Joan Pickart - Royal Weddings

His mouth moved. She felt his breath flow down her hand. His lips parted slightly and his lower teeth scraped her finger pads.

Elli shivered—with delight, with excitement. ‘‘Oh, see? See, this is how it ought to be….’’

His big hand was in her hair. He cupped the back of her head. ‘‘A mistake. This is all a dangerous mistake.’’

‘‘Stop that. You stop that right now. This is no mistake. I just told you what this is. This is how it ought to be.’’ She was pressed very close to him, close enough to feel his arousal—and to revel in it. In her own most intimate place, she felt… hollowed out, moist and needful and longing to be filled with him. She gasped. ‘‘Oh, Hauk. Kiss me. Kiss me, please.’’

Her eyes drifted closed.

Hauk looked down at that beautiful mouth, the mouth she offered, the mouth she wanted him to have.

Damned, he thought. I am damned to the bitter cold and unending night of Hel, to do this .

But right at that moment, he didn’t care. He thought, Just the taste of her. Why shouldn’t I have that? She wants me to have that. Only a taste ….

Her head tipped back, her mouth tipped up. She loosed the sweetest, tiniest sigh.

He thought, Only that. One kiss. And that sigh, inside me, all the rest of my days .

He brought his mouth down over hers.

Her lips parted. The sweetness within nearly finished him—right there, in her kitchen, in the bright light of morning. He tasted the slick inner surface beyond her soft lips and he thought he was dying.

An acceptable sacrifice, the loss of his life. He was glad to go, though Valhalla would be lost to him—ah, the shame of it.

The king’s warrior, dead in a kitchen of a woman’s kiss…

He held her more tightly, his hands roaming her slim back, pressing that softness, that female warmth all the closer. Those full breasts of hers pushed against his chest. She moaned and her breath, sweet and hot and scented of coffee, flowed into his mouth. He sucked it in all the deeper, down into his soul. He would keep it forever, along with her sigh.

Her soft fingers danced at the nape of his neck, threading into his hair, caressing outward, across his shoulders, then sliding back to clasp around his neck again. Her tongue, shy at first, grew bolder, darting into his mouth, flicking along the top of his own tongue, pausing there, darting back.

She made a small, hungry sound, like a kitten seeking strokes. He groaned in response. And he swept his hands downward, over the incredible twin swells of her bottom, tucking her into him, his manhood pressing her most secret place.

He was so hard. His body commanded him. To lay her down, to make her his…

He curved the slim length of her backward over his arm, and he lost her mouth in order to gain the petal-soft flesh of her sweet chin, to run his tongue down the glorious stretch of her long, satiny throat.

‘‘Oh, Hauk. Oh, yes, yes…’’ She pressed her hips up against him, in invitation, in a promise of something he knew he couldn’t take.

Yet still, she promised. She promised him everything. She murmured sweet encouragements, she drove him on with sighs.

He kissed the twin points of her collarbone, pausing there, where her pulse beat in the hollow of her throat, to breathe deep, to suck in the womanly, flower-sweet scent of her, adding it to the treasures he’d already claimed—that sigh before he kissed her, that later breath. Breath upon breath, he would have them all.

Those soft hands of hers were at his waist, fumbling with the shirt he wore, gathering it, sliding it upward. She caressed the bare skin over his ribs, scratching him lightly, tauntingly, with her fingernails.

He nuzzled the fabric of her light cotton blouse, burying his face in the soft swell of a breast, finding her nipple beneath the layers of clothing.

He teased that nipple, drawing it up to a point, then closing his mouth over it, sending out a focused breath of air across it, biting at it, lightly, feeling it pebble up more firmly, as if it begged for more.

She’d forgotten her task of removing his shirt. Her hand splayed in his hair now, pressing him closer, against her offered breast. He latched on, sucking, soaking the fabric over her nipple as he toyed with it.

‘‘Oh, yes,’’ she moaned, pulling him ever closer. ‘‘Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes…’’

He brought one hand between them, laid it in the center of her chest, against the glorious fullness of those proud breasts.

‘‘Yes…’’ She urged him on, soft lips against his ear, warm breath against his skin. She captured his earlobe, teased it between her teeth. ‘‘Yes, Hauk. Oh, yes…’’ Her hips moved against his, promising untold delights.

Offering everything.

All of her. All she was, all she had. So much. More than he had ever dared to dream of in his bastard soul.

A prize beyond measure. Worth any price. He found the first button on her blouse, captured it between his thumb and his forefinger.

‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered, one more time.

And then the phone rang.

Chapter Ten

The jarring bleat of the phone ruined everything.

Hauk went still as a statue in Elli’s arms.

She gripped his big shoulders and begged him, ‘‘Oh, please, just let it ring.’’

But he was already taking her hands, gently peeling them away, his face flushed and regretful, shaking his head. ‘‘We must stop. You know that.’’

‘‘No, I don’t know that. I don’t know that at all.’’

He stepped back from her. She had that feeling of something tearing again, as in the movie theater the day before. Only worse. A thousand times worse.

He said softly, ‘‘Answer the phone.’’

She wanted to scream, to throw something. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘Don’t behave like a spoiled child.’’

He was right and she knew it.

Not about having to stop—never, ever about that. She had given up fighting this lovely, impossible magic between them. And she was furious with him all over again, to look in his face and see his jaw was set—like his mind—against her, against what might be between them, against all they might share.

But acting out wouldn’t solve anything. She went to the counter and punched the button that answered the call on speakerphone. ‘‘Hello?’’

‘‘Elli. Oh, sweetheart…’’

‘‘Aunt Nanna.’’ Like her daughters, Elli’s mother had been one of fraternal triplets. Elli’s Aunt Kirsten lived in San Francisco. Aunt Nanna lived in Napa. There had been a brother, too, but he had died when Elli and her sisters were babies.

Nanna made a worried noise, low in her throat. ‘‘I was afraid…’’

‘‘Afraid of what?’’

‘‘That you’d already have gone.’’

Elli shut her eyes and tried to collect her scattered wits, to concentrate on what her aunt was saying instead of thinking of what hadn’t quite had a chance to happen between her and Hauk. ‘‘I, uh, take it you’ve been talking to Mom?’’

‘‘Oh, Elli. I just got off the phone with her.’’

Elli opened her eyes and there he was, watching. She turned away, toward the window, so she wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘‘I’ll be leaving in a few hours.’’

‘‘Oh, honey, are you absolutely sure about this?’’

‘‘Yes. I’m positive.’’ And she was. Positive about a lot more than just the trip to meet her father.

‘‘Ingrid’s so worried for you. I am, too. You don’t really understand the way things work in that place. I’m sorry to say it, but your father is not a man anyone should trust. He broke your mother’s heart, you know, he broke—’’

Elli had heard it all before. ‘‘Nanna, what, exactly, did he do that’s made you all hate him so?’’