Page 61 of Her Celtic Captor
It took but a few moments to remove the ginger from her unresisting arse. Brynhild’s modesty was entirely vanquished, it seemed, as she lay acquiescent for him. The used root discarded on the floor, he removed his trousers again then rolled her onto her side to face him as he lay down beside her.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears still glistened amid the azure but she managed a tremulous smile.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and leaned up to brush her lips across his. The kiss was a shy one, hesitant and uncertain, as though she half- expected to be rebuffed, even now. He recalled what she had said about being cold, undemonstrative. His proud Viking had much to learn.
Taranc cupped her jaw in his hand and slanted his mouth over hers. She reached for him, twisting her fingers in his hair. He deepened the kiss, angling his lips over hers and teasing his tongue over the seam until she parted to allow him in. He tasted her, tested the warmth and wetness of her inner space, played with her as he danced his tongue over hers. Brynhild gasped, herbreath catching in her throat. Slowly, uncertainly, she began to respond, her tongue tangling about his as she sucked gently.
Sweet Jesu, where did she learn such a trick?
Taranc rolled onto her, his palms now flattened against her breasts. The plump mounds swelled in his hands, nipples pebbling as he caught the delicate peaks between his fingers. He broke the kiss, intending to take her stiff little bud in his mouth, but paused when she went rigid in his arms. He glanced into her face, now more clearly visible as his eyes accustomed to the dark. She stared back at him, terror and yearning at war across her tense features.
With a silent curse at his own thoughtlessness Taranc rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she landed on top, her nude body draped across his chest. She cried out, grabbing for his shoulders.
"What? What are you doing? I do not want to stop, I..."
"Then do not stop. Kiss me, Brynhild."
"But I do not know how..."
"You did it before. Lay your mouth on mine. We shall go from there." He combed his fingers through her hair, blessing the sweet Saviour that she chose to wear it loose when in their bed, and drew her down toward him. Her lips met his, and she softened into the kiss. He darted his tongue between her lips again and their sensual dance continued unabated.
Ah, but his little Viking was a fast learner. She scrambled further onto him, her legs braced on either side of his hips as she rubbed against him, her wetness coating his lower abdomen. She was oblivious, he knew that. Brynhild had no idea that her arousal pooled on his skin, that her readiness, her desire was so redolent he could actually smell the sweet aroma of her. He feathered his touch across her shoulders and down her spine, probing each vertebra in turn as she writhed under his hands. When he palmed her tender, punished buttocks her kissbecame more desperate, more untutored yet all the sweeter for it. He cared nothing for delicate technique and all for unbridled sensuality.
"I want... I need..." Her words were frantic, breathy. She pushed herself up on her hands to peer into his face. "Tell me what to do."
"Straddle me," he commanded. "Take my cock in your hands and direct it toward you."
"I cannot. I do not know how."
"I shall show you."
He helped her to arrange herself as he had described, her hot quim hovering just a fraction away from the head of his cock. He took his erection in his own hand, angled it to her entrance and thrust his hips up. Her slick lips parted to accept just the tip of his cock, but he did not press home. Instead he smeared his own juices with hers, spreading their wetness about, coating her lower lips from the tight ring of her arse to the quivering nub of her clitty. She moaned as he rubbed the smooth, slick head of his cock against that sensitive button, the delicate flesh plump and trembling as he worked her harder.
He positioned his cock at her entrance, just inside, then released his grip to allow her own lips to hold him there. His hand now free, he rubbed her clitty in earnest, from side to side, then as she squirmed and panted he circled with his fingertip. She lowered her body, almost imperceptibly taking more of him inside her.
Brynhild was lost, her moans becoming more frenetic as she sought something he knew she did not really understand but pursued with an intensity she could not control. He could exercise restraint, however, and one of them must. He would not allow this to fail, it was too vital, too critical to their future together.
This had to be good. For her. She must succeed here, now, tonight.
He brought her higher, closer, his skilled fingers teasing and stroking and caressing her clitty as she soared toward her release. He lifted his hips, pressing forward, upward. Her body stretched and opened to accept him.
Brynhild gasped. Taranc paused, waited. She circled her hips, lowering herself a fraction more, working him inside her.
"It feels...tight. It will not fit."
He detected the wondering despair in her tone and was not having it.
"It is tight, gloriously so, but we fit beautifully."
"I... oh!" She let out a sharp cry as he pressed forward again.
"Am I hurting you?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Do not stop."
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck as he squeezed and tugged on her clitty. Her body quivered in his arms, trembling as her response surged forth.
"Oh, I... I..."
