“Yes, briefly.”
“Used to be my best friend, since the age of five actually. His father worked at my bestefar’s shipping company. We met one day and nothing on earth could separate us.” I clutch my short glass tightly. “That is, until we were around twenty.”
“Was it over a girl?”
My head begins to pound from the recall and my jaw locks tight. I force out an answer, “Partly, yes. You could say that.”
I look into her eyes and she reaches across to touch my fingers. “What happened?” she whispers.
“We’d both saved up a good bit of money out of school, working odd jobs. We had major plans to work steadily for a few years before we had enough to put a down payment on a loan for an old warehouse to build custom rides. Dag got impatient, didn’t want to wait any longer. He began flashing a lot of cash, amounts I knew he couldn’t have earned with the job he held. When I called him on it, he admitted that he’d begun selling guns. He was basically the middleman, finding buyers for a Polish distributer that wanted a piece of the Oslo underground scene. He was making so much bank, so fast, that it was unreal.”
“Is that what caused the split in your friendship?”
“That was the main factor. If I went in with him, with his illegal cash, there would always be that element in our business. I saw the big picture, knew we’d be taken down one day. Those guys who cut him in would always have a hand in our business. I was young, but smart enough to understand how the world works. I wasn’t about to do time for illegal shit just to have my dream a few years early. He was enraged that I wouldn’t follow his lead dealing arms.”
Taking a deep breath, I go on, “He also began to have an unhealthy fixation on Lisetta. Still does.”
Her eyes widen as she asks, “Lisetta?”
“Yeah. When she was in her teens and shit was really going down between him and me, Dag began watching her, talking to her all the time. She was only sixteen and he was already in his twenties. I could tell that she was intimidated, always backing away and avoiding him whenever possible. He didn’t take the hint, started showing up wherever she was, basically stalking her. I stepped in and spelled it out for him, told him that she was too young and wasn’t fucking interested. He backed off a little after that, but she tells me that they still cross paths in town and the look he gives her creeps her the fuck out.”
“It seems like he’s borderline obsessed with her.”
I can only manage a gruff, “Yeah.” The thought of him touching my cousin makes me want to puke.
“Now I get the animosity, the hatred. Criminal activity and stalking a relative is reprehensible.”
“Damn straight. She’s upset that she might run into him. Whenever he and I run into each other, which isn’t often, I make it crystal clear how I feel about him. And Lisetta, well, she’s been very patient with me.”
“How so?”
“After that shit went down with the guns and him trying to move in to date her, I wouldn’t even let her near my MC to party until the night Vail came out with her. I wanted her safe. I can finally chill a bit now, ’cause she’s in deep with Bern. He’d fucking rip anyone’s throat out who laid a hand on her.”
“Does Bern know that Dag wants her?”
“Fuck, no! Shit, Bern would land himself in prison so fast it would make your head spin. If he knew that Dag had a thing for her, that he watches her, let’s just say that Dag would have a big ass moving target painted on his back.”
“You don’t think she’ll tell him?”
“No. She won’t talk about Dag. It upsets her. Only once, when I was closing down the bar and was about to take her home, did she bring it up.”
“What did she say?”
I try to get my voice to work right but it comes out in a strangled whisper, “She thanked me. She fucking thanked me for keeping him away from her. Said he scared the shit out of her. Tears poured down my baby cousin’s face as she fucking thanked me.”
“Mikkel, my God. That’s horrific.”
“Yeah, I never knew before then how much he frightened her. I thought she was just annoyed with him for bothering her, but she obviously sensed something really twisted about him.” I take her hand and run my thumb across the back of hers. “Enough of this heavy shit. How is your meal? I hope that it hasn’t been ruined by all this talk?”
“No. The dinner is perfect. Thank you for cooking. You’re quite talented on the grill.”
“Glad you think so.”
I watch her glance briefly over her shoulder, back to the kitchen.
“Looking for something, min skjønne?”
“Oh, I was just looking for the delicious wine. May I please have another glass?”
“No.”
I watch her aqua eyes flare in surprise.
I purposefully drop my voice down a level. “Do you want to know why, Elora?”
Her breath hitches. “Y-yes.”
“Ask me.”
“Why can’t I have another glass of wine, Mikkel? I’m not driving and I’m certainly not even close to being drunk.”
“Because Elora, when I have you for the very first time tonight you are going be completely clearheaded. Now, tell me, what you are looking for in a lover?”
Christ, this is a long overdue conversation.
I watch her blush deeply and stare down at her white napkin for a long time before she looks up through those long lashes and replies quietly, “I want someone who’s in charge, someone like you, Mikkel. If your personality is any indication of what you’re capable of delivering in the bedroom, well, let’s just say I’m all in as a willing participant. Is that a direct enough answer for you?”
I nod, pleased with her reply. “What was missing in the past? What exactly do you want Elora? I need you to be perfectly clear, baby, because first and foremost, I’m a dominant, and if you’re not what I think you are then we need to stop everything right now.”
Her eyes flick up and lock with mine. Clear intent shines brightly within them as she speaks, “I, I have a very good idea about what you are, what you need, Mikkel. It’s what lures me to you. I’ve always longed for more, a lover to direct me, to … oh God, to punish me ….”
She stops and turns to look out into the darkness. Her breathing is ragged, and I stare at the rise and fall of her sexy chest. Her honesty is profound and humbling. I know that it’s not easy for her to verbalize her foreign and intimate needs and desires.
“It’s all good, baby. There is no right or wrong here. Are you looking to only play or for something more, for something lasting?”
She meets my stare and in a hushed voice, she tells me, “I would never go into this with a casual attitude, Mikkel. I’m not built like that. I’m loyal. Why do you ask? And while we are on the topic, what are you seeking?”
Everything. I want everything from you, Elora.
I gaze at her intently. “I’m searching for a submissive, Elora. I’m not interested in fucking around or playing games. I’ve known since I was nineteen years old that I’m a dominant. Hell, I barely comprehended the term back then, thought that shit was for whacked out sick in the head fuckers. Struggled with it for a few years, gave up on dating women who flipped the fuck out if I would smack their ass, just to test what they were all about. I stayed alone for a good long while. Had two subs in the past. Both never worked out in the long run. I want to see where this goes, Elora. I want you. Christ, I can’t get you outta my head, woman.”
“I think about you often too. You’re the polar opposite of any man I’ve ever dated and perhaps that is the attraction in itself. To be honest, Mikkel, I’m afraid that I really don’t know much about the lifestyle, but I truly want to learn more. I want you to teach me what you know.”
“I’ll teach you.”
Her voice drops to a nearly strangled whisper, “You, you don’t want to beat me, do you?”
I expected questions like this. I answer her thoughtfully, “No Elora. I don’t want to beat you, not i
n the manner you might be thinking. I am an incredibly firm Dom—that is a hard fact, no getting around it—so I will punish my sub swiftly and effectively if she steps out of line. I wouldn’t be an effective Dom if I didn’t. But I’m not a sadist. I don’t inflict damage solely for my pleasure or even for yours. I would never draw blood, I have no interest in causing marks on your body that wouldn’t fade within a day or two, and more importantly, you need to know that I allow far more pleasure than I ever deny or withhold. Also, in case you’re so new that you’re unaware, you’re the one who holds the power during a scene.”
“How so?”
“Because, min skjønne, with one whisper or scream of your safe word then everything, and I mean everything stops on a dime. You understand?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
I want you to use a safe word that is easy for you to remember. If I do my job correctly then you should not ever have to use it, but if you do, I’d like you to use the word ‘blaze.’ If at any time you say ‘blaze,’ I’ll cease. Say the word for me.”
“Blaze.”
“Good.”
“And while we’re on the topic of playing, are you on birth control or would you prefer me to use a condom?”
She runs her fingers through her hair. I can tell that this is a lot to take in but she is impressive in her openness.
“I’m on birth control, and I had a checkup back in London four months ago. I’m clean. How about you?”
“I get checked every six months, haven’t had sex in nearly two years if you can believe that. I’m a particular bastard, in everything. How ’bout you? When was the last time you got some action?”
“It’s been over a year, and it was not fulfilling in the least.”
My lips twitch, “We’ll fix that.”
Her eyes shimmer with need as I tell her, “I’ll take you bare or with a condom, your decision.”
She whispers, “Bare. I want to feel everything with you, Mikkel.”
Hot breath tunnels out of my chest. “All right, excellent Elora.”
“You have a pet name for me, Mikkel. Is there a term, a name you prefer when we are together?” She seems clearly hesitant to ask.
I smile and reply, “What would you like to call me, min skjønne?”
“Um, I’m not sure. What’s the usual—Master, Sir, My Liege?”
I laugh heartily as she blushes and squirms in her chair. “I’m not so sure about the last one—too fucking formal for me. In the past I’ve been called both Master as well as Sir. My personal preference is for Master—more dominant, less uptight—however, I’ll leave it up to you to choose whenever you’re ready. But I’ll tell you now that when we start to play, you will address me appropriately and with genuine respect, or there will be harsh repercussions for you. Understood?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Silence hangs between us for several minutes before she asks, “What do you expect of me?”
I stand and hold out my hand. She gets up and places hers within mine. My fingers close around her delicate ones as I say, “Come with me, Elora, and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Five
Pure Play
Breathe. Don’t be afraid. This is everything you’ve yearned for … all condensed into this very moment.
With my hand firmly clasped in his hot, rough one, we head down the far hallway. The blood pounds in my ears and my heart jackhammers from the adrenaline that’s exploding inside me. The only light streams from a single frosted sconce high on the right wall. The air is charged with electricity. I can feel it—similar to tension but more thrilling. What’s about to occur between us has undoubtedly been a long time coming. My body has been eager, wet and ready since I mounted his ride that very first time we met.
We stop and he swings open a tall pine door. White. Everything is white in the dimly lit room, and my pupils have to adjust to take it all in. The bed is the largest object and the first to meet my eyes. It’s a gigantic platform bed and it juts out from the right wall. White leather headboard, a white duvet and right then I see the other wall. Oh, God! Completely imposing. And the swing .… I’m barely aware that he’s released my hand as my feet lead me deeper into the cavernous space. Mikkel lights a fat candle set within a glass hurricane on the table by the bed. He’s silently watching me, tracking my movements, allowing me to explore.
On my left, I pass by an ‘S’ shaped leather chair that rests close to a long set of narrow, floor to ceiling windows. My boots click against the wide-planked light birch floor. I want to get a closer look at this wall. Smooth white slats of painted wood host an array of daunting yet fascinating objects, each neatly hanging by individual silver hooks. My eyes fly back and forth: a white leather coiled bullwhip, a beautifully braided cat ’o nine tails, silver handcuffs, a variety of clamps, different-sized light-colored wood paddles, on and on. Like an intriguing painting, the wall holds my rapt attention. I’ve browsed online BDSM shops in the past, curious about the lifestyle, allowing my imagination to run wild with the thought of just one of these hedonistic items being used on my body, but I’m unprepared to see so many of them up close and personal. I take in each and every object, knowing that I should be frightened, but deep inside me, I feel my body respond with need and longing. I desperately want him to use these on me. Oh God, yes, those skilled hands of his, punishing me, bending me to his will ….
Slight movement in the heavily shadowed far left corner catches my eye. Hanging from four sturdy silver chains is a white leather swing. I walk closer. It looks custom-made. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. The wide seat and backrest are made of woven strips of supple leather and a shiver runs up my spine as I take in the leather loops that hang off of the front chains. It’s obviously where my legs would go to hold them open for him.
I turn around to face him. My heart is pounding wildly in anticipation as he watches me, an unfathomable expression on his shadowed face. Standing several feet away, he crosses his brawny arms over his chest and demands, “Take your clothes off for me.”
I breathe deeply through my nose, then I answer him, “All right.” Damn! Why did my voice tremble so badly?
I reach for the tie on my dress and my shaky fingers freeze as I hear a low, very displeased, “All right?”
Shit! “A-all right Master.” It wasn’t hard to choose the term. It suits him—perfectly, actually. Sir reminds me of a knighted person and my liege was just too formal and weird. Yes, Master is both hot and intense. I actually feel sexy saying it to him. I yearn to submit as much as he desires to dominate me.
His eyes burn with pleasure as he nods in approval. I pull the tie of the bow on my hip and the blue fabric flutters open. Reaching in, I let the last tie go and my dress gapes open.
“Slide it off, slowly.”
I shiver in delight at his richly accented voice. It rolls through me when he speaks. I reach up to my shoulders, never breaking eye contact, and shrug the dress off, hearing it whoosh down to the floor.
His burning eyes drink me in from head to toe. I’ve worn my best set of Agent Provocateur lingerie for him tonight. I hope he enjoys the black cutwork bra and panties. I purchased them on High Street back in London, secretly wishing that one day I would cross paths with a dominant man who would fully appreciate them ….
His voice is strained and thick as he says, “Beautiful, Elora. Christ, woman, you could give a man a stroke in that gear. Unreal, baby. Now your boots.”
His encouraging words fire up my confidence. I toss my hair to one side, hold his gaze and lean forward to slowly unzip the inside of my right boot. I smile inwardly, knowing that the sheer balconette style bra barely contains my breasts, and at this angle ….
I pull off each boot and set them aside. I stand and touch my palms to my thighs and await further instruction. Be a good girl for him …. His muscles are tense and straining. His white cotton Henley highlights his honeyed skin. I find it fascinating that his face gives nothing away. An unwavering mask o
f sheer control. Fascinating beyond measure.
His voice cuts through the room in a near growl. “Lose the bra. Keep the panties in place.”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I reach around to slowly unhook the clasp. Once it’s free I hesitate out of shyness, holding the delicate scrap of material up against my chest, breathing hard.
He tilts his held to one side. His eyes narrow as annoyance tightens his chiseled features. “Disobedience already, sub?”
“No. Not in the least, just … shy, Master.” I feel the heat rise up in my cheeks as my arms fall forward, the fine material falling down to flutter at my toes. My heart sprints as I catch sight of the steel bar of an erection that is distinctly outlined beneath the right side of his dark washed jeans. Huge and imposing. Oh hell, yes!
He’s watchful, eyes moving between my alert nipples and my face. “Show me how you like your tits touched.”
I freeze up. Touch myself in front of him? Could I? My mind races with the intimidating thought.
“Oh!” I call out because he’s moved with lightning speed to close the small space between us. He immediately grasps my right elbow, spins me around, and marches me to the low, sideways-S-shaped lounge chair. Pushing me, belly first, over the leather, he reaches down and over me, placing a leather strap firmly in each of my shaking palms.
His rich, controlled voice curls around me in a dark embrace, “Don’t you dare let go. When I give a command you are to follow it quickly and gracefully. Am I clear, little sub?”
The directness in his firm voice is unmistakable. I’m angry with myself for not obeying. I shouldn’t have been so timid.
“Yes Master, very clear. I-I’m sorry.”
Shit, why is my voice cracking?
“Not yet, you aren’t, little sub, but you will be soon.”
What?
I squeeze tightly on the straps in anticipation of the unknown. I assume a spanking is in order, but with what? Out of the corner of my eye, off to my left, I see his bare feet and jeans. I hear a low dark murmur, “Been dying to lay into this juicy ass since I saw you on the road that day. Now hold still, baby.”
Nordic Lessons Page 8
