Free The Pagan's Prize by Miriam Minger Page A

instincts screamed for him to take her, now, but
another part of him wanted to savor the treasure that had been placed in his
path. Wadding the sash, he dipped it into the bucket until the cloth was
soaked. Then he began to bathe her, first her face, taking care to rub gently
over the bruise upon her cheek that was just beginning to fade.
    Her entrancing blue eyes never wavered from his gaze,
and she stood still for his ministrations as if it were a common thing for a man
to perform such a task upon her. Again he found himself filled with envy, but
he did not stifle it, the emotion part of the spell under which she held him
captive.
    Next he slid the wet cloth down her lovely throat,
across her fine-boned shoulders, and along slender arms he couldn't wait to
feel wrapped tightly around his back. Dipping the sash into the bucket, he
brought it to her breasts and squeezed, the coolness of the water that slicked
her golden skin causing her to gasp and her apricot-brown nipples to pucker.
    Rurik thought for sure that he had endured enough, but
he continued to bathe her, down her taut belly, over her hips and between her
legs, when suddenly she lost his gaze. Closing her eyes and whimpering deep in
her throat, she arched against his hand, her soft woman's curls tickling his
skin.
    It was too much. Sweeping her into his arms, Rurik laid
her upon the bed and leaving her for only a moment, undressed more swiftly than
he had ever thought possible. As he blanketed her with his body, he no longer
cared about savoring her or taking his time. He wanted her so badly that he was
shaking. Believing she wanted him just as much, he parted her legs with his
knee and thrust inside her with such vehemence that she cried out . . . not a
man's name, not in ecstasy, but in raw pain.
    "By Odin . . . ?" Rurik had had virgins
before, and in that unsettling instant, he knew the woman moaning beneath him
had never known another man. Yet he could no sooner stop his wild assault than
the furious hammering of his heart.
    "Sshh, little one . . . sshh," he soothed,
knowing from experience that soon her pain would pass and rippling pleasure
take its place.
    Kissing her hungrily, passionately, the wine-scented
taste of her mouth driving him into a frenzy, he nonetheless drew back a little
and slipped his hand between their bodies. His fingers found the slick, wet
heat he was seeking and he slid them into her, teasing the tender bud hidden
there that seemed to swell beneath his touch.
    He was rewarded at once by her sharp inhalation of surprise,
then broken whimpers as she began to toss beneath him, her hips thrusting
upward as urgently as he delved within her, neither his fingers or his
deepening kisses giving her any peace. He almost laughed in triumph against her
lips when her arms curled around his neck to grip him tightly, her panting as
hot and breathless as his own.
    Then he thought no more, the searing sensation in his
loins building to such intensity that he grimaced as if in mortal pain.
    From some far-off place he heard her cries of rapture,
her incredibly tight, blistering sheath gripping him like a throbbing vise . .
. squeezing him, teasing him, until he reached that point where his body
stiffened and his breath jammed hard in his chest. As a pure hot explosion of
sensation overwhelmed him, more blindingly powerful than anything he
remembered, he called out to the woman beneath him, no matter that he didn't
know her name . . .
    Rurik could not say how much time had passed before he
raised his head, but he guessed a good while for the woman's eyes were closed,
her breathing deep and regular as if she were asleep. Either that or she had
fainted from the force of her passion. He had seen such a thing before. Fearing
his weight was too much for her, he rolled over and carried her with him until
she was lying on top of him, their bodies still joined.
    Loki take him, the wench had been a virgin, he thought
incredulously, cursing the devious god of