Page 90 of Her Viking Master

The casual confidence in his tone made me shiver. I was acutely aware of my position—bound to the bench, my backside raised, my thighs spread wide, every secret of my body revealed to the men seated at the obsidian table. I could feel the welts from Sven’s punishment across my skin and I tried to take the pain as a token.

He reclaimed me. I belong to my VikingHerra.

“Nuptae,” Marmareus said, his voice easy, as if he were asking for the time, “prepare theColumbaefor taming.”

The other girls’ soft footsteps padded around us as Cassandra and Viola rose from their positions and moved behind Camille and me. My breath caught in my throat as I felt Cassandra’s hands on my hips, her touch light, but confident. She smoothed her palms over the curve of my bottom, tracing the welts left by themastixwith delicate fingertips.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice so low that only I could hear. “Your master marks you well.”

Her hands continued their exploration, moving down to the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, then upward again to the juncture between them. I bit my lip as her fingers found my pussy lips, parting them gently but firmly, exposing my most intimate flesh to the air of the chamber.

The rational part of my mind screamed in protest at this fresh violation, this new humiliation. But my treacherous body responded differently. I felt wetness gathering between my legs, felt my inner walls clench with shameful anticipation. The combination of Sven’s presence, the lingering effects of his punishment, and the ritualistic atmosphere of the Mithraeum had created a confused tangle of arousal and submission that I couldn’t seem to pick apart.

Cassandra made a soft sound of approval as her fingers found evidence of my unwilling arousal. “That’s it,Columba,” she murmured. “You will have something hard in here very soon.”

Before I could process her words, I felt something warm and wet against my exposed pussy. Cassandra’s tongue, I realized with a shock that sent electricity racing up my spine. She was going down on me, her mouth covering my most intimate parts with devastating precision.

I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily against the bench. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Viola was doing the same to Camille, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, her eyes wide with shock and unwilling pleasure. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to see, as the same blush spread across my own cheeks.

Cassandra’s tongue moved with expert skill, circling my clit before rising to tease at the entrance to my warm sheath. She seemed to know exactly how to touch me, how to build my arousal without pushing me over the edge.

“As you can see,” I heardLeoMarmareus say, “ourNuptaeare very well trained—just as it seems your own girls are, in their way.”

CHAPTER46

Sven

I felt my cock harden along my thigh as I watched theNuptaewith their faces buried in Mary’s and Camille’s backsides. The sight was both arousing and illuminating. These girls—Cassandra and Viola—moved with the precision of those who had received extensive training in the arts of pleasure, as well as in absolute obedience. Their tongues and fingers worked in concert, building the arousal of ourvölvaswith methodical, and extremely moving, expertise.

Seated at the obsidian table between Erik and me, Matthew Apollis—orLeoMarmareus, as he seemed to be called within these ancient walls—observed the proceedings with the calm detachment of a man accustomed to such displays. His hands rested lightly on the polished surface before him, his posture relaxed yet dignified beneath the ceremonial red robe.

I studied him covertly, reassessing everything the Sons of Odin thought we knew about the Pretorian Guard. For decades, we had believed them to be merely the enforcers of Selecta’s corporate dominance—well-trained dogs serving corrupt masters, with the pretense of civilization-building merely an aggravating cover. But this place, this Mithraeum with its ancient rituals and carefully preserved traditions, suggested something far more complex. The Guard appeared to be an autonomous entity with its own agenda, its own philosophy, its own vision of how civilization should function.

My gaze drifted to Mary, bound and displayed on the fucking bench. Her eyes were closed, her face a study in conflicted pleasure as theNuptanamed Cassandra continued her intimate ministrations. The welts I had placed across my lovely girl’s pale back stood out in stark relief against her flesh, a reminder of my reclamation of her—especially in the way they crisscrossed earlier marks, undoubtedly given by Matthew while Erik and I had crossed the Atlantic to an unexpectedly complicated reception. The sight made my chest tighten with an emotion I had rarely permitted myself to feel before meeting her: love. Profound, consuming, transformative love.

I had fallen for Mary O’Toole completely. Not just for her body, though gods knew I craved it with a hunger that never diminished. Not just for her submission, though watching her yield to my dominance brought me a satisfaction deeper than any I had known. No, I had fallen for the totality of her—her fierce intelligence, her quiet courage, her capacity for growth, and most of all, the ancient power that flowed through her veins, connecting her to Yggdrasil and the mysteries of thevölur.

As if sensing my thoughts, Mary’s eyes fluttered open. A soft moan escaped her lips as her body strained against the restraints that bound her to the bench. Our gazes locked across the chamber, and in that moment of connection, I saw something in her eyes that made my pulse quicken—knowledge, understanding, revelation. My littlevölvahad seen something, learned something vital.

“While our organizations clearly share certain essential values,” Matthew said, drawing my attention back to the conversation at hand, “I must admit you have me at something of a disadvantage.” He gestured languidly toward the bound women. “You know about the Guard. You’ve seen our Mithraeum, our rituals. But our very considerable best efforts notwithstanding, we haven’t been able to figure out who you work for.”

* * *

Mary

I gasped as Cassandra’s tongue found my clit again, circling it with maddening precision. The sensation shot through me like lightning, making my hips buck against the restraints. I tried desperately to focus on the conversation happening at the obsidian table, to understand what game was being played between these powerful men, but Cassandra’s relentless attention to my pussy and, even more embarrassingly, my anus made coherent thought nearly impossible.

“You’re right,” I heard Sven reply, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine despite my predicament. “You are at a disadvantage. And perhaps that’s as it should be, for now.”

My eyes found his face across the chamber. He sat with perfect composure, his broad shoulders relaxed beneath the red ceremonial robe, his expression giving away nothing. But when our gazes met, I felt something pass between us—a current of energy, of meaning, that transcended the physical distance separating us.

Cassandra’s fingers joined her tongue then, one slipping inside me while her mouth continued its devastating assault on my clit. I whimpered, unable to suppress the sound as pleasure coursed through my bound body. The dual sensation of penetration and external stimulation was overwhelming, pushing me toward an edge I didn’t want to cross—not here, not now, with so much at stake.

“I assure you,” Marmareus said, his voice carrying easily across the chamber even with his casual tone, “at this point, I’m quite certain you don’t work forGroupe Synergistique. Our intelligence on them is extensive, and neither of you fits any profile we have.”

Groupe Synergistique. The name sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with Cassandra’s distracting ministrations. Beaumont’s organization—the ones who had made the deal with the Russian warlord Georgy. The men who had pretended to be allies with the Sons of Odin, and then it seemed had betrayed them.

“Though I admit,” Marmareus continued, his dark eyes flickering briefly to Camille and me, “the transfer of your girls to Beaumont’s chateau suggests some connection. Beaumont isGS, through and through.”

---