Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
He positioned it carefully in the center of the room, adjusting the height with precision. Then he settled into the chair facing it, spreading his legs as he unfastened his trousers. The sight of his massive tól emerging, already half-hard, made my mouth water.
“Come here,” he commanded gently, and I moved toward him on trembling legs.
His hands steadied me as I positioned myself over the saddle, lowering myself with a sharp intake of breath as the ridge made contact with my still-tender flesh. The pressure was intense but not painful—more like a deep ache that promised relief if I could just find the right rhythm.
“Take your time,” Aksel murmured, his hand stroking my hair as I leaned forward, bringing my face level with his impressive length. “There’s no rush, little one.”
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, marveling as always at the sheer size of him. My tongue traced the crown, tasting the salt of his skin, and I felt him swell further in my grasp. The movement made me shift slightly on the saddle, sending a spark of sensation through my core that made me gasp around his rigid tool.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice thick with approval. “Take what you need.”
I began to move in earnest then—my mouth sliding down his length while my hips rocked gently against the saddle’s knob. The dual stimulation was exquisite, building slowly as I found my rhythm. His hand remained gentle in my hair, guiding but not forcing, letting me set the pace.
But as I took him deeper, as my tongue worked along the underside of his shaft, I felt his control beginning to slip. His breathing grew ragged, his fingers tightening in my hair. The change sent a thrill through me—I wanted this, wanted to feel him lose himself in my mouth the way I was losing myself on his saddle.
“Lorna,” he groaned, a warning and a plea.
I hummed my approval around him, taking him as deep as I could manage. His control shattered then, and I felt a surge of fierce joy as his hips began to thrust upward, his hand tightening in my hair to hold me in place. He was fucking my face now, using my mouth with the same dominance he’d shown in every other aspect of our relationship, and I loved it. This was what I needed—not the careful gentleness of the past few days, but the raw power of my Herra taking what belonged to him.
The change in his rhythm made me rock harder against the saddle, and suddenly I felt the knob slip backward slightly, pressing against my little flower, the place Horakovsky had used me so cruelly, my tiny røvhul, with delicious pressure. My face heated as I realized that the sensation was exactly what I’d been craving. With a sob around my Herra’s thrusting cock, I shifted my hips deliberately, grinding my tender bottom-hole against the little bump in the leather padding.
The mixture of stimulation—the tól pounding into my throat while the saddle’s ridge pressed against my most forbidden entrance—sent me spiraling upward with shocking speed. I felt his cock swell impossibly larger, and then my Herra was coming, flooding my mouth with pulse after pulse of his seed. I swallowed frantically, taking everything he gave me, and the act of submission combined with the pressure against my still-sore røvhul pushed me over the edge.
My climax hit like lightning, and with it came the silver branches.
I shot upward through Yggdrasil’s canopy with such velocity that I felt myself leave my body entirely. The world tree spread before me in crystalline perfection, every branch and twig visible in stunning detail. But this time, instead of merely seeing threads of possibility, I saw probability as well, and indeed near-certainty—the future unfolding with the clarity of memory.
Something called Project Athena materialized first. I saw a massive installation spreading across the Canadian Arctic like a technological cathedral. The hope of humanity, a celestial voice seemed to say. I saw the underground sanctuary, its launch facilities, the space station’s power arrays gleaming beneath the northern lights. The structure was magnificent, a testament to human ingenuity and the determination to preserve civilization against any catastrophe.
Then I saw her—a young woman named Mary O’Toole, and I knew that name though I’d never met her. A girl… a fellow bed thrall and vǫlva… with flame-red hair and startling green eyes, standing in what looked like a command center. She wore the bearing of someone who had seen the world tree as I had, but with more experience.
Mary was speaking to two men—one I recognized as Sven, Aksel’s brother in the Sons of Odin, and another whose powerful presence marked him as someone significant in that other secret society my Herra had told me about… the Pretorian Guard. Marmareus, I knew somehow, and a jolt of need surged in my pussy as I understood that Mary belonged to both of them—that she was shared between them.