They’re rough. They’re gruff. They’re oh so sexy. Getting a Viking naked is like unwrapping a great big present. I had so much fun with this time period. Even though I squirm in my seat every time Thor appears on the screen, I had never considered writing a Viking romance. Life was especially hard during that time period. But, The heroine, Kaylla, can’t count, so imagine my frustration every time she had to know how much of something there was. I loved every minute of it. I hope you enjoy your time with Kaylla and Rolf as much as I did.
When Kaylla finds a Viking near death washed ashore, she resists the urge to send him to hell, hoping instead to bargain his life for the safety of her village. Rolf Bloodhands is torn between his wavering loyalty to a traitorous new leader and his growing admiration for Kaylla and her people.
Rocking his body from one side to the other, she removed his jerkin. Easing back on her heels, she let her gaze linger over every plane and groove of him. She breathed faster now, her chest rising and falling in rhythm to her pounding heart. Lips parted, tongue between her teeth, she inspected his wounds.
He had several deep cuts on his chest and stomach. Pushing him onto his side, she found similar wounds on his back. She knew these would need to be dressed if she was to prevent them from becoming septic. His cold skin was evidence enough that fever had not set in, but these wounds could not be allowed to fester.
Without thinking about it too much, she unlaced the drawstring at his waist and worked the hide down over his hips, trying as she did to avoid looking at his cock. It was not easy. She had to work his hips back and forth to tug the wet leather over the cheeks of his arse, but soon his man parts were readily exposed to her hungry gaze.
She had certainly seen a man’s cock before. She had grown up in a household full of men, after all. William had taken his out when he tried to get her to put it in her mouth. She shuddered at the memory. But when she looked at the Viking’s cock, the fire that raced down her spine made her more than shudder. She sizzled. Slipping her tongue between her teeth, she moistened her lips, sliding her tongue back and forth across them. The very idea of putting that one in her mouth made her…well it did not make her stomach turn as it had when William suggested it.
Ignoring the fluttering in the pit of her stomach, she continued to work his pants down his legs. She laid them out on the only cot in the room, close to the fire, then returned to examine him further.
He had a nasty gash on his thigh that looked to be particularly gruesome. The wound did not smell any fouler than the rest of him, nor were the telltale red streaks of poison evident along his flesh. She knew from experience, however, it would have to be cleaned and dressed right away before it festered. It might already be too late.
She filled a pot with water and set it by the fire. Gathering clean rags, she returned to kneel by her patient – prisoner, she reminded herself.
She reached out slowly and brushed his hair away from his face. She wondered what color his eyes were and half wished he would open them. She rested her hand on the hilt of the knife tucked into her belt and once again considered binding his hands. But he was now stark naked, had no weapons and would surely be weakened when he eventually roused from his stupor. For now she felt safe enough despite being alone with him.
With the pad of her finger, she touched several of the nasty scars on his chest. Chills raced up her arm at the feel of his skin, warming now that he was out of the cold air. The muscles beneath were like stone. She splayed her hand over one mound, his dark brown nipple pearled against her palm, and squeezed slightly. Reaching up with her other hand, she did likewise with her own breast.
What a difference. She marveled at the contrast between his firm muscles, the roughness of his skin and her soft, pliable mound.
Fingers spread, palm tickled by the dusting of coarse hair sprouting from the indentation between his breasts, she slid her open hand down over his stomach, skimming the pads of her fingertips over the gooseflesh that rose beneath them. The man had more ridges than the board William had made for her to scrub her family’s dirty clothes.
Undeterred by decorum, she continued her examination. The sharp bones of his hips protruded against the tender skin covering them. The nest of blonde hair at the juncture of his thighs sprouted a cock that lay along the length of his uninjured thigh, stretching nearly to the half-way mark even in its flaccid condition. William’s had not been nearly so large, even as engorged as it was at the time.
Amazed at the sheer pleasure she derived from merely touching this Viking, she considered making him her slave.