Death Blow by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online

fight his taking of her virginity.
    “Show me.”
    ’Twas a command, not a request. Her hot breath skipped over his left nipple. Konáll knew she did not realize her short nails scraped his forearms. Lust crackled across his groin as the image of her lemon-kissed womanly curls crowded his mind.
    “Are you deaf, Viking? Show me.” She cuffed him.
    He shook his head. The curse. He had to break the curse.
    “Hold my cock.”
    She reared back, brows pulled together, but neither greened nor released her hold on him. “Nay.”
    He grinned at her grimace. “Aye. ’Tis where I bear the ring. Whilst fighting with the Jomsvikings, I was captured. The caliph who took me enjoyed devising tortures to suit each prisoner. He spent many a sennight testing me and in the end, he found my weakness.”
    Her head dropped and the heat of her gaze had him aroused and aching in a pulse beat. She chewed her bottom lip, but reached one hand to his erection.
    Konáll ground his teeth. Desire lashed him. His knees wobbled at the sight and feel of her tanned fingers encircling the base of his shaft.
    “Nay.” She dashed her hand away and a wave crashed around her waist when she fell to her knees.
    The gods had mercy and a stiff wind carried off his low moan. Mesmerized by the sight of her eye-level with his engorged shaft, her sinful lips but a whisper away from the glistening head, he fisted his hands at his side. “You must find the ring.”
    Expecting her to ask why, he flinched when she took him in hand.
    With trembling fingers she explored the head of his shaft, warm puffs of her breath a soaring blaze to his pecker. He tried to hold still, but his wayward organ jumped and twitched between her palms. When she drew the foreskin back to the base, his stones tightened, and he bit his tongue until the pain caged his exploding lust. The copper taste of blood flooded his mouth. He locked his hands behind his back and blinked her into focus.
    The sight of her nigh did him in. Worry furrowed her forehead and a tear leaked from one eye, she tilted her chin. Her lips opened, then closed. “How do you still live with such a thing? ’Tis the cruelest torture.”
    “It hurts not.” The Saracens’ torture of him was naught compared to the sweet agony of her tentative tracing of the metal ring that pierced the flesh between his balls and anus.
    Gently, he removed her hands from his skin and lifted her to standing.
    Never before had a red haze of lust blurred his vision. He nuzzled Nyssa’s nape and reeled when the spice of her woman’s arousal filled his nose. ’Twas as if he had imbibed a score of ale and wine horns. His cock burned. The chill of the crashing surf swirling over his hips did naught to cool his desire.
    She moved with such swiftness that he had no time to counteract her swift and powerful punch to his chin.
    “By Odin woman!” He tossed Nyssa into the crest of a breaking wave, cracked his jaw, and ran his tongue over his teeth. Though the blow felt as if she had separated the front row from his gums, it had not.
    In the murky darkness, he glimpsed the flaxen cap of her hair as his betrothed breached the ocean surface not an arm’s length from where he alternately treaded water and skimmed his toes on the sandy seafloor.
    What mischief now?
    He had smelled her desire. She had melted in his arms. Why, then had she pummeled him?
    Mús’s earlier warning echoed in his head. He had to break the spell, but she would fight him to the death if need be. Forsooth, mayhap ’twas fate’s intervention, her powerful punch. For the blow had restored his warrior focus and discipline. He knew what he had to do, had planned the taking of her maidenhood and her woman’s pleasure during her healing trance. He thanked his brother, Dráddør, for the addition of the harem master’s tools to his trunk.
    Swimming against the strong current, Konáll concentrated on Nyssa. He plunged after her, captured both her hands, and planted his feet on the