His nose was starting to get cold. So finally he eased himself off the bed and went to the far side of the room, where he relieved himself in a chamber pot. Hunkering down before the fire, he quietly laid several logs on the grate and blew the embers aflame. Soon he had a roaring fire once again.
He dusted off his hands and turned to go back to the bed. Only then did he notice Esme lying on her side, watching him.
“You are awake,” he said unnecessarily.
She nodded, and from the way she stared at him he knew what she had in mind. A part of his body knew, too, and reacted accordingly.
Esme grinned with satisfaction.
He shook his head at her as he slid back under the fur pelts. “You are not going to wipe out your entire punishment in one night, Esme. So forget about it.”
“What? You could not rise to the occasion eleven times in one night?”
Rise to the occasion? She certainly had a way with words. He looked at her to see if she was serious.
She was.
I am good, but I am not that good. “Nay, I cannot do it eleven times in one night.”
“I could.”
“I doubt it.” What kind of wanton have I created here?
“What is this mark here?” she asked, tracing the cloverleaf imprint on his inner thigh, up high.
“A birthmark.”
She continued to trace the outline with her forefinger. He could even feel her breath there, which he liked immensely. His staff liked that tracing and breathing business, too, and began to thicken.
She giggled. “Does… did… your twin brother have the same mark?”
His chest constricted and he realized that he hadn’t thought of his dead brother in days… or leastways he hadn’t been dwelling on his absence the way he had since the battle. Esme was responsible for that.
Bored with the birthmark, she curled up against him once again, like a pet cat. In fact, she might have even purred. “Toste, you said that you have been celibate for a year. Why is that? I mean, I cannot imagine a man of your appetites depriving yourself of such… uh, pleasures.”
Toste felt great satisfaction in her mentioning the pleasures he’d gotten from their bedsport, because her words also revealed that she’d gained those same pleasures. “My appetites?” He hooted with laughter. “Well, actually, I was not celibate by choice. Vagn talked me into joining up with the Jomsvikings, and they are celibate whilst living on their island fortress.”
She nodded. “Poor fellow. Must be you need a woman’s touch to satisfy hungers.”
“Yea, I do,” he said with mock seriousness. “In fact, Esme, there is something special I would do for you, in return for your… uh, ministrations this day to my… uh, hungers.” By thunder, what a great idea I have just thought of. Will she go for it?
She narrowed her eyes at him, not at all fooled by his sad demeanor. “Something you would do for me?”
“Yea, it is a particular sexual position that women adore and men… well, we abide it, though it is not our favorite.” Vagn would get such delight out of this ploy of mine. Will Esme?
“Really?” She was still skeptical, but interested.
That’s it, Esme, girl. Let your curiosity take over.
“And this thing you would do for me—would it count toward my decreasing days… you know, since you initiated it, not me?”
Esme, you are way too smart for a woman. “I suppose I could bend the rules a bit. I am a kindhearted fellow.”
She slanted her eyes at him and said, “I don’t know. Explain this particular sexual position that women adore.”
“Have you ever seen dogs engaged in coupling?”
“Yea,” she said and curled her upper lip with distaste.
All right, so mentioning dogs was not the best mind-picture to give her. But, bulls and cows or stallions and mares probably wouldn’t have gone over any better. “Well, this position is called dog-swiving.”
“It sounds awful.”
Time for a little damage control. I do not want to scare her off. “Well, like I said, it is not a man’s favorite, but they do it betimes to please their women.” I am so good, I amaze myself.