Vengeance Hammer (Viking Vengeance) by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online

secret musk that had his half-hard cock erect in an instant.
    She wriggled her shoulders but sank into him and tilted her head to one side. The action was slight, nigh imperceptible, and had he not been attuned to her every nuance, he would not have noticed. A siren’s invitation he could not refuse.
    He sipped the downy, fuzzy hairs at her nape and slipped his hand underneath the covers to the soft curve of her belly. When the tips of two fingers grazed at the rim of her navel, it took all the warrior discipline beaten into him to resist the call of her puss.
    Cupping her cheek, he turned her face to him and caught her mouth with his.
    To his delight, she opened for him, parted her lips, and squeezed his forearm when he tasted her deeply.
    He could not resist the flavor of her, honey, nay, mead and fruit and a hint of smoky allure, the complex tang too intoxicating to do naught but drink more, linger more.
    She squirmed, the delicious roundness of her arse moving from side to side over his engorged pecker. Temptation reared and his sac drew up. His mind filled with images of spreading her legs wide and hammering into her until he found release.
    “Virgin,” he muttered, having enough reason left to speak in Norse, leaned his forehead on hers, and choked back a groan. It had taken all his control to withdraw from her tight sheath without finding his pleasure earlier. Indeed he would not have been capable of resisting pounding into her puss had she not stiffened and scoured her nails on his back when he took her innocence.
    He was a Viking, a warrior, a man of honor, and, by Freya, he would wait until Xára signaled her readiness before taking her again. Yet, he could not wile away this chance to teach his bride the sheer ecstasy to be found ’tween a man and a woman.
    All at once, he grinned. Aye, he could not breach her tender sheath until she healed, but there was more than one way to pleasure a new wife.
    He trailed his hand slowly across her stomach and met her dreamy stare. “Like you the kissing?”
    She smiled on a deep sigh, dipped her chin in a yes answer, and smoothed a thumb over his mouth.
    “Will you give me your trust once more?” He couldn’t draw in a breath; he wanted, nay, needed, her assent.
    Her eyes widened, she swallowed her lips, and peeped down at the space ‘tween their bodies. The swollen head of his cock twitched around a fold in the bed covers.
    “Nay. I will not assault your tender puss.” He lifted her chin and winked. “But kissing feels good all over.”
    Twin curly fringes of dark lashes fluttered. A pink tint rioted over her throat and face.
    He waggled his brows and said, “I will show you. Close your eyes for me again, sváss. I will tell you when to open them.”
    For a moment he expected her to revolt, to bound off the mattress, and flee. Instead her blush deepened into a dusky wash of color that had his pecker throbbing. She blinked and then lowered her lids.
    Dráddør strangled a victorious howl. He didn’t want to startle her and shifted slowly so they laid side-by-side on the mattress, but left the blanket in place draped over her shoulder and hanging ‘tween them.
    “Your skin is soft,” he whispered, and trailed kisses over the plane of her cheekbone. “And you taste like nectar.”
    Nectar, nay, Valhalla, the paradisiacal reward all warriors sought. He could not get enough, and dipped into the moist recesses, licked along the smooth evenness of her small teeth, tangled their tongues together, and suckled until she was tempted into play. She grew bolder and imitated his actions.
    When he eased his hand under the cover and cupped her breast, she held still. He nipped the tip of her tongue and sipped at her lower lip.
    She grasped his shoulder, squirmed closer, and thrust into his mouth.
    Dráddør traced the circumference of her sweet titty, set his thumb to the nipple, and rolled her flesh gently.
    Her fingers tangled in his loose hair and she pressed him to her,