Page 47 of Her Viking Lord
Aksel had remained silent throughout, his presence a pillar of support at my shoulder. But I’d felt the weight of his approval, the fierce pride radiating from him like heat.
Now, hours later, we returned to the prime minister’s residence—my residence, now: for the moment I lived there technically just until the new prime minister was chosen, but I had no doubt that my vision would come to pass. The Sons of Odin and the Pretorian Guard had arranged it so that every thread in Yggdrasil led to me residing here for at least the next six years.
The security detail that had accompanied us melted away as we entered, leaving us alone in the grand foyer. My legs felt unsteady, the adrenaline of the day finally catching up to me.
“You were magnificent,” Aksel said, his hand settling on my lower back. The possessive touch, light as it was, brought a familiar heat down below my belly. Warmth crept into my cheeks, too, at the thought of how insatiable I’d become for myHerra’s hardtólinside me.
“I felt like I was going to vomit the entire time,” I admitted, leaning into his strength.
“That’s what courage is, little one. Doing what must be done despite the fear.” He guided me deeper into the residence, past the formal rooms where I’d played dutiful wife for so many years. “Come. I have something for you.”
In the private sitting room, I saw it immediately—a wooden crate, perhaps four feet long and three feet wide, sitting incongruously on the Persian rug. My heart began to hammer as I recognized the dimensions.
“Herra, what?—”
“Open it,” he commanded softly.
My fingers fumbled with the catches, and when I lifted the lid, my breath caught in my throat. A bride saddle lay nestled inprotective padding, but this one was different from the one at the safehouse. The wood was darker, polished to a mirror sheen, and intricate Norse designs had been carved along its length—serpents and ravens intertwining in patterns that seemed to shift in the lamplight.
“I had it made specially for you,” Aksel said, moving to stand behind me. His hands settled on my shoulders, his breath warm against my ear. “For the prime minister who is also my submissive bed thrall. It seemed fitting that you should have one worthy of both roles.”
“Here?” I gasped, heat flooding my face. “But anyone could walk in,” I protested, even as my pulse quickened at the thought of what he intended. “The staff, security, visiting dignitaries—Herra, this is too embarrassing.”
Aksel’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and I felt him lean closer, his voice dropping to that tone that made my knees weak. “If anyone sees it, you can simply tell them it’s an abstract work of art. A sculpture celebrating Nordic craftsmanship.” His lips brushed my ear. “No one will know what it’s truly for except you and me.”
I turned to face him, my cheeks burning. “But I’ll know. Every time I sit at my desk, every time I meet with advisors or coalition partners, I’ll be looking at the thing you use to—to—” I couldn’t finish the sentence, the words too mortifying to speak aloud.
“To what?” he challenged, his steel-gray eyes holding mine. “To train you? To remind you of your place? To make you come so hard you see the world tree? To use what belongs to me for my pleasure?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my face aflame. “All of that.Herra, please, it’s too much. Can’t we keep it somewhere private? Your safehouse, or?—”
“No.”
The single word cut through my protests like a blade. His hand moved to grip my chin, forcing me to maintain eye contact.
“The woman who will lead this nation needs to remember what grounds her. What makes her strong.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “This stays here, in your private sitting room, where you’ll see it every day and remember that you belong to me as much as you belong to Jagland.”
I knew I should submit. Knew that arguing further would only earn me punishment. But something in me—that spark of rebellion that had never quite died despite all my training, in part because I knew myHerravalued it despite his dominance—made me try once more.
“I won’t have it here,” I said, lifting my chin despite his grip. “It’s inappropriate. Undignified. The prime minister can’t?—”
His hand moved so fast I barely registered it before it cracked across my bottom. The sharp sting made me gasp, and I saw satisfaction flash in his eyes.
“There she is,” he murmured. “My defiant littlevolva, hoping herHerrawill put her in her place.”
My whole body went white hot—shame at being so transparent, and arousal at having been caught in my manipulation. I had indeed been hoping for this, I realized. Hoping he would punish me, would remind me physically of my submission before claiming me the way he’d promised.
“Strip,” he commanded, releasing my chin. “Everything off. Now.”
My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall to the floor. The skirt followed, then my undergarments, until I stood naked before him in what would soon be my official residence. The vulnerability of it made my breath come faster.
Aksel moved to the crate, lifting the bride saddle easily out of it, positioning it in the center of the sitting room where I would indeed see it every time I worked. The carved serpents seemed to writhe in the lamplight, and I felt my face burn hotter knowing what was about to happen.
“Come here,” he said, and the command in his voice left no room for argument.
My legs trembled as I approached, and he guided me onto the saddle with firm hands. The polished wood was cool against my bare skin, but my pussy was already slick with need as I settled onto the saddle’s ridge, the carved wood pressing against my swollen clit with exquisite precision.
Aksel moved behind me, and I heard the soft clink of leather straps with metal fittings being gathered. His hands were firm but gentle as he secured my wrists to the saddle’s brass rings, then moved to bind my ankles, spreading my legs wider until I was completely exposed and helpless. I felt again how myHerra’s saddle rendered me utterly vulnerable, my bottom raised, my breasts hanging free, everything on display for my master’s pleasure.
