bellowing savagely as the bull had done. But it was no hallucination. The stranger’s man-root was pressing into her rump, just as real as the wild bull penetrating the young heifer that day in the meadow. The man’s breath was heavy in her ear.
By the sounds of it, he was every bit as much aware of the situation as she was.
Alarmed, she inched forward in her seat, but the solid protuberance in the man’s breeches only grew larger. She away moved again, and he pulled her back against himself, pinning her firmly to him. His turgid member stabbed her like a bolt of lightning, throbbing and pulsating against her bottom. Elizabeth struggled against it, trying to free herself.
“Nej,” he said sternly.
She wiggled again, shaking her behind to squirm away, but the unruly appendage only continued to grow bigger and stiffen.
“Stoppe,” he commanded in Danish.
She moved again. He growled.
Realization dawned gradually upon Elizabeth. She was causing his protrusion to swell. She was causing it to fill with desire. The more she moved, the more it grew. He could discern the heat between them just as acutely as she could, and it affected him just as much as it did her. The newfound sensation of feminine power that filled her was scintillating.
But only for an instant.
She realized was playing with fire. Playing with fire meant getting burned.
My God, what had she done? She had awoken a sleeping giant, poked a wounded bear, unleashed a monster, she thought. Elizabeth tried to move away, terror flashing through her veins, but he held her immobile.
Now there was truly no escape.
Chapter Four
F inally, the ride from hell came to an end. The draft horse crested a hill, and suddenly stopped. And not a minute too soon, Elizabeth thought. Her cheeks were burning, and her breath was ragged. Their sensual exchange had left her completely discombobulated, and utterly unsettled.
How quickly she had turned to mush in his arms, throwing herself at him like a strumpet. Not only had she let him place his lips upon her neck, and his hands upon her breasts, she had permitted him to hunker her rear with his phallus!
She had only met him this morning, and he was a dastardly Viking. Her wanton behavior was beyond reprehensible. What would the abbess think of her now?
What did Ragnor think?
Wordlessly, the Viking chieftain slid down easily from the horse, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts about their intimate encounter. He reached up gallantly to help her down from the tall steed, but Elizabeth raised her chin haughtily and ignored his proffered hand. She had been a competent rider as a girl and certainly didn’t require his assistance now. Still flustered from her body’s mutinous response to him, she prayed sincerely that he never touched her again at all. She wouldn’t let him turn her into a common harlot, no matter how delicious his lips and fingers felt.
But when Elizabeth’s tired legs hit the ground, her traitorous knees buckled uncooperatively beneath her. Ragnor grasped her quickly and scooped her clear off her feet into his strong, waiting arms. Elizabeth tried in vain to disentangle herself from the man, but he held fast, and she already knew struggling with him was hopeless. He had probably been born as big as Goliath, she thought.
“Elizaveta, stoppe,” he said softly.
She gave in, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Ragnor carried her to the edge of a great cliff. For an instant, Elizabeth feared he planned to toss her angrily from the dizzying heights. Instead, he squeezed her reassuringly, and smiled. His brilliant teeth dazzled her with a surprisingly boyish grin.
Elizabeth could hear the waves crashing into the surf below. The air here was agreeably cool from the ocean breezes, and the tangy, salty scent of the sea filled her lungs pleasantly. Ragnor slid her unhurriedly down his body. She felt his man-tool rub against her all the way to the ground. When her wobbly feet touched the soil, he put
By the sounds of it, he was every bit as much aware of the situation as she was.
Alarmed, she inched forward in her seat, but the solid protuberance in the man’s breeches only grew larger. She away moved again, and he pulled her back against himself, pinning her firmly to him. His turgid member stabbed her like a bolt of lightning, throbbing and pulsating against her bottom. Elizabeth struggled against it, trying to free herself.
“Nej,” he said sternly.
She wiggled again, shaking her behind to squirm away, but the unruly appendage only continued to grow bigger and stiffen.
“Stoppe,” he commanded in Danish.
She moved again. He growled.
Realization dawned gradually upon Elizabeth. She was causing his protrusion to swell. She was causing it to fill with desire. The more she moved, the more it grew. He could discern the heat between them just as acutely as she could, and it affected him just as much as it did her. The newfound sensation of feminine power that filled her was scintillating.
But only for an instant.
She realized was playing with fire. Playing with fire meant getting burned.
My God, what had she done? She had awoken a sleeping giant, poked a wounded bear, unleashed a monster, she thought. Elizabeth tried to move away, terror flashing through her veins, but he held her immobile.
Now there was truly no escape.
Chapter Four
F inally, the ride from hell came to an end. The draft horse crested a hill, and suddenly stopped. And not a minute too soon, Elizabeth thought. Her cheeks were burning, and her breath was ragged. Their sensual exchange had left her completely discombobulated, and utterly unsettled.
How quickly she had turned to mush in his arms, throwing herself at him like a strumpet. Not only had she let him place his lips upon her neck, and his hands upon her breasts, she had permitted him to hunker her rear with his phallus!
She had only met him this morning, and he was a dastardly Viking. Her wanton behavior was beyond reprehensible. What would the abbess think of her now?
What did Ragnor think?
Wordlessly, the Viking chieftain slid down easily from the horse, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts about their intimate encounter. He reached up gallantly to help her down from the tall steed, but Elizabeth raised her chin haughtily and ignored his proffered hand. She had been a competent rider as a girl and certainly didn’t require his assistance now. Still flustered from her body’s mutinous response to him, she prayed sincerely that he never touched her again at all. She wouldn’t let him turn her into a common harlot, no matter how delicious his lips and fingers felt.
But when Elizabeth’s tired legs hit the ground, her traitorous knees buckled uncooperatively beneath her. Ragnor grasped her quickly and scooped her clear off her feet into his strong, waiting arms. Elizabeth tried in vain to disentangle herself from the man, but he held fast, and she already knew struggling with him was hopeless. He had probably been born as big as Goliath, she thought.
“Elizaveta, stoppe,” he said softly.
She gave in, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Ragnor carried her to the edge of a great cliff. For an instant, Elizabeth feared he planned to toss her angrily from the dizzying heights. Instead, he squeezed her reassuringly, and smiled. His brilliant teeth dazzled her with a surprisingly boyish grin.
Elizabeth could hear the waves crashing into the surf below. The air here was agreeably cool from the ocean breezes, and the tangy, salty scent of the sea filled her lungs pleasantly. Ragnor slid her unhurriedly down his body. She felt his man-tool rub against her all the way to the ground. When her wobbly feet touched the soil, he put
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