she flailed from side to side, crying out for something she did not yet understand. Too soon his long, slow strokes turned short and hard, especially as she bucked her hips reflexively, riding the peak that soon overtook her. With a roar of equal parts satisfaction and frustration, he pulled out of her and spilled his seed into the soft cloth he’d placed under the pillow for just that purpose. Later, he would throw it into the fire.

For now, he lay collapsed over Helga, probably crushing her. But she’d drained him of all energy. By the gods! What would she do to him when she knew how to use her body? He could not imagine. He could not wait.

“What are you smiling about?” Helga asked when he raised his head to look at her.

“I am happy.” And that was the truth, which surprised him mightily. Helga had managed to pull him from that pit of depression he’d been wallowing in of late. “And why are you smiling?”

“Because I am happy, too.”

“Because you might carry my seed?”

She shook her head. “Because you pleased me, Viking.”

Her words reached in and grabbed his heart. For a second, he could not breathe.

“Of course, if I’ve caught your seed, I will be even more pleased.”

But I won’t be pleased.

Will I?

Why am I even asking?

“There is one thing I was wondering,” she said, twirling one of his chest curls.

“And that would be?” he said, twirling one of her nipples.

“Just how many of those seed catch-cloths do you have?”

He laughed in surprise. “Why?”

“Because it’s going to be a long night.”

“I hope so, sweetling. I hope so.”

I am woman… hear me purr…

“Well, well, well,” Helga murmured to herself four hours and three bouts of lovemaking later.

She gazed down at Vagn, who snored softly in the bed beside her. His arms were thrown over his head in abandon, revealing oddly endearing patches of blond hair in his armpits. His legs were splayed. A small smile lay on his full lips. There was a tooth print on his shoulder, a suck mark on his lower belly and scratches on his back. The man had been knocked on his sweet arse, wrung inside out and flattened.

And Helga had done it. To say that she was supremely satisfied with her hidden talents in the bedsport would be a vast understatement.

Oh, she’d come to Vagn in hopes of catching his male seed, but she would be less than honest if she did not admit how much she’d enjoyed the exercise… or how much she looked forward to more of it. But for now, she had to creep back to her own bedchamber before anyone discovered her whereabouts. She feared falling asleep at Vagn’s side—though the prospect held appeal—and being discovered in the morn by a housecarl. Her father would be up here with a sword and a priest in an instant. There would be no sword-point wedding for her. In fact, no wedding at all.

With one last grin of satisfaction, Helga began to slip from the bed. She was almost off when a hand gripped her ankle and pulled her back.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetling?”

He tugged hard and she landed half on and half off the rogue. Not only was he awake but a key part of his body was, too. A part she was growing rather fond of.