by Brianna Hale
“Min söta flicka.” I murmur, pushing my middle finger slowly into her, watching her eyes close with pleasure. My sweet girl.
I consider pushing another finger into her and breaking her now, but we have a bed. We may as well do this properly. Gathering her up in my arms, I lay down with her, covering her with my body and planting kisses on her mouth. My cock is hard and pressed against her stomach. I twist her nipples and her tongue slides against mine. I twist them harder and she arches her back, moaning softly. Perfect. She’s so deep into subspace that anything that hurts her causes her pleasure. Because I’m going to have to hurt her in a minute.
I move my knees between her thighs, opening her up before me. Her pretty little pussy looks so delicate against the shiny thickness of my erection. I drink in the sight of her, poised and waiting for me. As I rub the silky tip of my cock through her folds, she wraps her legs around my hips and arches her back.
“Just a little bit more pain, käraste.” She barely seems to hear me, and not even a flicker of discomfort registers on her face as I ease into her. I feel a little resistance, and keep going. She’s as tight around me as a vice. I groan and slant my mouth across hers, kissing her hard.
Lacey slides her hands up my chest and locks her arms around my neck. I take a breath, quelling the urge to fuck her hard and deep. Gently, slowly still.
“You’re being so good for me, min ängel.” I wish I could speak to her completely in Swedish. English is fine, but I like my own language better. The first time it slipped out was in my office when she started crying. It was the most natural thing in the world, to put my arms around her and call her käraste. Darling. Almost as dear as älskling, but nowhere near as beloved as she is now.
Lacey pulls me closer and makes a soft, needy sound. I can’t tear my eyes away from her as I slowly pull back, and then drive myself deeper into her. I do this over and over, feeling my cock push a little further each time. Lacey’s eyes are closed and her head tipped back in surrender.
When I pull out, she makes a whimper of regret, and I see a shiny smear of blood on my cock. I move down the bed and push her knees up to her chest and lick her lovingly, all the way up her pussy to her clit, getting her all over my tongue. I can taste her arousal and a metallic tang. When she’s crying out like she’s about to come I sit up and impale her with my cock again, replacing my tongue on her clit with my thumb.
I can’t hold back this time. I start to fuck her deeply, setting a harder pace, reveling in the long plunge of every thrust and groaning as my peak builds.
“Där min kära. Come for me.”
Lacey’s opened her eyes and they’re filled with that supplicative expression she gets when she’s close. As she tips over the edge, I clamp my hand around her throat and fuck her hard, letting go in the best way possible. She’s going to feel this tomorrow and remember how she was pinned and helpless beneath my body as I rode her hard. I keep rubbing her clit even after she’s come, knowing how sensitive she is, and seeing the pleasure-pain flash through her eyes.
“Again,” I growl, not feeling one ounce of mercy as I pound her hard. “Do you hear me? I’m not letting up until you come again.”
She bucks beneath me, crying out, but her hands are gripping me, not pushing me away. “Yes, daddy,” she manages through her whimpers, and then her head tips back with her climax, and I feel my own rock through me.
“Duktig flicka,” I manage gritted teeth. Good girl.
Finally, my thrusts slow and I can take long breaths again. I pull out of her, watching my seed spill from her pussy.
Possessiveness thunders through me. Mine. Mine first, mine now, and mine forever. Lacey’s the one I want, and I’m never going to let her go.
Chapter Fourteen
Lacey
Mr. Blomqvist eases himself off me and pulls me tight against his body. I come slowly swimming out of the sex and subspace haze he put me into, and I feel lulled and comforted by his arms wrapped tightly around me.
Sleepily, we twine our fingers through each other’s. The early evening sunshine is slanting through the window, bathing us in golden warmth. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he’s smiling that beatific smile that almost doesn’t seem real. His secret smile, just for me.
A moment of perfection.
It almost makes me scared to breathe. I want to box this moment up in my mind, put a red satin ribbon around it and place it carefully on a high shelf where it will be safe forever.
“Was that all right, käraste?” Mr. Blomqvist murmurs, kissing my neck.
I smile up at him, weak from his ferocity. Does he know what we have right now? Pure peace. For a moment the world has stopped spinning, and I’m truly living. “Perfect.”
I trace the patterns on his chest with my fingertips. I’ve only had peeks at his body before now, and I finally get a proper look at the tattoos inked into his muscles. They’re Nordic. Animals, swords, runic knots and symbols.
I point to each one and ask what they are. Valravn, he tells me, his fingers tracing the dark ink on his chest. Valravn is the raven of the slain, and the tip of one glossy black wing curves up toward his throat. Fenrir, the monstrous wolf, prowls across his hip bone and belly, and again down his wrist. Each one beautiful and elegantly inked.
I trail my fingers over him, wondering at his beauty. “You must have made a lovely canvas for the tattoo artist.”
He plants a kiss on my nose. “Thank you. I like being a canvas. I’m thinking of getting an old Viking saying on the back of my calf. I haven’t decided which one yet.”
“What sort of saying?”
He turns onto his back and tucks me into his side. “Well, there are lots of proverbs about courage in battle and holding your tongue lest you be thought a fool.”
I laugh, tracing the planes of his belly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Then there are very grand sayings, and very long and weighty ones. But I thought a simple one would suit me best. Perhaps, Slow and sure. Tómr ok munu. It’s from a thirteenth century saga.” His eyes follow the patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling as he tastes the words in his mind. “Tómr ok munu. Yes. I like it.”
He rolls onto his side and props himself on his elbow. “I am learning patience, käraste. Or, I’m trying to. I have wanted you so badly, but there is sweetness in the waiting.”
He’s the one who’s been teaching me about patience, every evening on my knees in his office. The pleasure in slowing down. Being present. Really seeing someone.
“Slow and sure,” I whisper. “I like that, too.”
We’re doing this together, I realize, my heart swelling. We’re building something precious, slowly and surely. Tonight it’s grown, and I can feel it burning through me, bright and strong. We hold onto each other, just breathing in and out, like gentle waves on the ocean shore.
Mr. Blomqvist’s phone rings, and he reaches down off the bed to his trousers to check who it is. “The collection manager for the exhibition,” he grumbles. “I should take this.”
He heads out of the room, naked, his phone pressed against his ear. He’s got another large tattoo covering his right shoulder, a wheel of some sort. It almost reminds me of a weathervane, but Viking-looking and encircled with runes. I get a good view of his ass as well, and dear lord, does he have a beautiful one.
I stretch and grin to myself. My lover is downright gorgeous.
Opening my eyes I spy a thick, full-color book on the bedside table and pick it up. It’s a beautifully printed book about Viking ships and artifacts. I start flipping through it, marveling at how well preserved the Viking burials are, with all the carvings on the wooden longships intact.
Toward the back I find a diagram of the circular design on Mr. Blomqvist’s shoulder. It’s called a vegvísir, a Viking compass.
If this stave is carried, I read, one will never lose one’s way in storms or bad weather, even when the path is unknown.
I trace my fingers over the design. I
want to hold him close. I want him to be my stave that I carry through storms, so that I never get lost. I want to be that for him, too, because everyone needs someone to help them through the bad times. I close the book and hold it my chest for a moment, hugging the precious thought to my heart.
I’m daring to hope. I haven’t dared in such a long time.
I put the book down, collect my clothes from downstairs, and come back to the bedroom to get dressed. Mr. Blomqvist is out in the greenhouse and doesn’t see me. Enough being sentimental. We’ve had much more than our allotted hour today, and it’s time I got going.
A few minutes later, Mr. Blomqvist comes back, his phone in his hand. He’s still naked, and looks so good it makes my mouth water. I just want to go to him and spend hours exploring his body. How does it feel when I lick you here? Do you like that?
He frowns when he sees that I’m dressed. “You can stay the night. I’d like you to, if you want to.”
The whole night. It sounds wonderful, but he’ll want to eat dinner soon, and in the morning there’ll breakfast to deal with. I’m not sure if I can cope with so many new experiences at once.
“It’s nearly nine. I should get going because, you know…” I trail off helplessly, because he knows. “I’m sorry.”
My good mood crumbles into misery as I see the hurt flash through his eyes. It’s only there for a split second, and then Mr. Blomqvist takes my face in his hands, kissing me tenderly. “It’s all right. Slow and sure, käraste. Like we said. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and he looks so damn sexy in them that I want to pull them off him again. That’s what should be happening right now. We should be going at it for round two, but I can’t because I have salmon and fucking rice waiting for me at home. Angry tears blur my eyes. It’s not fair. I want to stay, he wants me to stay, but the voice will take this as an opportunity to test the limits of her cage and I daren’t let that happen in a strange house, and not in front of him.
“Hey. Are you all right?”
I swipe quickly at the tears in my eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Don’t press your luck. Get home where it’s safe before anything bad happens. You’ll see him again on Monday.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s disappointed in me. It never occurred to me that he might have been expecting more from tonight than just sex, but now I realize how stupid I am. People who like each other spend the night. People who don’t care, leave.
I care. I swear, I care so much.
My throat is tight with unshed tears, and I can’t find the words to tell him that even though I want to stay, I can’t. His hand is warm around mine as he walks me out to his car, but for once his silence isn’t the comfort it usually is.
As we drive around the edge of Bushy Park, he clears his throat and asks me, “Where would you like me to drop you?”
I bite my lip. I don’t want him to pull up in front of my house because dad might recognize the BMW, and mum will put that and the Versace bag together and figure out that I just slept with my boss. God, no. Not tonight. Except now I feel bad because Mr. Blomqvist is going to think I’m ashamed of one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. The tears spring into my eyes again and a sense of panic overwhelms me. I’m ruining everything.
“It’s all right, käraste,” he assures me, pulling over even though we’re still a street away from my house. “How about here?”
“Yes,” I whisper gratefully. “Thank you.”
Mr. Blomqvist kisses me goodbye. I hope he knows how much I care for him. My something special that’s just mine and no one else’s. When I pull away his blue eyes look worried. Or maybe reproachful.
I get stiffly out of the car and walk toward my house. He doesn’t pull back onto the street right away as if he’s waiting for me to turn and wave. I can’t, because I’m already crying.
I go through the side gate and stand for a few minutes with my back to it, gulping down my tears and taking deep breaths. Please let him understand that it’s because I feel so much for him that this is so hard. Whatever is inside him that makes him smile so gently and beautifully at me, let him be feeling that right now and not the pain that’s filling me from head to toe.
I unpeg some clothes from the line as an excuse for why I didn’t use the front door, and go inside. Dad’s in the living room when I call out. He would definitely have seen Mr. Blomqvist’s car if we’d pulled up together. I stare out onto the empty street, wondering now why it was so important that he didn’t.
“Are you all right, Lacey? Where have you been?” dad asks, looking up from the laptop perched on his thighs.
“Fine, thanks. Busy day.”
The last thing I feel like doing right now is eating, but I have to. When I open the pantry to get out the rice, I see the packet of lemon cake there, and my heart sinks. I’m still on the weight-gain plan. I’d forgotten.
Twenty minutes later, I take my dinner and dessert upstairs to my room. I manage some of the salmon and broccoli over the next thirty minutes, but the rice tastes like glue in my mouth and I start to dry retch. Mr. Blomqvist’s disappointed expression swims before my face.
Don’t eat it. Throw it out, and I’ll take some of your pain away. The voice is a muffled whisper within her box, but so seductive.
I glance toward the bathroom door. I’m allowed to eat upstairs because my parents have promised to trust me, and it’s been a long time since my weight dipped. If they knew I’d lost a pound, mum would be standing over me right now seeing that I eat every bite. But I didn’t tell them, and so she doesn’t know.
Throw it all out, and you won’t have to think about him all weekend.
I go through to the bathroom and throw the rest of my dinner and all the cake and ice-cream into the toilet. I’m not backsliding, I tell myself as it all flushes away. It’s just one weekend, to help me cope with what just happened. I’ll be better by Monday and I’ll eat so many calories to make up for it.
A cold laugh echoes at the edges of my mind. Of course you will, my love. Of course you will.
Chapter Fifteen
Stian
I message Lacey twice over the weekend, but I don’t get much out of her in reply. She’s fine. She had a good time. I stare at her text messages, not sure that I believe her. Every instinct is screaming at me to go around and see her, and if she were any other sub I would take control of the situation and make certain with my own two eyes that she really is okay. I dare not do that with Lacey. It’s best that I leave her in peace so she can settle into whatever routine she has for herself on the weekends. Me banging on the front door will only result in a lot of questions from her parents, and that’s not my choice to make for her.
Confiding to her therapist about me was enough to make her lose a pound. She’ll tell them about us when she’s ready.
On Monday morning I arrive at seven-forty, and I’m intensely relieved to see her sitting at her desk, the same as any other day. There’s no one else around so I stop and talk to her. I need to look into her face.
“Good morning, sir,” she says with a smile, and her eyes dance with pleasure as she gazes up at me.
All the tension goes out of my body. She’s perfectly fine. Maybe a little pale, but that could just be the light. It’s overcast this morning. “Good morning, käraste,” I murmur, and head into my office, feeling more at ease than I have since I watched her walk away from my car.
At six that evening, she knocks on my door and comes in and sits quietly on the floor as usual. For once I turn and look properly, enjoying the sight of her there. I won’t have this for much longer so I want to enjoy it while I can.
I forgo any attempt to cause her pain or put her into subspace in favor of going down on her. She’s smiling after she comes, and wraps herself around me.
“You’re so gentle tonight. Afraid I might break, daddy?” she teases, rubbing her cheek against the lapel of my jacket. “You already did th
at.”
“Oh, I remember,” I say with a smile, kissing her.
The next morning she definitely looks pale, and at our morning meeting I ask her if she’s feeling all right.
“I had a rotten night’s sleep. Tummy ache,” she explains with a grimace, sliding a hand over her lower belly.
“Will you be all right? You can go home if you need to.”
Lacey just smiles at me. “No, I’m fine.”
She goes back to her desk and works diligently, and I turn my attention to a task that I’ve been putting off for a week now because I resent it with every fiber of my being. Advertising for a new assistant.
Striking the keys harder than necessary, I type an email to HR with the job specs and ask them to put the ad up on all the usual job sites. Whomever I hire, they’ll be perfectly adequate. But they won’t be Lacey.
That evening, I don’t know why, but again I don’t have the heart to cause Lacey any pain. I make her come, and then capture her hands with mine when she reaches for my belt, stopping her from undoing it.
“I wanted to talk to you, käraste. About us seeing each other when you leave.”
The smile fades from her face for a second. When she puts it back it’s not quite so easy and natural. “Oh?”
“We’ve had such a beautiful time together. I’ve advertised for a permanent assistant, and it got me thinking about what’s going to happen to us. Things are going to change.”
Lacey sits back from me and folds her arms. “I hate the thought of leaving. What if I stayed permanently? What if nothing changed?”
I’ve thought about that too, and it could work, for a while. But that would mean Lacey giving up her Masters, and there’s no way in hell am I going to let anything get in the way of her prospects for the future.
“I would love that, but you need to complete your Masters. Your university isn’t far away from here. We could see each other almost as often. I’ve never even taken you out anywhere.”
