Authors: Sandra Hill
“I surrender,” he said, rubbing himself against her behind, his hands braced on the glass on either side of her head.
“Me too,” she groaned. “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”
“Oh yeah. You play, you pay.” He nibbled at her neck, exposed by her hair being piled atop her head with a rubber band. “You have no idea how much I want to bite you.”
“Maybe later.”
His body jerked reflexively against her. Then he did in fact nip at the sweet curve where her throat and shoulder met. “Tease!”
“I haven’t begun to tease you yet,” she promised, and tried to turn within the bracket of his arms.
“Not yet.” He winked at her. “I have plans.”
“Oh boy.”
“I’m a man. Not a boy,” he growled. “That you will discover before this night is over.”
“Promises, promises,” she taunted him playfully.
Outside the bungalow, it was black, except for the occasional lightning, but there was enough glow from the many candles they’d lit that they could see their images in the dark glass.
Because of the storm that battered the cottage, because of the danger that hovered around them outside this temporary safe harbor, the world seemed to narrow to just this room and the two of them. All her senses were on high alert. The sound of thunder and crashing waves. The scent of Trond’s skin, soapy clean and all male. The feel of his warm breath on her neck and his body pressing against her back. His male essence cloaked her in an erotic fog, as dark and enticingly dangerous as the mists outside.
How can he be dead?
“Let’s play a game,” he suggested as he lifted her shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up, her breasts pressed against the cool glass being whipped by the rain. “Do you like games, Nicole?”
“Like Monopoly?”
He laughed and put the flats of both hands inside the waistline of her cut-off biker shorts, shoving them down to the floor, where she kicked them aside. “No, dearling, nothing like Monopoly. More like tennis where the ball, so to speak, is in your court, then my court, then yours, and so on. Or a roller coaster, with all its ups and downs. No, the best comparison would be a play we are putting on, with many, many acts.”
“Would there be a grand finale?”
“Definitely.” He put his hands back on the glass, in fact his entire forearms on either side of her head.
She sensed, rather than saw, his smile behind her.
“But each act would have its own satisfying conclusion, if you get my meaning.”
“And the rules of this game?”
“We take turns being the director. And one thing, and only one thing, can take place during each act until the last one. Kissing. Touching. Looking. Talking. We will be creative. I’ll go first. My act will be called Statues. What do you think?”
She turned in the circle of his arms, stood on her tiptoes, and looped her arms around his neck so her breasts were even with his chest. The pleasure was so intense that the blood drained from her head, and she had to hold on to his shoulders for support. “How come you get to go first?” she finally managed to squeak out.
“Because I’m bigger, and I thought of it, and . . . because I say so.” His hands cupped her buttocks, tugging her closer into the cradle of his hips. “That. Feels. So. Good.” He seemed to be having trouble getting the words out, and he let her slip back to her feet.
Even that slipping was an erotic experience. “Okay, Mr. Director,” she agreed, her words a little wobbly, too. “So, first act, Statues. I assume you’ve put on this particular game . . . uh, play before.”
Now he was swaying from side to side, brushing his chest hairs over her already hardened nipples. “You don’t play fair,” she complained, halfheartedly. His grin told her loud and clear that he knew very well what he was doing to her raging libido. “If you’re not careful, the finale is going to come . . .
come
being the key word . . . before there’s ever a first act.”
He let her put a little space between then, but only so he could give her a full-body survey, one that caused the corded vein in his neck to pulse. She would bet her boxed set of
Mind over Matter
tapes that another part of his body was pulsing, too. She’d deliberately not allowed herself to look “down there” yet, wanting to prolong the anticipation.
“No, sweetling,” he finally answered her question, “I have never played this game before. Near-sex has many variations. This is one I was saving for someone special.”
She was pleased by that admission, but this was a game, and she couldn’t let him win so early with a mere compliment or two. So, she slanted her eyes up at him and boasted, “You have no idea how good I am at games. I was the tennis champ in high school, and I adore roller coasters.”
The edge of his lips quirked into that lopsided grin she found so boyishly endearing, but there was nothing of the boy in the feral predatory gleam in his now fully silver eyes. “Game on, sweetling.”
He was no gambler, but tonight he was a winner . . .
S
ometimes life deals you dream cards, and Trond was looking at a royal flush.
He stepped back to get a better look at Nicole’s naked body as she leaned back against the dark window. He wished he had about two dozen more candles, and a floodlight or two, to get the full effect. Still, he could see enough that his knees felt weak, and his heart started thumping against his rib cage.
Nicole Tasso in full military ruck was attractive. Nicole Tasso in the nude was sex personified. Especially when she struck a pose with her arms raised above her head after releasing the rubber band on her hair and gave him a little Mona Lisa smile. Shy she was not! Which he considered another dream card in this game they were playing.
She hadn’t been lying. She was a good game player. Really good.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” she asked suddenly.
Whaat? Oh, she must mean a wanton. Modern women were so strange about their inhibitions.
“Not yet. Hopefully soon.”
“Don’t you think we should level the playing field?” she asked in a smoky voice . . . a voice made husky by her arousal, he hoped.
“Oh?”
“Drop the shorts, cowboy.”
He smiled.
Forget inhibitions. My Nicole apparently has none. Did I just say . . . think . . . “my Nicole”? Yikes! But, really, you have to love a woman who knows her mind.
And being a cooperative kind of guy, he did as she’d ordered. But slowly, as he shrugged out of his shorts and undergarment at the same time. Hey, he was a game player, too. With a lot more years under his belt, and below, too.
Her quick intake of air through parted lips told him loud and clear that she liked what she saw when she gave him tit for tat in the full-body survey business. Which was just the reaction a virile man wanted in a situation like this. Ergolf the Arrogant once had a bawdy maid laugh when he dropped his braies. A cockstand leveler, if there ever was one.
“Are all vangels so . . .” she waved a hand at his rampant erection “ . . . endowed?”
“No, only me.”
She arched her brows.
“Well, Vikings are known to be uncommonly endowed.” He thought for a moment. He was pretty sure women wanted a man with something substantial in his package, but maybe she was different. “Don’t you like . . . endowed?” He felt himself wilt a little at that prospect.
“I love endowed.”
Wilting forestalled.
He led her to the middle of the room, closer to the candles, and arranged her body in the way he wanted. “Remember, the main rule in Statues is that you can’t move, no matter what I do.” During her momentary silence while she pondered the implications of his rule, he used his foot to spread her bare feet slightly apart. Then, he raised her arms so that her fingers combed through her hair, raising the swaths up and off her neck. Her position caused her breasts to jut out, as if begging for his attention, which they would get, eventually.
He moved behind her, needing to get his arousal under control without her noticing his dilemma.
“So, do you always go freestyle?” The question was casual, but her tone was pure arousal. She must be trying to get herself under control, too.
He couldn’t allow that. With just his fingertips touching her, he feathered matching lines on each side of her body, from neck to shoulder to elbow to wrist. As expected, goose bumps followed in their wake.
But she didn’t move. Good girl! Instead, she asked in the calmest of voices, “You never answered my question about your lack of underwear.” She was good, really good if she could ask such a nonsexual question in the midst of this sexual heat that was enveloping them.
She must not have noticed that thong. Good! “I usually wear boxer briefs, but not always. Sometimes I wear the hokey boxers my brothers pick up in their travels, like the ‘Kiss My Wings’ one with wings right over, well, you can guess where, or the ‘Trust Me, I’m an Angel’ one, or the ‘My Halo Is Bigger Than Your Halo’ with a little strategically placed gold ring. But, today, the only new underwear I could find of Zeb’s was a package of thongs.” He grimaced with distaste.
The whole time he was blathering, he was admiring her backside. Really, a woman’s form, even her backside, was like a work of art. He could understand how the finest sculptors loved doing the human body. Her shoulders were muscled from all the physical activity of WEALS, but not so much to make her masculine. Her waist was narrow and tapered over pretty hips enclosing the luscious globes of her buttocks. In fact, he went down on one knee for a second and licked first one, then the other of the tempting palettes. He would save the crease for later.
She yelped, “Trond!” and almost shot forward but he stood quickly and held her in place by the waist, then made sure she resumed her former pose. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Nicole, have you forgotten the rules already. No moving.”
She said something under breath that sounded like, “Just wait until act two.”
Continuing his study of her body, he noted how he especially liked the twin indents at the small of her back, and the dimples at the backs of her knees. He didn’t dare touch her yet, except for those impulsive butt licks, for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he had much to do before he reached that point. He realized belatedly that Nicole was laughing.
“What?”
“You mentioned thongs. Zeb bought those thongs to use as slings to hold up his cantaloupes that have been rotting on the ground in his garden.”
“Whaaat? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He felt a little bit foolish, but how was he to have known that? “Is that a demon gardening thing?”
“No. A Hint from Heloise, or Eloise, or whatever, that he was going to try. Those household hint mavens are always suggesting you improvise with things around the house, like old pantyhose or worn-out thongs. Unfortunately, Zeb had neither around. So he bought some for his garden. An experiment.”
“I can’t believe I’m discussing gardens when I have the most beautiful woman in the world standing before me in all her naked glory.”
“I can’t believe you are, either,” and defying his order not to move, she turned. “I want to see what you’re doing.”
Zeb allowed himself to feast then. A visual feast.
Her breasts were round, like the perfect halves of large navel oranges. Their creamy skin only acted as a backdrop to pink areolas, also perfect circles, with rose-hued nipples in their center, engorged with her want of him. Then he looked downward. “I wondered if you would be blonde there,” he remarked huskily. He also wondered if her nether curls would be damp with what Vikings called woman dew in the old days. He would find out soon enough. “Blonde is nice, but I prefer your natural color. How long will it take to grow out?”
“As soon as I can get a bottle of hair dye, I’ll be mousy brown again.” She seemed rather shy at his examining her there and squirmed a little.
“Light brown, with honey highlights,” he corrected, patting the soft curls. That’s the only touch he could allow himself now, lest he begin delving for . . . honey. “Your brown hair has highlights of pure gold.”
“You really are good at gaming.”
“I forgot this was a game,” he told her in a raw voice of utter candor. “I want to make love with you. Every way I know how. I want to create new ways of loving. With you. I want . . .” He let his words trail off because that was the throbbing element in his body at the moment.
Want
. He
wanted
. So many things. And they all revolved around this woman.
“Then do it,” she whispered in an equally raw voice.
He lifted her with arms around her waist and walked her to one of the recliners, kicking it with his toes into an almost level position. Then he tossed her down and crawled up and over her. Shifting this way and that till he got their body parts aligned, especially his unwieldy erection, he then leaned on his elbows over her and smiled.
She smiled back.
“Do you like lip kisses, Nicole?” he asked, pressing his lips lightly against hers. “Or would you prefer that I move right to your breasts?” He raised himself on one elbow so that he could palm a breast, rubbing in a circular fashion. “Or shall we go directly to the main course?” Back to being braced on both elbows, he thrust his cock against her female parts several times in succession.
“All of the above,” she whispered, her hands already framing his face and pulling him down to her. Against his mouth, she inquired impishly, “Are we still playing Statues?”
“Movable Statues,” he decided, nipping at her bottom lip, which was curved into a smile.
He kissed her then. For a long time. With his fingers tunneled in her hair, gripping her head. Usually, he spent only a moment on a woman’s body above her neck, but he found himself relishing all the different aspects of her mouth. He molded her lips into changing patterns until he got the perfect fit. He forced her mouth open with his thrusting tongue. He settled into slow, drugging kisses, then took her mouth with a savage intensity.
And she kissed him back. With equal fervor. Not at all repulsed by his fangs. In fact, she seemed to enjoy licking at them in fascination. Her tongue seared his when she dared to enter his mouth. Then she sucked his tongue deep into her own mouth.
Between kisses, he whispered things to her, naughty things he wanted to do to her later.
Between kisses, Nicole, bless her wanton heart, whispered things back at him, naughty things she would do to him later.
They were both panting for breath when he raised his head. Staring down at her, he saw her honey eyes were dilated and dark with arousal. Her sweet mouth was swollen from his kisses.
He moved down her body then, placing his face over her breasts. At first he just lapped the outer edges, moving closer and closer to her areolas and then her pebbled nipples. When he flicked his tongue over one of them, she let loose with a long moan. Her limbs went stiff. And the joining of her thighs spasmed against him.
She was coming to orgasm from this little bit of sex play? By the runes! This was going to be a night to remember.
“I am so embarrassed,” she said, turning her face to the side. “It’s just that it’s been so long, and my breasts are sensitive, and—”
“Shh, dearling, your pleasure is a compliment to me.” He proceeded to minister to her breasts in earnest then. And for a long time. He kissed the taut nipples and tantalized the buds with the tip of his tongue before plucking on them gently with his teeth. Each time he sucked on them, deeply, he could tell there was an answered draw in her woman’s channel because she raised her hips in counterpoint and moaned her unceasing pleasure.
Trond had read a woman’s magazine of Alex’s one time, not that it was his usual practice. Most of them just made mock of men. In any case, this magazine article said a woman’s mammary glands caused men’s neurological systems to shut down. That was probably true. He did love looking and touching a woman’s breasts, and most especially he was enjoying Nicole’s.
He kissed his way over her muscle-honed abdomen, tonguing her belly button that was sans its gold ring today, jewelry not permitted in active military ops, but he remembered how it twinkled there that night in the tavern. Her belly was slightly concave with a tattoo on her right hip, which he traced with his fingertips and then the tip of his tongue. It was a letter V.
Raising his head slightly, he arched his brows at her. “The letter V?”
“For victory. I got it after I left Billy. And it symbolizes some of the other hurdles I’ve overcome as well.”
“I like it,” he said.
He skipped over the part of her body he most wanted to feast on, and instead used his fingers to touch and his mouth to kiss down one thigh and knee and calf and ankle and foot and toes, then up the other leg till he was at sex central. He knelt on the floor, took her by the rump, and yanked her forward, then used his shoulders to separate her thighs wide, placing her feet on the edge of the chair. In fact, he pulled the table between the two chairs closer. It had two candles on it. Reaching behind him to the coffee table, he picked up the two candles there, too, so that he had more light to see that hidden part of the female anatomy that was so fascinating to men.
“I don’t know, Trond,” she protested, trying to draw her knees together.
He wouldn’t let her. “I want to see.”
“I’m too open.” She was leaning up on her elbows, looking down at him.
He shook his head. “Not open enough.” He paused then. “I will stop if you want me to, but . . . let me, please.”
She nodded hesitantly.
For a second, he just looked at her there, the golden curls glistening with her arousal. He knew without checking that his cock would have a bead of semen on it, as well . . . man dew. The anticipation of touching and tasting her there was wonderfully unbearable.
With trembling fingers, he parted her folds and could have cheered at the slickness that beckoned him. With just one fingertip, he traced a line from just above her clitoris, that knot of nerves where a woman’s joy was centered, down the side almost to her bottom, then back up the other side. While she watched him, he put the fingertip in his mouth and sucked. “Sweet.” Returning to that swollen bud, he touched it lightly, then flicked it from side to side.
She arched her back up off the recliner, keening, “Too much, too damn much!”
“Never enough,” he murmured back.
At the same time he put his mouth to the bud and began to suckle her there, he stuck a middle finger inside her woman’s channel. Immediately, her inner muscles began to convulse around his finger and she thrust her hips against the intrusion. Out of her parted lips, she kept moaning, “Oh, oh, oh, oh!”
Finally, when her body slumped, he’d had more than he could handle. Lifting her limp body up higher on the recliner, he laid himself over her again, and with his cock nestled in her folds, he began to pump himself to a raging climax. In the end, his head and shoulders reared back and he shot his semen against her folds. It wasn’t the kind of sex he would like to have with her, but it was still good.