Breath leaves my lungs in a warm gush as the throbbing between my legs intensifies to manic levels.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’m in for a very memorable evening, and I’m more than game for his sinful play.
Chapter Four
Profound Pleasure
My arms tighten around his waist as we bump along the narrow dirt road. Lush trees surround us and the foliage is so dense that little else is visible. Where in the hell is his house?
He’s given me no clue. I never would’ve guessed that we’d be headed for a twenty-minute ride outside of the City Centre. It begins to make sense, though; he seems like a man who needs both his space and long periods of privacy.
This late in the afternoon the fall air is brisk, and I’m relieved that we’re nearly there. The single layer of my dress offers me little in the way of protection against the wind and my legs are starting to feel like twin popsicles. Peeking up over his wide right shoulder I see a structure emerge through the trees. It’s horizontal and light in color, constructed out of birch or perhaps a light Aspen. Long, rectangular windows are interspersed along the body of the distinctively modern home.
He steers us around the right side and down a curved, sloped drive that’s paved in blacktop. As we come to a rolling stop, I feel him reach into his pocket. He pulls out a small black garage door opener and presses the button. The double bay door comes to life. I hold fast as he eases us into a generous space next to a mammoth black SUV.
The motorcycle shuts off and his palm touches my hand, the one that rests snugly against his jacket. “Ready to head inside, Elora?”
“Mmm, hmm.” I murmur against his back.
Suddenly the silence is heady, amplifying my nervous energy. I’m struck by the fact that we’re completely alone together and that he is fully in his element. My heart pounds solidly in my chest as a wave of excitement crashes through me.
“Okay,” he says, “go ahead and dismount.”
I reach up to his shoulders for support and swing my leg over and off of his ride. Taking a look around, I see that everything is exceptionally clean and tidy. The floor is a gray concrete that gleams from a glossy veneer. Even his black SUV is free from any hint of grime or dust. In fact, it’s so clean and shiny that I bet I could apply my makeup in the reflection of the jet-black paint job.
A fastidious biker? Well, isn’t he just full of surprises ….
A light brush of a hand between my shoulder blades pulls me out of my thoughts. “After you,” he rumbles in a low voice as we move toward a flight of stairs that lead to a closed door. I hear the garage door sliding closed behind us as Mikkel reaches around me to twist the handle and push the door open for us.
My first impression of his home is that it’s beautifully quiet and filled with streaming light coming in through the long row of windows. Through the glass I take in the streaky, rust-red sunset that hovers over a sparkling lake. I move over toward the sliding doors to gaze out at the tranquility. “This property is spectacular, Mikkel. I can understand why you live so far out of town.”
He stands beside me, my left shoulder just touching his upper arm. He stares out and begins thoughtfully, “This property belonged to my grandfather. Until ten years ago, nothing was on this land but a rickety fishing cabin. When bestefar passed away, he thankfully left the property to me, must have been from all of the memories of the times we spent together in the forest. I would drive my family mad, begging them to drive me out here so I could fish all day with my bestefar.”
“When did he pass away?”
He responds slowly, in a wistful tone. “Fifteen years ago now. The man smoked like a fucking chimney. Heart gave out. He was a fantastic human being.”
“What was his name?”
“Magnus. His name was Magnus.”
Silence prevails for a long moment before I say, “It’s so amazingly quiet out here. You must enjoy the solitude after all the noise in the garage.”
He continues to gaze out at the rippling water and says pointedly, “Absolutely.”
“Do you ever get lonely way out here?”
He turns to me and my lips part lightly. In this light, his irises look exactly like molten gold. Mesmerizing ….
He smiles kindly, a few thin lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes as he says, “Never. In fact I embrace the isolation, need it deeply, min skjønne. Always have.”
A mysterious emotion takes over his hard male features, something akin to fierce longing. It happens quickly and is so stunning that I want nothing more than to twine my arms around his neck, to pull him down to me.
We stare at each other in silence for a thick moment before he whispers quietly, “I’m fucking filthy, babe, need to shower in the worst way. Make yourself at home, have a look around, I won’t be long.”
I watch him walk away, his shoulders so wide as he heads across the spacious living room in long, smooth strides. He stops for a brief moment to pick a remote up from a side table. He aims it at a grey slate fireplace and in seconds the gas logs jump to life. When I glance back from the fire he’s disappeared somewhere down a shadowed hallway that runs parallel to the front door.
I cross to the custom fireplace and watch the flames flicker and dance in the waning light. Two black steel braces jut out from the stone above the blaze. They hold an unusual, rectangular-shaped glass box. Curious, I take a few steps back to see it at a better angle, lift my head up and stare at the ancient, weathered object. It’s an incredibly old, battered sword, Viking era perhaps? It’s difficult to tell. I’m not an expert on weapons by any means and the condition is poor at best. It’s safe to say that this once proud sword has seen better days; however, there is something beautiful about its weathered surface. Deep, marring grooves and nicks cover it from tip to handle and the color, once a shimmering silver, is now dark, grayish-black. How many men have fallen from this powerful weapon and who would have wielded it over his powerful shoulder? Certainly back then it was a necessary tool for both survival and protection. My mind conjures up a fierce Viking in battle. The heavy sword swings with ease from the bloody hands of a massive, rough warrior. He’s laser-focused and intent only on the next kill. A shudder runs up my spine at the violent image. I turn away and glance around.
I’d like to explore the rest of his home, possibly find him in the shower, mmm, yeah, but I decide to have a seat, to wait as patiently as possible for him to emerge. Thinking back, I recall that, aside from those moments in the foyer of my apartment and that brief but memorable encounter in the small room in the clubhouse, this is our first real time alone together. I brush my palms against the smooth material covering my legs. I’m anxious to learn more about this fascinating male. His mysterious, forceful words have piqued my interest. I’ve never delved into why I’ve longed for a dominant man; I simply know that the urge, innate and undeniable, has steadily increased over the years. The type of relationship everyone, including Alexander, expects me to enter into is in my opinion vanilla, bland, dull and devoid of both sensuality and excitement. I want passion, and I’m now at the point in my life that if I’m unable to find it, I’d rather be alone. Yes, alone would be better than being frustrated and unsatisfied, and alone has been my lot for the past three years. Could Mikkel be the man to give me what I’ve desperately yearned for? A man who’s a total alpha and knows exactly how to guide his woman, to take over completely ….
* * *
“Can you guess how old it is?”
I watch her jump a little, having been lost in thought as she stares up at my broadsword.
Turning, she takes me in from head to toe. I fight a smile because her raw interest is so damn adorable.
Quietly, she says, “Oh, I didn’t hear you. Hmm, let’s see, from my recollection of history and Vikings, I’ll take a guess and peg this at maybe 1200AD?”
“Close. An antiquities specialist dated it at 900AD. What do you think of it?”
I watch as she stands and moves closer, stopping be
low the thick handle to look up. “It’s beautifully crafted. Wait, is that an inscription in the iron? Just there ….” She points up and stands on tiptoe to get a better look. “I can’t really tell, though, because it’s so faint. I thought that it was just marks before.”
“Yes, very perceptive. It’s a signature. The sword was designed by a craftsman who signed his work +ULFBERHT+. His swords were renowned to be the highest quality, the most durable in battle.”
“Was the designer Norwegian?”
“No one knows his background. Only the legacy of his unparalleled work remains today. According to my bestefar, this broadsword belonged to a distant relative of ours who fought in the Viking raids.”
She turns and faces me with a knowing smile.
“What is it, min skjønne?”
“Of course you would be a descendant of Vikings, Mikkel.”
Fighting a grin, I say, “Yeah, and how’s that?”
Crossing to me, she stops just as our bodies are about to touch. Looking up she whispers, “Because of everything about you, Mikkel, your ferocity, your passion, your intensity ….”
She doesn’t get to finish because I latch onto the nape of her neck and pull her forward. Leaning in, I crush her in a devouring kiss, pouring everything I have into it, not giving a fuck about the cut in my lip. I’m determined to let her know without words how fucking thankful I am that I’ve found her. She’s a rare prize. I don’t know and don’t give a shit about whatever fucking douche bags she dated before me, but that shit is over and done with from this point forward.
She moans so sweetly as our tongues lap against each other. She’s gonna get nice and loud once I get her beneath me in my bed tonight. Yeah, that fucking fiery thought has been burning a hole in my skull ever since I first met her. Gotta take it slow, though; she’s shy and I don’t want to scare her away. She’s in my home deep in the woods, and she must feel a trace of fear over how new this all is. No, I’ll slow it to a crawl and show her that she can trust me. Her small hands have just slid up to caress my pecs when I wrap my hands around her silky wrists, pull my mouth away and step back.
Her lashes flutter open and her glazed eyes are questioning, but she stays quiet. Her already generous lips are swollen and I can’t help but imagine them wrapped around my dick … fuck!
Hissing a breath through my teeth, I grate out, “Christ, need to slow it down, Elora, or we’ll never eat our meal tonight.”
Fire dances in her eyes as she grins up at me. “Tell me how I can help, Mikkel. I love cooking.”
I take her hand and walk backward, keeping her close as we make our way into my small kitchen.
“I hope you like steak.”
“Yes,” she says, “call me a carnivore.”
Under my breath I mutter, “We’ll see about that.”
“Sorry?”
“It was nothing. You up for a glass of wine?”
“Please.”
“Picked up a bottle in town the other morning I thought you’d like.” I pull out a tall leather stool for her to sit on. “You relax here and I’ll get it.”
I slide a glass from the wooden overhang above my small alcove bar. Setting it before her on the striated granite counter, I get busy opening the wine.
“So tell me about the gallery today. What happened?”
“Well, they’d like to take the four pieces that I have, on commission of course, but their terms are very fair. I’m quite happy about it, actually. I honestly thought it would take months to find a gallery to sell my paintings.”
I pull the cork out and stare into her eyes. “Fuck no, babe, they know talent when they see it.”
“Thanks, Mikkel.”
“No thanks needed, baby. Stone cold fact.”
I pour her a generous glass of the rich Cabernet and slide it over.
Noting one glass she asks, “Where’s yours?”
“I only drink Aquavit or lager on occasion.”
I grab a small snifter from the bar and open the freezer for the bottle. Pouring out about two ounces, I cross to her and lift my glass high, “A toast, to unpredictable Jaguars and shitty starters. Gotta love ’em.”
She bursts into an involuntary giggle, trying in vain to hold her raised wine glass steady. “Yes, quite well put. Cheers.”
“Skål, min skjønne.”
“Skål, Mikkel.”
Our glasses touch and after a delicate sip she says, “Mmm, this is luscious. For a man who shuns wine you certainly know how to choose a fine bottle.”
“Think it had more to do with my appearance.”
Her head tilts to the side. “How so?”
“The shopkeeper looked scared out of his mind, most likely offered up the best bottle to keep from pissing me off.” Her eyes widen and I burst out laughing. “No, it’s not like that, Elora. I’m joking with you, babe. I know the owner. I’m always dropping by to pick up a bottle or two because my parents also enjoy wine. I told him what I wanted and that was it. Easy.”
Her lips turn down in a frown. “Not funny.”
“Very. Fucking. Funny. Should’ve seen the stunned look on your face.”
Her eyes narrow. So, my little beauty is sensitive ….
I set my glass down and gently part her crossed legs before cupping her small face in my palms. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the wine. I think it would be an excellent idea if I tasted some off your lips now, sweetheart.” I lean in to slowly run my tongue against the slightly parted seam of her magnificent lips. Her soft moan is cut off as my mouth engulfs hers, tasting, savoring her perfection. Her hands reach up to sift through my hair, then move lower, stroking the base of my neck with those delicate fingers. She pulls me forward, urging the already intense kiss deeper. I let go of her face and place my palms on her shoulders as I pull back.
I’ve gotta shut this shit down now or I’ll take her right here, right now on the damn counter. The woman does things to my brain that compares to flooring a Shelby GT500 on a straightaway. No. Time to show her who’s in charge.
Her eyes slowly flutter open as I stop and stare down at her, purposefully keeping my stare neutral.
“What is it, Mikkel?”
“We need to have a talk before things between us move ahead any farther, min skjønne.”
She looks puzzled but gives me a slow nod. “All right.”
I step back, fighting the urge to scoop her up and carry her to my bedroom. The primary thought pounding in my brain is to get her naked beneath me, quivering and begging for release. Spread wide for my use. Fuck ….
I inhale deeply and say, “Let me get the grill fired up first babe, then we’ll talk.”
“What can I do?”
“If you feel like making a salad, then everything’s in the fridge. But first, come on out to the deck with me while I light the grill. Here, let me carry your glass.”
I open the tall sliding door for her to step out ahead of me. Immediately she wraps her arms around her shoulders.
“Wow, the temperature is really beginning to plummet in the evening.”
“Yeah, should have our first snow here in the next two weeks.”
I shove the Zippo flex neck lighter into my back jeans pocket and wrap my arms around her shoulders. She turns into me, gratefully nuzzling into my heat.
Looking down below, she says, “I didn’t realize that you had a staircase leading down to that long dock.”
“Yeah, it’s not easy to see from the house.”
“Did you put that in as well?”
I set her glass on the rail, turn the gas on, pull the lighter out and fire it up before answering, “There was a short dock down there before. Served its purpose. By the time I began construction on the house it was already starting to rot, so yeah, it’s new. I’m kind of a prick when it comes to doing things the right way. When I was a kid I would lose my ever-loving mind if I misplaced a Lego from a set and shit like that. How about you, when did you decide to become an artist?”
“Many
of my earliest memories centered on art. I loved to color, make things from Play-Doh, the lot. When I was seventeen I was accepted into a school for the arts in Bath. That’s where I realized what I actually enjoyed painting and where my skills were strongest. I’ve been nonstop ever since, I suppose.”
“Are your paintings sold in any other galleries?”
“Yes, one gallery back in Chelsea and one in Bath. I’ll need to find a quality shipper here in Oslo who can crate and ship large pieces soon because the one in Bath is running low on my work.”
I watch her stare out at the dark sky as it hovers over the now midnight blue water.
“You know, you are so lucky to live here, Mikkel. Talk about a dream spot to paint ….”
I thread my hand through her silky hair and stare down into her eyes. “You bring your gear out here and paint all you want, Elora. I’m dead serious.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that, Mikkel. I just might take you up on that sometime. Just the silence alone in this haven is so relaxing. And I imagine that the light is breathtaking at most hours of the day.”
“You should. C’mon you must be freezing. Let’s head inside, and I’ll come back out to throw the steaks on. How do you like yours?”
“Rare.”
“My kind of woman.”
After we step into the living room, she has a mischievous glint in her eyes as she asks, “Is that right, then?”
Without missing a beat, I reply, “Fuck yeah, and soon you’ll find out why.”
Her lips part and she sucks in air. Oh yeah, she’s gonna be so beautifully responsive for me.
I’ve just taken the second bite of my tasty filet mignon when she asks me, “So, care to talk about the scene back at the garage? Rival club annoying you?”
I take a deep drink of Aquavit then answer her, “It’s a fucking ugly story, babe. Sure you’re up for it?”
Her voice is calm and strong. “Mikkel, I’ve experienced a lot, I can handle it.”
Hmm, I’ll address that one soon enough.
“All right, then. You saw that pretty boy punk I had pinned on the ground?”
Nordic Lessons Page 7
