The Angel Wore Fangs(62)
“Kiss me,” she said, leaning forward, her glazed eyes drifting half shut.
“Open first,” he demanded, and when she complied, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the strokes down below. At the same time, he moaned in pleasure and caressed her breasts, rubbing his palms over the turgid nipples, then rolling them between his thumb and fingers.
Her inner muscles convulsed around him.
So I can make her come just by touching her breasts. He tabled that information for future note.
She tore her mouth from his and gasped, “You taste like Christmas candy canes, and Halloween treats, and toothpaste, and everything peppermint. Clean, with a bite.”
“That’s me,” he laughed, “and you taste like coconut cream pie and piña coladas.”
“Nice combination.”
“We do make a nice combination,” he said, surprising even himself. He glanced down to where they were joined, pubic bone to pubic bone, a blend of her honey-blonde curls and his darker, almost brown ones, like gold and bronze. Let her think that’s what he meant, not, God forbid, a lifemate kind of combination. “Lean forward a little, sweetling.”
“Why?”
“So I can fondle your breasts and bring you to peak again.”
She blushed. “While you lie there like a statue, unaroused?”
“I would hardly call this unaroused,” he said, and thrust his hips upward several times so she could feel how hard and big he was. Hot and pulsing with life. Un-statue-like, for a certainty!
“Holy . . . moly!” She leaned forward to hold on to his shoulders for support. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Keep yourself from climaxing?”
He shrugged. “Long years of practice.”
“This is embarrassing. I must have come five times already to your one.”
“You’re keeping count now?”
“Hard not to.”
“There is naught to be embarrassed about. Your peaking is my pleasure. It is as it should be.”
“Said the macho Viking.”
“That remark deserves a punishment, m’lady,” he said, and took one of her breasts into his mouth, areola, nipple, and all, and began to suck with a hard rhythm. He used the other hand to hold her in place by the nape of her neck. Then he did the same to her other breast.
By then she was a spasming mass of moaning, wanton want.
Not to be outdone, she took him in hand, right where they were joined, making room for her fist. Then she extended her fingers to tickle his balls. He about shot off the bed.
And the two of them shattered to a mutual climax that stunned them both. She held on tight, he held on tighter, lest they fly away, in pieces. For a long time afterward, he lay on his back, holding her in his embrace, her face on his beating chest, one of her thighs extended over one of his, the knee nudging his finally quiescent man part.
“Mine,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He had no idea what that meant or where the thought had come from. Luckily, she hadn’t heard him, or if she had, she wasn’t mentioning it.
Instead, she was circling one of his nipples with a forefinger when she asked idly, “When’s your birthday?”
“Huh? I have no idea. We did not mark birth dates in my time. Except for kings and those of great fame. Even then, they were guesstimates.”
“Let’s pick March 15 for your birthday, in modern times, several months from now. I’m assuming . . . hoping . . . that we’ll return to the future by then. We’ll celebrate with something special on that date.”
Uh-oh. Just like a woman. One tup and she is making plans. But he was feeling generous, so he put a hand on her rump and said, “You’ve already given me something special.”
“Not that,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been concocting a special recipe in my head that would be perfect for a birthday cake. Candy Cane Coconut Cake.”
“I’m lying here wondering what carnal activity I can try with you next, and all you can-cock in your mind is food.”
“Who says food can’t be sexy?” She raised her head and winked at him and then, wanton wench she was proving to be, she crawled over him, knelt between his legs, and showed him what she could do with a peppermint stick.
Blend my WHAT?
They didn’t sleep at all that night.
Andrea should feel guilty about that, knowing Cnut had to be up early to go out into the frigid weather again and hunt for more food. But she didn’t, especially when he told her that vangels didn’t require much sleep. They stored sleep energy like some animals stored body fat and therefore could go long stretches without rest.
Besides, the little bit of blood he’d taken from her had energized him, too. Like a Raging Bull, the popular vodka Red Bull cocktail, with an Oyster Shooter for a libido lift chaser, he told her.