She made a small whimpering sound.
He grinned. So far, so good.
Putting his hands on her waist, Eirik lifted her slowly upward, then down again, showing her the rhythm.
“Oh.”
He inserted a finger between their bodies, playing a rhythmic tune with her slickness.
“I… do… not… want… this,” she gritted out, but opened her legs wider for his ministrations.
He removed his hands and forced them to his sides. “Then take yourself off me. I will not force you,” he reminded her.
“If I agree this once, do not think it sets a pattern. It would be just this once. No more.”
Once! Hah! Well, once at a time, mayhap. Once an hour. Once an hour, every hour, ’til I get my fill of you. “Whatever you say, Eadyth,” he said meekly, smiling inwardly.
She inclined her head in compliance.
And he let her have her way with him.
Eadyth proved to be a quick learner, and she taught him a few lessons, as well. Once she mastered the rhythm, she rode him with wild abandon. Her eagerness excited him immensely. Her lack of inhibition was a marvel to behold. And Eirik felt blessed by the gods.
When he lay depleted and immensely satisfied under her, Eadyth asked softly, while she nibbled contentedly on his ear, “Did I hurt you?”
And Eirik laughed, and laughed, and laughed… until Eadyth bit him on the shoulder. Which set him to thinking of other things she could do with her teeth.
Cradled in each other’s arms, they finally slept. During the night, Eirik sought his wife again. This time, they came together slowly, with gentle strokes and soft words. They climbed the mountain of passion at a leisurely pace, prolonging the anticipation with sweet torture. Then they both tumbled mindlessly into a whirlpool of intense convulsions.
At the end, he cried triumphantly, “You are mine.” And, of course, Eadyth disagreed, claiming, “Nay, you are mine.”
Eirik awakened before dawn with a smile on his face. He looked down at the woman sleeping in his arms, cuddled against his warmth. He kissed the top of her silky hair, gently, and thought about rousing her with a kiss of her “other” hair. That was a delight to which he had not yet introduced his new wife. Nay, he would wait until she was awake and he could see her reaction to that deliciously scandalous exercise.
Besides, another hunger pulled at him, as well. Eirik decided to go down to the kitchen and bring up some food to share with his wife. Then they would talk. Nay, he corrected himself with a smile. They would make love again, and then they would talk and come to an understanding.
He pulled on a pair of braies and walked barefoot through the dark, silent halls. When he entered the kitchen, he put a taper to a wall torch, ignoring Bertha’s loud snores from her pallet in the corner. He placed some bread and hard cheese and several slices of cold venison onto a wooden trencher and poured a large goblet of mead. Then he headed through the closed corridor toward the great hall.
“So your new wife does not satisfy all your hungers, my brother.”
Eirik jumped and almost dropped his platter.
“Bloody Hell, Tykir, what are you doing, skulking about these dark halls? I thought you left for Haakon’s court long ago.”
“I was delayed in Jorvik,” he said, rolling his eyes, as he lit a wall torch. “I come with urgent news from Rain’s House, the orphanage in Jorvik.”
“Rain’s House? Oh, nay, say it is not Emma! Does my daughter ail? Is there trouble?”
Tykir nodded. “Urgent trouble. There is spreading fever at the orphanage—mayhap the bloody pox. Rain and Selik have sent Emma and the other children to Gyda’s house, awaiting your word.”
“Does Emma have the pox, as well?” Eirik asked with a shudder of fear.
“Nay. At least, not yet. I did not know if you would want her here at Ravenshire. You have not indicated an interest in having the child here afore. But, my brother, ’tis unfair to leave her in Gyda’s home, good friend that she has been to our family. You must go to her at once.”