![Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04]](/res/aob/book1.jpg)
with the flat side of their own broadswords. Besides, a wet
gunna
didn’t give quite the same effect as a wet tea-ing
shert
. Oh, well!
He, Flash, Cage, and Pretty Boy had just finished off platters of chicken wings doused in a red sauce that about blistered the tongue, followed by hard pretzels that about broke the teeth. This was considered fine dining in Ah-mare-ee-ca. Now they just sat, drinking long-necked bottles of mead—rather, beer—discussing subjects that are important to mankind. Like fake orgy-ass-ems.
They’d had to explain the word orgasm to Ragnor first, as they had so many words in the past few days. He’d told them that Vikings used the word “peaking” instead of orgasm. Same idea.
“Man, I hate it when women fake it.” Flash shook his head with disgust. “When I broke it off with Janine last year, she told me she’d been fakin’ all along. That she hadn’t come one single freakin’ time.”
“She was probably lyin’ just to get back at you,” Pretty Boy said.
Flash shrugged. “Maybe, but how’s a guy to know?”
“
Mon Dieu
! You just ain’t doin’ it right, if you have to ask that,” Cage opined. Cage always had an opinion, especially about women. To his mind, Cage-huns—that was the culture he came from—did everything better.
“Bullshit!” Flash said. “I been doin’ the deed since I was fourteen. I guess I’ve learned everything there is to know about screwin’ by now.”
“I just let the woman do all the work,” Pretty Boy said. “Then, if she has any complaints, it’s her fault. Come or don’t come, it’s up to her.” It wasn’tsurprising that Pretty Boy would think something like that, being so full of himself.
“Betimes I fake my own orgy-ass-ems,” Ragnor revealed, before he had a chance to bite his tongue.
Everyone turned to gawk at him. Then they hit him with a barrage of comments.
“Liar!”
“Impossible!”
“Well, you topped us with that one, Max. Hoo-yah!”
Finally, after they all stopped laughing, Flash swiped at the tears of mirth rimming his eyes and asked, “Not that I believe you, but how would a guy be able to fake an orgasm?”
“
Mais, oui
,” Cage added. “Women have the ‘ooh-ooh-ooh-you-are-killing-me-baby’ routine down pat, but a guy can’t hide the visible facts. Either he wilts or he doesn’t.”
“Hah! You would be surprised how many women don’t bother to look. They are selfish creatures at heart. Furthermore, ’tis just as easy for a man to say, ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh-you-are-killing-me-sweetling.’ ”
“But why?” Pretty Boy wanted to know. “Why would a man want to fake it? What’s the fun in that?”
Ragnor shrugged. “Boredom. Once you’ve tupped two hundred women and more, the novelty wears off.”
“Two hundred?” all three of his comrades sputtered.
“Get out of here!” Pretty Boy snorted with disbelief.
“Are you pullin’ our legs?” Flash asked.
“Two hundred sounds about right for me, too,” Cage said, then burst out laughing. “Hot damn! Ain’t male exaggeration the greatest!”
“You do not believe me,” Ragnor concluded. “Well, ’tis naught to be proud of anyhow. I neveractually counted, but, really, I have seen seven and twenty winters. I have been tupping since I was thirteen, and those first few years, my brother and I could not get enough. I have … had … a brother who was the same age as I, and we had this unspoken competition to see if all the maids in the Norselands could warm our bed furs.”
“A twin? You’re a twin?” Cage asked.
Ragnor shook his head. “Not twins. We were born of the same father, but different mothers from different countries only days apart. We were similar in appearance—almost twinlike, I suppose—except I am dark and he was light.”
“You said
was
,” Pretty Boy said with touching gentleness.
“Yea, my brother died, along with my entire family. All ten of them. Except for my sister Madrene.”
“Good God, man! All of
gunna
didn’t give quite the same effect as a wet tea-ing
shert
. Oh, well!
He, Flash, Cage, and Pretty Boy had just finished off platters of chicken wings doused in a red sauce that about blistered the tongue, followed by hard pretzels that about broke the teeth. This was considered fine dining in Ah-mare-ee-ca. Now they just sat, drinking long-necked bottles of mead—rather, beer—discussing subjects that are important to mankind. Like fake orgy-ass-ems.
They’d had to explain the word orgasm to Ragnor first, as they had so many words in the past few days. He’d told them that Vikings used the word “peaking” instead of orgasm. Same idea.
“Man, I hate it when women fake it.” Flash shook his head with disgust. “When I broke it off with Janine last year, she told me she’d been fakin’ all along. That she hadn’t come one single freakin’ time.”
“She was probably lyin’ just to get back at you,” Pretty Boy said.
Flash shrugged. “Maybe, but how’s a guy to know?”
“
Mon Dieu
! You just ain’t doin’ it right, if you have to ask that,” Cage opined. Cage always had an opinion, especially about women. To his mind, Cage-huns—that was the culture he came from—did everything better.
“Bullshit!” Flash said. “I been doin’ the deed since I was fourteen. I guess I’ve learned everything there is to know about screwin’ by now.”
“I just let the woman do all the work,” Pretty Boy said. “Then, if she has any complaints, it’s her fault. Come or don’t come, it’s up to her.” It wasn’tsurprising that Pretty Boy would think something like that, being so full of himself.
“Betimes I fake my own orgy-ass-ems,” Ragnor revealed, before he had a chance to bite his tongue.
Everyone turned to gawk at him. Then they hit him with a barrage of comments.
“Liar!”
“Impossible!”
“Well, you topped us with that one, Max. Hoo-yah!”
Finally, after they all stopped laughing, Flash swiped at the tears of mirth rimming his eyes and asked, “Not that I believe you, but how would a guy be able to fake an orgasm?”
“
Mais, oui
,” Cage added. “Women have the ‘ooh-ooh-ooh-you-are-killing-me-baby’ routine down pat, but a guy can’t hide the visible facts. Either he wilts or he doesn’t.”
“Hah! You would be surprised how many women don’t bother to look. They are selfish creatures at heart. Furthermore, ’tis just as easy for a man to say, ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh-you-are-killing-me-sweetling.’ ”
“But why?” Pretty Boy wanted to know. “Why would a man want to fake it? What’s the fun in that?”
Ragnor shrugged. “Boredom. Once you’ve tupped two hundred women and more, the novelty wears off.”
“Two hundred?” all three of his comrades sputtered.
“Get out of here!” Pretty Boy snorted with disbelief.
“Are you pullin’ our legs?” Flash asked.
“Two hundred sounds about right for me, too,” Cage said, then burst out laughing. “Hot damn! Ain’t male exaggeration the greatest!”
“You do not believe me,” Ragnor concluded. “Well, ’tis naught to be proud of anyhow. I neveractually counted, but, really, I have seen seven and twenty winters. I have been tupping since I was thirteen, and those first few years, my brother and I could not get enough. I have … had … a brother who was the same age as I, and we had this unspoken competition to see if all the maids in the Norselands could warm our bed furs.”
“A twin? You’re a twin?” Cage asked.
Ragnor shook his head. “Not twins. We were born of the same father, but different mothers from different countries only days apart. We were similar in appearance—almost twinlike, I suppose—except I am dark and he was light.”
“You said
was
,” Pretty Boy said with touching gentleness.
“Yea, my brother died, along with my entire family. All ten of them. Except for my sister Madrene.”
“Good God, man! All of
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