“Kiss my arse.” “Would ye like to see…awk…me arse?” “Would ye like to have your feathers plucked and stuffed down your bloody throat?” “Show me yer legs. Awk.” “Go bugger yourself.” “Kiss me, dearling. Kiss me, dearling. Kiss me, dearling.” Snorting with disgust, Eirik threw a wool cloak over the bird’s cage, muttering something very foul. The squawking stopped immediately. Eadyth stood stunned in Eirik’s bedchamber doorway. She could not decide whether she was more amazed by the sound of her husband arguing in a vulgar fashion with a witless bird, or by the sight of Eirik standing in the middle of the room with his back to her—totally nude. The latter won out. Truth be told, this devastatingly handsome man, her husband, stole her breath away. Her eyes skimmed the sun-baked bronze of his skin from the wide shoulders, to the supple back muscles, to his tapering waist and deliciously narrow hips. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Even his powerful thighs and sinewy calves were sun-darkened, she noted.
What do You think about Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 03]?
