Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Now is the time of soothing,” he said, carrying me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. “A Son of Odin always tends to his bed thrall after discipline and claiming.”
The word claiming sent a fresh shiver through me. That’s what had just happened, wasn’t it? This man—this stranger who worked for some ancient order I barely understood—had claimed me in the most primitive way possible. And worse, I’d let him. No, I’d done more than let him. I’d begged for it.
The room he carried me to was much smaller and warmer than the chamber with the longboat, furnished with thick furs and a bed that looked both ancient and oddly modern. He laid me down on my side with surprising gentleness, then stretched out behind me, his body curving around mine. One arm slipped beneath my head while the other draped over my waist, his hand settling between my thighs with possessive familiarity.
“You did beautifully,” he murmured against my neck, his fingers finding my oversensitive clit with gentle precision. I gasped, trying to squirm away, but his arm beneath my head held me firmly in place. “This is part of your training too. Learning to accept pleasure as readily as pain.”
His touch was feather-light, so different from the brutal claiming I’d just endured, but somehow that made it worse. I couldn’t hide behind the excuse of force now. This was pure, undeniable pleasure given freely by my Herra, and my traitorous body responded immediately.
“Please,” I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for. “I can’t… it’s too much…”
“You can,” he said simply, his fingers never pausing in their gentle exploration. “You’re stronger than you know, Lorna. That vision you had—most völur take years to achieve that level of clarity. You saw through Takken’s deception, understood the Russian girl’s true purpose. You have a gift.”
The praise made something warm unfurl in my chest, even as his fingers coaxed fresh wetness from between my legs. I could feel his seed still leaking from me, marking the furs beneath us, and the primitive nature of it made me burn with shame and terrible arousal.
“If you were a traditional bed thrall,” Aksel continued, his voice low and hypnotic, “you would now serve in my chambers permanently. You’d wear my collar always, warm my bed each night, bear my children if I wished it.” His fingers circled my clit with devastating precision. “You’d never have to think about politics or corruption or saving your troubled country. Just serving your Herra, finding purpose in submission.”
The picture he painted was terrifying in its appeal. Some exhausted part of me wanted exactly that—to disappear into this role, to let someone else make all the decisions, to find meaning in simple obedience. But even as the thought tempted me, I knew it was impossible.
“But that’s not your path,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if the emotion in his voice was regret or satisfaction. “You have work to do in the world above. A role to play in stopping what’s coming. So I must, with great reluctance, return you to your regular life.”
His fingers pressed harder, finding exactly the right rhythm, and I felt another orgasm building despite my exhaustion. “But make no mistake, Lorna. You belong to me now. To the Sons of Odin. When you’re back in your glass tower, playing the perfect political wife, you’ll remember this. You’ll remember my cock inside you, my hand and my strap across your røv, my collar around your throat.”
I let out a broken sob, my body shuddering against his as waves of pleasure began to roll through me. It was different from the explosive climax during my vision—softer, deeper, almost tender.
“And when Takken is away,” Aksel continued, his fingers never ceasing their gentle torment, “you’ll receive your training remotely. Through your phone, through Freya’s Bridle between your legs. I’ll be watching, Lorna. Always watching.”
The thought of him having that kind of control over me, even when I was back in the prime minister’s sumptuous but lifeless apartments, sent me spiraling into another climax. I cried out, my back arching against his chest as the pleasure surged inside me. He held me steady through it, murmuring praise in Old Norse that I somehow understood despite never having learned the language.
“Such a responsive little bed thrall,” he said when I finally stilled, gasping for breath. “You’ll practice your exercises daily. Edge yourself when I command it. Accept punishment when you’ve been disobedient. All while playing your part of the country’s first lady.”
His fingers found that spot again, and despite my exhaustion, I felt my body responding. The idea of sitting through state dinners with this device inside me, knowing he could activate it at any moment, made me clench. Would he make me suffer through formal receptions while my pussy throbbed with need? Force me to maintain composure while electronic punishment coursed through my most intimate places?