Page 21 of Her Viking Lord
Three days later I sat in my car outside the nondescript building that held such mystery, shame, and pleasure for me.
My stomach churned with anticipation and dread as I stared at the rusted metal siding. Seven days of edging myself in the shower, of pressing my finger into that most forbidden place while denying myself release, had left me feeling like a wire stretched to its breaking point. Every nerve ending seemed raw, exposed. The smooth skin between my legs, kept bare as myHerracommanded, felt hypersensitive even against the soft cotton of my panties.
I’d reminded Takken I had a specialist appointment for my gynecological issues. He’d barely looked up from his tablet, muttering something about ‘women’s troubles’ before dismissing me with a wave. The indifference that once would have stung now felt like freedom.
But I couldn’t make myself open the car door. Not yet.
The burner phone lay silent in my purse. No messages from Aksel since that night in my bedroom, when he’d commanded me to punish myself while Takken was downstairs. The memory of it—spreading myself open for an empty room, spanking my own bottom while that horrible device between my legs monitored everything—made fresh heat flood my face.
What was I becoming? The prime minister’s wife, reduced to a trembling mess at the thought of seeing the man who called himself myHerra. Who’d collared me like an animal, strapped my bottom until I screamed, used my mouth and my pussy for his pleasure while I had visions of impossible trees and hidden threats.
The worst part was how my body responded to the memories. How even now, sitting in my sensible sedan in broad daylight, I could feel myself growing wet at the thought of what Aksel might do to me today. A week of denial had sharpened every sensation until even the seam of my skirt pressing against my thighs felt like too much stimulation.
I thought about the Arctic installation I’d glimpsed during my shameful climax at the Synergy Group meeting. The concrete bunker squatting on permafrost, the excavation equipment, the sense of something massive being built in secret. Aksel needed to know what I’d seen. That’s why I was here, I told myself. Not because my body craved his touch, his discipline, his ownership.This was about stopping Takken’s corruption, about saving Jagland.
The lie tasted bitter even in my own mind.
My fingers trembled against the steering wheel as I tried to gather courage. The worst part of the past week hadn’t been the denial itself, though that had been torture enough. It had been the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Aksel’s promise—that he would claim my bottom when I’d earned it. The very thought made me burn with mortification, yet in the shower each morning, I found myself unable to resist exploring that forbidden place with increasing boldness. My fingers would circle and press, testing, imagining what it would feel like when he finally… I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to complete the thought even in my own mind.
The burner phone buzzed suddenly, making me jump. The silver raven glowed on the screen.
You have thirty seconds to enter the building, or you’ll feel Freya’s Bridle.
A whimper escaped my throat as I clenched hard between my thighs, my body responding instantly to his threat. On shaky legs that barely supported me, I fumbled with the car door and half-ran toward the warehouse entrance. The metal door swung open before I could reach for it, and strong hands pulled me inside.
Aksel’s arms wrapped around me, crushing me against his chest before I could even catch my breath. The door slammed shut behind us, sealing me into his world once again. His fingers moved to my throat with practiced efficiency, and I felt the softleather of the training collar settling into place, the silver runes cool against my heated skin.
Then his mouth was on mine, hard and demanding, claiming me with a kiss that drove every thought from my head. His tongue invaded my mouth as his hand moved down my back to grip my bottom possessively, his fingers digging into the flesh through my skirt. The touch there—where I’d been so shamefully fixated all week—made me sob up into his mouth, my knees buckling.
He held me upright with that one hand on my backside, keeping me pressed against him as he devoured my mouth. I could feel his hardness against my belly, could taste the faint hint of coffee and something uniquely him. When he finally pulled back, I was gasping, tears streaming down my face from the intensity of it all.
“My perfect little bed thrall,” he murmured against my ear, his hand still kneading my bottom through the fabric. “Did you do as I commanded? Did you keep yourself bare and ready for yourHerra?”
“Yes,” I whimpered, my face burning. “Yes,Herra, I… I shaved yesterday, just as you ordered.”
“And did you edge yourself? Touch that sweetfisseand that tight littlerøvhul?”
The crude words made me want to disappear into the floor, but I nodded against his chest. “Every morning in the shower. I… I couldn’t stop thinking about…”
I couldn’t finish my sentence. MyHerra’s hand shifted suddenly, grabbing my skirt and bunching it up around my waist. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and yanked them aside, not bothering with removal. Before I couldeven process what was happening, his finger pressed against my bottom-hole, that place I’d been touching all week at his command.
“About this?” he asked, his voice dark with satisfaction as his finger pushed inside.
I cried out, my whole body going rigid against him. The intrusion was so much more intense than my own tentative explorations in the shower. His finger was thicker, rougher, more demanding as it pressed past the tight ring of muscle. The sensation shot straight through me like lightning, and suddenly I was teetering on the edge of an orgasm I hadn’t seen coming. A week of denial had left me so sensitized that this single violation threatened to undo me completely.
“No,” I sobbed, my hips bucking helplessly. “Please,Herra, I can’t—I’m going to?—”
“You will not come,” he commanded, his finger pushing deeper, stretching me in ways that made my vision blur. “Not until I give permission.”
The order made me whimper desperately, my inner walls clenching around nothing while that forbidden place gripped his invading finger. I was so close, balanced on a knife’s edge of pleasure and humiliation. My legs shook so badly I would have collapsed if not for his arm around my waist.
“Such a needy littlerøvhul,” he murmured, twisting his finger slightly. The movement made me see stars. “Already learning to love having yourHerra’s finger in your bottom. Soon you’ll beg for my cock here.”
The image his words painted—of being claimed back there, down there where he had his finger… being made to take him inmy narrowest passage—sent another pulse of heat through me. I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood, trying desperately to hold back the climax that threatened to consume me.
Without warning, he withdrew his finger and lifted me into his arms. I gasped at the sudden movement, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried me toward the hidden door behind the carved pillar. My skirt was still bunched around my waist, my panties askew, and I could feel the cool air against my bare, wet pussy as he descended those ancient stone steps.
The blue lights illuminated roughhewn walls. We emerged into the smaller, more intimate space—the place where he had comforted me and made me come again and again. “Myhús,” he murmured to me.
