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)
“Magnificent,” he whispered, setting down the knout to move closer. “I’ve never seen anything so erotic.”
His hand ran down my welted bottom with a possessiveness that made me want to scream for my Herra to come rescue me.
And he will. In ten… nine…
“But there’s still the matter of the information, isn’t there?” Horakovsky said, stepping back again and picking up the horrid whip.
I forced my trembling voice to steady, gasping out the words between ragged breaths. “Wait. Stop. I’ll… I’ll tell you everything.”
Horakovsky paused, the knout dangling from his hand. I could hear his labored breathing, feel the heat of his arousal radiating toward my exposed back. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, moving closer. “What are you carrying?”
“It’s…” I let my voice drop to barely a whisper, forcing him to lean in. “I need to… can’t speak louder…”
He stepped right up to the frame, his scarred face inches from mine as he bent to hear my confession. His breath reeked of vodka and cigars. “Tell me,” he commanded.
I turned my head slightly, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “You’re fucked.”
The confusion that flashed across his face would have been comical in any other circumstance. “What did you—”
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash. The heavy steel buckled as if it were paper, and suddenly the room filled with black-clad figures moving with terrifying efficiency. I caught a glimpse of Henrik’s face beneath his tactical helmet, his expression carved from stone as he raised his weapon.
“Down! Down! Down!” The commands came in multiple languages as the strike team flooded the space.
Horakovsky’s hand went for the pistol at his waist, but he never completed the motion. Two suppressed shots—barely louder than coughs—and he crumpled to the concrete floor, blood spreading from wounds in his shoulder and thigh. Non-lethal shots. They wanted him alive for interrogation.
“Clear left!”
“Clear right!”
“Secondary target secured!”
The tactical chatter washed over me as my vision swam. Strong hands worked at the manacles binding my wrists, and I felt Henrik’s presence beside me even before I saw him.
“Easy now, sister,” he murmured in Norwegian, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he freed my right wrist. “We’ve got you.”
CHAPTER 23
Lorna
It took me a week to recover fully. Physically, anyway. Mentally and emotionally… in at least one sense I knew I’d never be the same woman who had received that first message from the silver raven on my burner phone: the humiliating memories would remain with me for weeks, and what they meant would continue to change me for even longer.
“But Herra,” I would tell Aksel as he held me close, murmuring his apologies for what I’d gone through. “I won’t be the same, yes—I’ll be better. I’m a vǫlva, now, and true wisdom only comes through suffering. Thank you.”
Tears would well up, and Aksel would kiss them away.
I spent those seven days at the Sons of Odin safehouse, under my Herra’s tender care. It seemed hard to believe that the same man who could in his own way punish me just as severely as Horakovsky had done—though always with better reason and much more regard for my safety and well-being—could also nurse me back to health so gently. I had already felt certain I loved him, but after the first day in his subterranean house, waited on hand and foot, fed delicious if simple meals, I knew why. With my vǫlva’s senses, I supposed, I had understood that beneath the stone front of his dominance and his utter masculinity lay the heart of a true caregiver.
It made me blush to think about it, but the most difficult part was doing without Aksel’s huge tól in my abused but still needy fisse. To my mortification, I found I even wanted him in my bottom, my little røvhul, if only to reclaim that sacred part of me from the brutal use of the warlord and his minions.
“No, little one,” Aksel told me when I begged him to fuck me on the third day. “I want you back to full health before I enjoy you again.”
“May I… may I suck your tól, though, Herra?” I asked in a desperate whisper even as the embarrassment of the request sent heat blazing in my cheeks. “Please? And… maybe I could ride your bride saddle while you use my mouth?”
I looked up at him through my lashes, trying to convey with my eyes how desperately I needed this—not just the physical relief, but the reclaiming of my sexuality on terms that felt sacred rather than violated.
His steel-gray eyes studied my face for a long moment, and I saw the war playing out behind them—his protective instincts battling with his understanding of what I truly needed. Finally, he nodded.
“Very well, little vǫlva. But we go slowly. The moment I sense you’re in pain, we stop.”
Relief flooded through me as he rose from the bed where we’d been sitting. I watched him move to the corner of his bedroom where the bride saddle sat—that ingenious device he’d designed himself, blending ancient tradition with modern engineering. The smooth wooden seat held the secret of the bride’s consolation, positioned to stimulate without penetrating, and I felt my body respond with hot anticipation despite its battered state.