Page 27 of Viking Unchained

He glanced around whilst she flicked levers on flameless torches about the solar. Lamps, they were called. It was an attractive room with soft cushioned chairs and low sofas, and with the ocean visible through massive windows, but he was not here to enjoy the comforts of her home or the view. Wooden shelves held dozens, maybe hundreds of books. Other than the church, only kings or very wealthy men had books where he came from, and then only one or two. Across the room, he saw framed pictures on the fireplace mantel, some portraying a small boy. Fearing disappointment, he would need to get his nerve up afore going over to examine them.

“Where have you been the last five years?” she asked dreamily.

Hah! More like, “Where have you been, you faithless witch?” Biding his time as he tamped down his wrath, he merely replied, “Looking for you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. You could say I’ve been waiting for you to find me, honey.”

Sweet? Me? “We must needs talk,” he said. Lest I cut out your lying tongue.

“Later, honey. First, I want to make love. I haven’t had sex since you left.”

’Twas not I who left. Lest you forget, wench, you went off with your lover and my baby. And do not try to foistthat false story of celibacy on me. Not with the way you are nigh drooling over me.

Noting his resistance, she tugged on his hand. "C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go to the bedroom. I want to kiss you all over, to prove to myself that you’re real, not a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh, I am real,” he said, and a very real part of his body lurched to attention. To say he’d gotten his enthusiasm back would be a vast understatement.

“You look so different, like a stranger, but only on the outside.” She giggled like a girling. “It will be like the first time we made love.”

Did she really just put her hand inside my braies? He tried to snarl out, “I am angry with you,” but it probably came out as a gurgle.

“Because of the baby?”

“Most definitely about the baby.” And your faithlessness. And your deceit.

“It wasn’t planned, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“And that excuses your perfidy? Truly, your gall is amazing. When I think . . . what are you doing?” Oh, good gods. What is that lacy harness over her breasts? Does it serve some purpose? Other than causing my heart to nigh explode?

“Taking off my clothes. If we’re not going to the bedroom, we can do it here.”

“Have you no shame?” Whatever you do, do not stop.

“Not where you’re concerned, honey. What’s the big deal, anyhow? We’ve already done it on every surface in this house. The floor, the couch, the deck, the kitchen table, the countertops, the washing machine, the dryer, the shower. Remember the time we made love under a beach blanket in broad daylight?”

We did? The mind images she painted caused his cock to harden and lengthen even more. Meanwhile, she removed her shoes, shert, and braies. “Stop! Have you become a harlot?”

She raised her arms, releasing her hair from its ties, letting the ebony waves puddle over her shoulders and back and chest, but not too far in front because her breasts were clearly visible as she slipped out of her scandalous, almost transparent undergarments and stood before him, totally nude and not a bit self-conscious.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be, honey.” She leaned back against a wall, one knee bent, her arms raised over her head. A pose of seduction. “Is this harlot enough for you, big boy?” she purred.

Holy Thor!

This could not possibly be Luta.

Could it?

She appears to want my lovemaking.

Could her lover have done a better job than me in teaching her an enthusiasm for the bedsport?

Her breasts are different. Bigger. With large nipples.

Mayhap nursing changed them.

But Luta claimed no desire to suckle the babe. She said she would get a nursing mother to perform that odious task.

Did she change her mind?