Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I had been alone, I had told myself. I had been overstimulated. The vision had been a product of academic obsession and a nervous system pushed past its usual operating parameters.
I definitely wasn’t alone now, though. Henrik’s fingers tightened slightly at the back of my head, and he pressed forward a little further than before.
Take your Herra.
I made another whining, whimpering noise. My hips shifted, my knees bending a little on the kneeling stool. The welts on my thighs and bottom, which had settled into that deep, pulsing warmth, seemed to intensify with the movement, and between my thighs the slickness that Giovanna had so thoroughly documented with her professional fingers became something I could feel with every small shift of my weight.
A Viking… Herra Henrik… a big, strong man was using me, I thought. He used my mouth for his pleasure, steadily and with every indication that he intended to continue doing so until he had taken what he wanted, and my body’s response to this fact was to clench and ache and need in a way that bore no relationship to anything I had ever decided about myself.
The tree came to the edges of my vision. Not fully, not with the overwhelming totality it had carried in the bride chamber. Just at the periphery: a suggestion of roots coming down through the volcanic stone, a whisper of branches somewhere above the low dome of the cell’s ceiling. The cold I could sense among the boughs didn’t seem unpleasant.
I breathed through my nose, gripped the iron posts, and received my Herra. The tree waited at the edges of things the way it had apparently always been waiting.
Abruptly, Henrik pulled his cock from my mouth. The warm weight of him vanished from my mouth. My jaw ached in his absence with a relief that I couldn’t entirely separate from a mortifying, helpless movement of my tongue, as if in search of a hard penis to please.
He disappeared from my field of vision, moving behind me, and every nerve in my body oriented itself toward the sound of his footsteps. They sounded deliberate. He seemed to do everything that way, without hurry. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with casualness… but everything to do with absolute confidence in the outcome. My Herra had no need to hurry, because he knew he would get exactly what he wanted.
I heard the soft sound of something being laid on the stone floor behind me, and then his hands found the clips at my ankle cuffs and freed them from the lower rings of the posts.
Then his left arm came around my waist. Without further warning he began to pull me backward and at the same time to lift me up, off the kneeling stool. He pressed his right hand onto my back, bending me at the waist. He lowered me a little, to the thick mat I realized he had set on the floor to receive me.
His hand kept pressing, and I let out a sob as he bent me all the way over until my elbows rested on the stone, and my face rested atop the kneeling stool. My Herra, apparently satisfied with the position of my back, took his hand from there and used it to take hold of the stool and push it forward and away, leaving my face free to descend until my forehead touched the smooth stone between my wrists, still bound to the iron poles.
Then I felt his hands between my thighs, drawing my knees apart on the mat, exposing me completely.
I understood. I understood with a full-body certainty that arrived in my stomach first and then moved outward to my fingers, my toes, and the suddenly very acute skin of my freshly bared places.
“Wait,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I intended. “Herra Henrik, please… wait? I need… please, just…”
He didn’t answer with words. The broad palm of his right hand came to rest again on the small of my back. A thrill of fear and helpless arousal shot through my body at that touch.
“Please,” I said again, to the stone floor. “Please, Herra. Please, I… I’m a… I mean, I’ve never…”
“I know,” he said. His voice came from behind me, above me, and the quiet certainty of it settled over my spine like a hand. “I know, lille en. Your sweet little fisse has never known a man’s hard tól. That will change very soon, for you are a bed thrall now. It will hurt at first, but you will endure it, and soon enough you will learn to enjoy your service on my reðr.”
His hand moved a little, in a soothing circle. It seemed to communicate that he knew exactly who, what, and where I was and that he had no intention of proceeding without me.