“Helga, you are beautiful,” he said finally.
“I am not,” she replied. She might not like his compliments, but her breasts did. The nipples hardened and stood out like pink sentinels.
He should tell her to put her cloak back on and run fast from his bedchamber, but she had already begun the self-caressing, and he could not have stopped her now even if he wanted to, which he did not.
She traced her lips with the tips of her fingers. The fingertips of the other hand made a trail from her chin down her neck over her shoulder and down one arm.
“Helga, have you ever touched yourself before?” he choked out.
She shook her head slowly from side to side. “Am I doing it incorrectly?”
“How in the name of Thor would I know?”
She frowned. “You have ne’er played this game afore?”
“Never.” And that was the gods’ own truth.
His answer seemed to please her. With a secretive little smile, she ran the palms of both hands down her sides, over her waist and hips to her thighs, then back up to lift her small breasts from underneath.
He heard a small groaning noise and realized it came from himself. “Did Rona tell you to do that?”
“Nay, I thought of it myself.”
“Smart girl!”
She smiled again, shyly, and used both thumbs and forefingers to tease her nipples, which were large considering the size of her breasts. The whole time she gazed at him, gauging his reaction, which was formidable, if she only knew.
“I really don’t know what to do,” she confessed and let her hands drop to her sides. She was panting lightly at her own self-arousal, but probably was unaware of what she had done to herself.
“You are doing fine so far,” he said. “Just imagine as you touch yourself that it is me touching you.”
“I already am.”
His manpart jerked. Oh, Helga, you divulge too much. I will use that information against you in some way, I guarantee it. “Come closer so I can see better,” he suggested.
She stepped to the side of the bed so that she stood between him and the hearth. Her body was backlit by the fire, which still blazed warmly, painting her with hues of red and gold.
“Spread your legs.”
She did.
“Wider.”
She did, but he could tell she was uncomfortable standing thus.
Who cares! I like it. “Look down at your woman fleece, Helga. The curls glisten like gold. Are you wet there?”
Her eyes shot upward to meet his with shock. “Touch yourself and see.”
“I am. St. Bridget’s breath, I have wet myself,” she wailed once she touched herself there lightly.
He almost laughed aloud at her innocence. “Nay, sweetling, ’tis woman dew. Your body readies itself for my… I mean, a man’s entrance.”
“Oh.” He could tell that news fascinated her, and she touched herself there more thoroughly, then gasped when she must have discovered that particular spot where a woman’s pleasure was centered. She jerked her hand away as if burned.
Vagn hadn’t had so much fun in ages and ages, and he wasn’t about to let it end so soon. “More, Helga—go back to that small bud and stroke it like you would the petals of a flower. Gently. As if your fingertip is the wing of a butterfly.”
To his utter amazement, Helga, who could be the most obstinate woman in other circumstances, chose to heed his demands now. But then, she was a woman with a mission.
She stroked herself with one hand down below, and twirled a nipple with the fingers of the other hand. Vagn was so aroused, his blood roared and his cock pulsed. If he was not careful, he would come to peak beneath the bed furs, alone.
Suddenly Helga stopped and looked at him directly. “Are you going to make love with me, Vagn?”
It was the hardest thing Vagn ever did, but after a long pause, he said, “Nay, but I can bring us both pleasure without actually completing the act.”
She tilted her head to the side. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to understand how that could happen or if she was contemplating his offer. In the end, she commented, “What would be the point of that?”