Page 17 of Her Viking Lord
The praise made something warm unfurl in my chest, even as I hated myself for caring about his approval. I shifted slightly, my knees aching against the carpet, and waited for whatevercommand would come next. MyHerra’s instructions came in a torrent.
You will edge yourself every day in the shower. Touch your sweetfisse, work yourself to the very edge of climax. And you will also put a finger in your tight littlerøvhul. Yes, that forbidden place that burned so badly tonight. When you feel yourself beginning to ascend to the tree, you will stop immediately. No coming without my permission.
I whimpered at the thought of it—of having to violate myself in that most private place, of bringing myself to the edge of release only to deny myself over and over. The frustration would be unbearable.
Please,Herra, I typed desperately.I don’t think I can, and I can’t bear being punished with the bridle that way again.
You absolutely can do this, Lorna. This training will build your capacity, strengthen your sight. When you return to my safehouse next week, you’ll have the chance to make a real breakthrough. To climb higher into Yggdrasil’s branches than you’ve even imagined.
Another message appeared before I could respond.
There’s something else. You may soon have an opportunity to learn more about your husband’s associates. Brenteuil will be hosting another gathering in three days. More important, we believe Horakovsky will be there. The Sons of Odin have been trying to locate his base of operations in the Arctic. We suspecthe’s hiding something significant there. Weapons, perhaps, or technology that could shift the balance of power in the North.
My breath caught. The Arctic? I remembered fragments from my visions—ice and darkness, massive structures hidden beneath the permafrost. But the details remained frustratingly out of reach.
If you can get close enough to Horakovsky, your unconscious will gather patterns that you may be able to see into when you return to me for training. When my hardtólis thrusting in you, more truth will have the chance to appear in your vision of the tree.
I thought of having to stand near that monster again, remembering how he’d beaten poor Mila in front of everyone. Then the thought of myHerrafucking me into another vision sent an unwelcome thrill through my still-sensitive body.
Now get up. Clean yourself. Your husband will be home within the hour, and you need to look presentable. Remember—you belong to me now, but you must continue to play your role perfectly.
Two nights later Takken appeared in the doorway of my study, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. “Horakovsky insists you attend tomorrow’s meeting with Brenteuil,” he said, each word clipped and precise.
I looked up from my book, careful to keep my expression neutral even as my stomach clenched. “Of course, if you need me there?—”
“I don’t need you there,” Takken snapped, crossing the room in three quick strides. “He’s demanding it. Why would he do that, Lorna? What possible reason could Georgy Horakovsky have for specifically requesting your presence?”
His gray eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my pulse race. I felt heat flood my cheeks, remembering the way Horakovsky had looked at me at the last reception, how his gaze had lingered on my body with predatory interest.
“Maybe he…” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet Takken’s stare. “Maybe he finds me attractive. You know how he is with women. The perverted way he treats those poor girls of his.”
Takken’s lip curled in disgust. “You think that Russian pig wants to fuck my wife?” The vulgarity sounded strange in his cultured voice.
I could see in his eyes that he believed it, and the knowledge made him even angrier—not out of jealousy or protectiveness, but because it represented another way Horakovsky held power over him. My husband’s fingers drummed against his thigh, that telltale sign of his agitation.
“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Takken said finally, his voice dropping to something cold and dangerous. “You’ll attend. You’ll smile. You’ll be charming. And you’ll give him absolutely no encouragement. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
The next evening, we arrived at the Synergy Group headquarters just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows through the glass atrium. My body thrummed with barely contained need. Two days of edging myself in the shower, of working my fingers between my legs and even—God help me—pressing one into my bottom-hole as Aksel had commanded, only to stop just as I felt myself beginning to ascend. Two days of denial had left me feeling like a live wire, every nerve ending hypersensitive.
Horakovsky waited in the same conference room where I’d witnessed him discipline Mila. He stood by the window, his massive frame backlit by the dying light. Brenteuil sat at the table, papers spread before him, while two men I didn’t recognize flanked the door like guards.
“Ah, the lovely Fru Norquist,” Horakovsky said, turning to face us. His scarred face split into what might have been a smile on anyone else. “So good of you to join us.”
“Georgy,” Takken said tightly. “Shall we discuss the pipeline routes?”
“In good time,” Horakovsky said, his gray eyes never leaving me. “First, I have a small request.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Takken shifted beside me, and I could feel the tension radiating from him.
“What kind of request?” my husband asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Horakovsky’s smile widened. “I’d like to see what you’re offering in this partnership. All of what you’re offering.” His gaze traveled down my body in a way that made my skin crawl. “Tell your wife to remove her clothes.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I felt the blood drain from my face even as heat pooled shamefully between my legs. Takken’s hand clenched at his side, and for a moment I thought he might actually refuse, might finally show some backbone.
“That’s—” Takken started, then stopped. I could see the calculations running behind his eyes—the billions of kroner at stake, the power dynamics at play. His jaw worked silently before he turned to me with dead eyes. “Take off your clothes, Lorna.”
