Barrow Fields Lord, show [m]e how to say no to this

His first experience of a woman in heat had been very different. She had wanted to play and while the memories were fuzzy and he struggled to recall — especially when the stranger before him was all that was on his mind — but he did not think she let him touch her. At least, not like this. Yet, Kjalarr desired to explore. To learn what she liked, what felt good to her. If he was going to develop a reputation to rival Ragnar's own he might as well do it right. He bit his lip as she lapped at him in kind, the sensation entirely new to the viking but far from unpleasant. The feeling was rather delicious. His tongue drew ever so slightly across his lips, the taste of her lingering on his tongue. Her cry had been an encouragement to Kjalarr who drew his tongue against her a few more times, wondering if he could elicit that noise from her again and build the suspense that tightened his muscles. His body ached for her, and he offered her an encouraging nip to her hip to communicate it. He knew she had to ready for him, too, but he knew she couldn't be far off the mark if the sounds she had made were of any indication.