Page 65 of Her Celtic Captor
Ah, so she had been taking notice.
"You mean just here, my sweet?" He found the placed and pressed.
"Yes. Oh... yes..."
"Is there more I might do for you? Remember, you have but to request and it is yours."
"Your mouth..."
"Again? Of course. Is there any particular?—?"
"Suck me. That place. Just here..." She released her grip on his hair in order to lay her fingers over her swollen clit. "It feels good here."
"Oh yes, I know it does. Like this, then..."
He took the plump bud between his lips and scraped it with his teeth. He watched as her eyes rolled back in her head, her entire body now shaking as he brought her once again to the very brink of ecstasy. This time, he did not retreat. This time he held her there, his fingers inside her, his mouth, teeth, tongue working on her clitty to draw every last frisson of sensual delight from her body.
He knew it, the precise moment she yielded. He knew the exact instant she gave herself over into his keeping, her pleasure his to create, to give or withhold as he chose.
He witnessed the definitive juncture when she handed him her trust and he took it into his keeping.
Satisfied he had attained his goal Taranc hollowed his cheeks to increase the suction on her clitty, just enough to send her spiralling past the point of no return. His fingers stretched and caressed her inner walls, his tongue flicked the tip of her clit without mercy and she was lost.
Brynhild fisted his hair between her fingers and she screeched her release to the heavens.
After, she lay still, spent in his arms. He held her, enjoyed the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her breath returned to normal. His hand lay within the folds of her cloak, her breast beneath his palm. He allowed himself a private smile as her heartbeat slowed, settled to a steady, rhythmic beat.
He believed she was happy, here, with him. Or she could be, if she could be reconciled to her past and embrace her future. Their future.
"Why did you do that?" she murmured drowsily.
He did not pretend to misunderstand. "Why, for the sheer joy of it, Brynhild. For the sheer fucking joy of it."
19
Brynhild folded her hands together across the round swell of her abdomen. The baby delivered a sharp kick from inside, hard enough to halt her step. She paused to brace against a tree beside the track which led to Pennglas. She had promised Dughall that she would call to see him this day and did not wish to disappoint her friend though she found the journey on foot arduous as she entered the final month of her pregnancy.
The old man had been unwell. He had succumbed to a chill which had gone to his chest and kept him confined to his bed these past two weeks. He was improving now, and she was relieved to hear the news but would feel better for seeing him herself and watching him sip the draught of chamomile tea she intended to brew for him. It was a most efficacious cure, she had every confidence Dughall would soon be up and about again. Best to press on. Brynhild straightened, drew in a deep breath, and continued her hike uphill.
Pounding footsteps from behind brought her to a halt again. She turned. Several villagers from Aikrig scrambled up the rise toward her, their pallid faces lined in alarm. One man peered back over his shoulder then grabbed the elbow of a woman byhis side. "Come, we must hurry. There is refuge to be had in Pennglas, Taranc said that it is so."
Refuge?Brynhild reached for the man's sleeve as he passed her.
"Why are you fleeing to the village? Has something happened to Taranc?"
Please let it not be so.She would offer up another fine goat to the goddess, Frey, if such were needed to keep her man safe.
The man barely broke his stride. "They are back. Taranc told us to make haste to Pennglas and to warn the people there. We shall fight them this time. They shall not steal from us again, nor shall they take our people as slaves. Taranc will not allow it, never again."
"Who? Who is here?" The man she first spoke to had shrugged off her hold and was already scurrying up the hill away from her. Brynhild reached for an elderly woman, Aine, a widow she had come to know who had skills in the art of dye-making. The woman stopped.
"Ye need to be coming wi' us lass. Taranc will want ye safe, I ken it."
"Iamsafe. What is happening?"
"We are attacked. The Vikings are back."
Her knees buckled. She clutched at Aine who wrapped her arms about Brynhild's waist.
