He ducked his head sheepishly. “I apologize, Helga, for any hurt we may have caused you.” He meant it, too.
“I do not want your apologies,” she said, stamping her foot over his. Still he did not budge. “And I certainly do not want your self-serving lies.”
Liar? Did the woman just call me a liar? Oh, the injustice of that remark cuts deep. “Helga, look at me.” He adjusted his stance so that his elbows rested on either side of her head, not his palms, thus bringing him in closer. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he, so her gaze was nigh level with his. “The desire you see on my face is genuine. You appeal to me.” If you only knew how much, you would run for your life, sweet virgin.
He saw the disbelief on her face.
“Your mouth is exquisite, do you know that? The most kiss-some I have ever seen.” The things that mouth could do!
“Wretch!”
“Your hair is like spun gold.” I would like to see it spread out on my bed furs.
“Wretch!”
“I am dying to see your breasts.” And your navel and your hips and your buttocks and your woman’s fleece.
“Wretch! Now you have gone too far. You know good and well that I have no breasts to speak of.” She swatted at his immovable chest.
“Aaah, but your nipples are big.”
“How would you know that?” she asked with consternation.
“I know these kinds of things.” And well I should, with all the years I’ve been practicing wenching.
“Useless knowledge. The kind of thing a philanderer like you would consider important.”
“Do not judge me, Helga. You do not know me that well.” Even if you are right.
“You are right about that, but I do not want to know you better.”
“Aha! Now we get to the crux of the matter. You are afraid that you might like me.” He laughed as he spoke, then hooked a heel behind her knees, twisted her body with expertise and followed her falling body down to the straw at their feet.
“Get off me, you oaf.” She squirmed and nailed, but he just settled himself more comfortably atop her slim body.
“Have you ever made love on fox furs, Helga?” he murmured as he brushed off the fur-lined hood of her cloak and kissed a path along her jaw.
That gave her pause. Her body went stiff as she realized the position she was in.
His body went stiff, too. Leastways, one particular part did. “Just relax, sweetling.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mayhap. Just let me have a little fun with you, Helga. I will not do anything serious.” Said the wolf to the lamb.
“I will not be your plaything.”
“Then let me be your plaything.”
Before she had a chance to say him nay, he reached inside her cloak and cupped her left breast, whisking his thumb back and forth over the cloth-covered nipple. Her breast was indeed small, but the nipple was invitingly large, as he’d speculated, and it was growing larger under his ministration.
Her eyes went wide with wonder. No longer flailing or shoving him away, she just gaped at him.
“Do you like that, Helga?” he asked, kneading her small breast and pulling on the nipple.
Her only response was a groan and a toss of her head to the side, eyes squeezed shut.
He took that as permission to give equal attention to the other breast. Within moments, she was panting with woman-joy. Females with small breasts were more sensitive there than big-busted women. Leastways, that had been his experience. He couldn’t wait to take her in his mouth. He made a bet with himself that he would make her reach her peak someday just by fondling and suckling her breasts.
But first things first.
He spread her cloak and then her thighs. Carefully he adjusted his hips so that his throbbing manpart rested against the groove of her womanhood, separated only by his braies and her gown. He hoped she throbbed, too. If she did not now, she would soon. That, he promised himself.
“Helga, look at me.” Her face was still turned aside, eyes shut tight.