Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“I’m sorry but you surprised me. That’s surprising too. I don’t like this. You’ve got all the surprises and I’m just standing here like an ignorant fool.”

He drew back from her and folded his arms over his chest. “A full moon. It’s magnificent, don’t you think?”

Her heart was pounding; she ached in her belly. She wanted to kiss him and to touch him as he touched her. She wanted to bite his earlobe.

“Aye,” she said. “The moon is so brilliant I can see the two plovers in their nest over beneath that gorse bush.”

He stepped to her again, pulled her against him and without hesitation or warning, he ran his hand over her belly, downward, to cup her. His hand was very hot through her clothes.

She could only stare up at him. “No one’s ever touched me there before.”

He moved his fingers slightly and she jumped. “I trust not, though you’ve been pregnant with so many babes surely someone must have touched you somewhere. You look worried, Chessa. What’s wrong? Don’t you like me pressing my hand against you?”

She looked up at him, all her feelings for him clear on her face. “I don’t know if I like that. It isn’t what I’m used to. But I will tell you, Cleve, that I love you. No, if you don’t love me yet, it doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know.”

He groaned, jerked her against him, and let her feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his sex against her belly. He was breathing deep and thick, he wanted to have her now, at this very instant, over in the gorse and heather where the two plovers were nesting. “Chessa,” he said into her mouth. “It’s too much, sweeting. Now, I want you now. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I can’t wait. I’d thought to go slowly with you, but somehow I can’t. I’d thought to tease you and caress you until you were whimpering and moaning, but I can’t.”

She nearly knocked him onto his back so quickly did she throw herself against him. He staggered, laughed, then began kissing her again. Slowly, he eased her onto the path, only to realize that they were on an incline, the ground was hard, and it was her first time. He cursed, lifting himself above her. “We can’t stay here. It’s too rough. Come, Chessa. Hurry, by all the gods, hurry.”

He was holding her hand so tightly he knew her fingers must be white, but he didn’t care. He was dragging her, not letting her run to catch up with him. He looked neither to the right nor to the left. All their friends were still laughing and drinking, but they stopped when Cleve pulled Chessa through their midst and into the longhouse. There were shouts of laughter, Old Alna yelling, “Give her your tongue, Cleve. A woman loves a man’s tongue.”

“Ha,” Hafter said. “You can’t even remember a man’s tongue, Alna.”

“Alna, pay Hafter no mind. Here’s some mead,” Utta said, giggling as Haakon patted her buttocks.

Kerzog barked and ran after them, then abruptly stopped just inside the longhouse. He cocked his big head, then turned and bounded back into the laughing and shouting people.

“At last,” Cleve said, panting, his chest heaving. He quickly pulled the bearskin over the opening to Rorik’s and Mirana’s chamber. Bless them, they’d left a lit wick in a bowl of oil. The light was gentle and shadowy, the air warm and soft, and this was his wife. She was his.

He lifted her and laid her on her back, then immediately pulled her up again. “Your clothes,” he said, and nearly tore off the brooches at her shoulders.

Suddenly, she was laughing. He stopped then.

“Let me remove my own clothes, Cleve, else I’ll have to beg a gown off one of the women on the morrow.”

He stepped back and yanked off his own clothes. He was naked and staring at her when she looked up at him, still in her long linen shift. He was breathing hard. He didn’t understand this urgency, but he accepted it. He wanted her and he would have her as soon as he could get her onto her back.

“Oh,” Chessa said. She swallowed. “Oh,” she said again. She looked at him, every inch of him, from the whorls of golden hair on his chest to his flat belly, lower, to the golden bush at his groin. She swallowed again. “Oh.”

“Chessa, hurry. Don’t be frightened. I’ll fit, you’ll see. I promise I’ll fit and you’ll like it. I swear it to you. Hurry. By all the gods, I don’t believe this. Hurry.”

When she was standing in front of him, the linen shift at her feet, he looked at her and groaned.

“I wanted to go slowly with you. I teased you all evening, but I suppose I was just teasing myself and look what’s come of it. Now, Chessa, now.”

He lifted her, her breasts against his face, and when he suckled her nipple, she arched her back, her body taut as a sapling. Then she was on her back and he was between her legs and he was breathing hard, his hands all over her. It was as if he didn’t know where to begin, what to do first. He cursed, lifted her, and brought her to his mouth, his breath deep and hot on her flesh.

She froze, then twisted, so surprised she didn’t know what to do. Cleve straightened over her. His mouth was glistening with her. He looked to be in pain. He pushed her knees against her, stared at her woman’s flesh, and groaned again. “I can’t wait,” he said and he was in pain, she thought, his teeth clenched, his eyes closed, his head thrown back.

She didn’t know what to think, what to do. In the next instant, he was pushing himself into her and she wondered what was happening to him, what she was supposed to do now, if she was to move and if so, how was she to move? What was she supposed to feel? There was no longer an ache deep in her belly. There was no deep ache anywhere.

But

she loved him, she wouldn’t forget that no matter what he did, and she was curious, but she was also aware that he was very large and she wasn’t.

She felt pain and shoved her palms against his chest. “Cleve, please stop a moment. Just a moment, please.”

“I can’t, Chessa, I can’t. Try to ease yourself for me. By all the gods, you’re small, too small, but I must come deeper into you, I can’t wait, please try to ease yourself, Chessa. If any woman can do it, you can.”