Page 33 of Her Viking Lord
Takken. Right now. Rising from his desk, setting down his whiskey glass with a sloppy movement that indicated it wasn’t his first or even his third. Walking toward the bathroom with measured steps. His hand reaching for the door handle in less than thirty seconds.
I yanked my fingers away from myself with a gasp, the vision dissolving as I fumbled for the shower controls. The water shut off just as I heard footsteps in the bedroom. I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself as the bathroom door opened without a knock.
“Well?” Takken stood in the doorway, his eyes cold and calculating. “What did he do to you?”
I met his gaze steadily, surprised by my own composure. The vision had given me precious seconds to prepare, to push down the trembling vulnerability and find a core of ice within myself.
“He whipped me,” I said flatly, letting the towel slip just enough to show the welts across my lower belly. “My pussy, to be precise. Then he fucked my ass while his bodyguard watched and described it all.” The words came out with a coldness that surprised me. “Then he made me stay on the floor with my bottom in the air while he washed himself. Like I was furniture.”
Takken’s jaw worked silently, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—disgust battling with something else, something darker.
“He wants us both as his guests next weekend,” I continued, keeping my voice steady despite the way my insides churned at the memory. “Three days at some special location. And until then…” I let the towel slip further, revealing more of the angry welts. “I’m not permitted to wear underwear. He said he’d know if I disobey. That he has eyes everywhere.”
I watched Takken’s face carefully as the implications sank in. His eyes widened slightly—not with horror or protective anger, but with something that looked almost like relief. Three days as Horakovsky’s guests meant three days of the Russian’s favor, three days of potential deals and advantages. I could practically see the calculations running behind his eyes, weighing my degradation against political gain.
“Three days,” he repeated slowly, and I caught the note of barely suppressed excitement in his voice, though he tried to mask it with disapproval. His gray eyes had taken on that calculating gleam I knew too well. “He specifically invited both of us?”
“Yes. He was very clear about that.”
Takken’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well then. It seems you’ve proven yourself useful after all.” He stepped closer, and I could smell the whiskey heavy on his breath. “My good little whore, spreading her legs for Russian cock to advance my career.”
The words should have stung, but they rolled off me like water. I’d been called worse things in the last few hours, had endured far more than mere insults.
“I can’t wait to watch,” he continued, his voice dropping to something ugly and anticipatory. “To see what he does to you over three whole days. Maybe I’ll finally understand what kind of slut I married.”
He turned and left without another word, pulling the bathroom door shut with a decisive click. I stood there for a moment, water still dripping from my hair, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall. Only when I heard his study door close did I allow myself to sag against the sink, my carefully maintained composure crumbling.
My legs shook so badly I could barely make it to the bedroom. Each step sent fresh waves of pain through my abused flesh, reminders of Horakovsky’s brutality that made me want to curl up and disappear. I collapsed onto the bed, pulling a silk robe around myself, trying to find some comfort in the soft fabric against my welted skin.
The sudden buzz from beneath my pillow made my heart stop. With trembling fingers, I pulled out the burner phone, the silver raven glowing on its screen. The message appeared for only a heartbeat before vanishing, but I caught every precious word:
I love you. You are doing so well. Lie down on your bed so yourHerracan reward you.
Tears of relief blurred my vision as I quickly lay back against the pillows, my body already responding to his distant command. I knew what was coming, what he could do to me through Freya’s Bridle, and the anticipation made my breath catch in my throat.
The first pulse of vibration between my legs was gentle, almost tender—so different from the brutality I’d endured hoursbefore. I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp as the sensation intensified, the device somehow knowing exactly where to focus its attention. My clit, still swollen and sensitive from Horakovsky’s whip, responded instantly to the rhythmic pulsing.
Without conscious thought, my free hand moved behind me, finding that tender place Horakovsky had violated. The soreness there seemed to amplify everything, and as my finger pressed inside, I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep from crying out.
The vibrations shifted, becoming more intense, more demanding. MyHerrawas controlling this from wherever he was, watching over me somehow, rewarding me for my sacrifice. The thought of him—his steel-gray eyes, his strong hands, the way he’d claimed this very hole I was now touching—sent a fresh wave of arousal through me.
I pushed my finger deeper, unable to stop myself even as my face burned with shame at the wanton action. The combination of Freya’s Bridle stimulating my clit and my own finger working my sore bottom was overwhelming. I could feel myself climbing toward that edge with frightening speed, my body trained too well by myHerrato resist.
In my mind, I wasn’t alone in this bed. Aksel was behind me, his massive frame pressed against my back, his thick cock replacing my inadequate finger. I imagined his voice in my ear, praising me for being such a good girl, for enduring Horakovsky’s cruelty to serve our cause. The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel his breath on my neck, his hand covering mine to push my finger deeper.
The orgasm hit me like a lightning strike. I turned my face into the pillow to muffle my scream as waves of pleasure crashedthrough me, more intense than anything I’d managed in the shower. My pussy clenched desperately around nothing while my bottom gripped my finger, the dual sensation prolonging the climax until I thought I might pass out from the intensity.
As the pleasure crested, the silver branches materialized around me again, but this time they felt different—warmer, somehow, suffused with a golden quality alongside the silver.
“Thank you,Herra,” I whispered. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 18
Lorna
Two days later, at a facility that seemed to be some kind of private military base, Horakovsky ushered us aboard a vehicle of a kind I’d never seen before. The massive thing squatted on caterpillar tracks like some arctic beast, its hull painted in winter camouflage that made it nearly invisible against the snow-covered tarmac. Through the open rear hatch, I glimpsed an interior that belonged more in a luxury hotel than a military transport—polished wood paneling, leather seats, even what looked like a bar along one wall.
“My personal command vehicle,” Horakovsky said, his hand settling possessively on my lower back to guide me up the ramp. The touch made my skin crawl, but I forced myself not to flinch. “Modified from Russian military stock. It can traverse any terrain the Arctic throws at us.”
