Page 18 of Her Viking Lord
I felt my jaw slacken. Fire, terrible and ambiguous, flooded my body from my scalp to my feet, centered exactly where I didn’t want it to be centered. My hands moved to the zipper of my dress before I could stop them, some combination of Aksel’s training and pure shock making me obey. The expensive fabric dropped at my feet, followed by my slip. I unhooked my bra with trembling fingers, then pushed my panties down my legs, stepping out of them with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Well, well,” Horakovsky said, his eyes fixed between my legs. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom. When did you start shaving your cunt, Fru Norquist?”
I saw Takken’s face flush dark red, his eyes widening as he took in my bare pussy for the first time. The fury in his expression was barely contained—not at Horakovsky for demanding this, but at me for this revelation, for having secrets he didn’t know about.
“I… recently,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Interesting,” Horakovsky mused. “Tell me, Norquist, do you discipline your wife? Keep her in line?”
Takken straightened, trying to reclaim some authority. “I’m not a barbarian, Georgy. This is the twenty-first century.” Hepaused, then added quickly, “Not that I mean any offense. Obviously the contemporary world needs… barbarians. Men of action.”
Horakovsky’s laugh was like gravel grinding. “A barbarian? Is that what I am?” He glanced at Brenteuil. “What do you think, Gaston? The prime minister calls us barbarians.”
Brenteuil chuckled, setting down his pen with deliberate precision. “The French are supposed to be civilized,non? But really, I don’t mind being called a barbarian.” His dark eyes found Takken’s. “At least not when the word is spoken by someone with your… considerable influence.”
The way Brenteuil drew out the words made my stomach turn. They were toying with my husband, playing him like a cheap violin, and the worst part was that Takken seemed oblivious to their mockery. I stood there naked, watching these men circle my husband like predators, and felt an unexpected surge of superiority mixed with terror. For all his corruption and cruelty, Takken was hopelessly outmatched.
“Well then,” Takken said, his voice taking on that false heartiness he used when trying to move past uncomfortable moments. “Perhaps we should review the contracts? I’m eager to finalize?—”
“All in good time,” Horakovsky interrupted, moving toward the door. “But first, I think we need to establish the proper atmosphere for such important negotiations.” He opened the door and spoke to someone in the hallway. “Girls. Come.”
CHAPTER 10
Lorna
Mila and Katya entered, and my breath caught in my throat. They wore nothing but matching black garter belts and stockings, their bodies on full display, their pussies’ tender clefts bare and terribly visible. Both kept their eyes downcast, their posture that perfect blend of submission and grace I’d noticed before. The bruise on Mila’s neck had faded to yellow-green, but new marks decorated her thighs.
“Much better,” Horakovsky said, gesturing for them to stand by the wall. “Business should be conducted with honesty, don’t you think? No pretenses, no hidden agendas.” His eyes found mine. “Speaking of which, Norquist, would you permit me to have a little fun with your lovely wife? Nothing too extreme, of course. Just a small demonstration of trust between partners.”
I saw Takken’s jaw clench, his hands forming fists at his sides. For a moment, I thought he might finally stand up to them. Then his shoulders relaxed in that deliberate way that meant he’d made a calculation.
“If it amuses you,” he said, his tone suggesting complete indifference. “Lorna knows her duty.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, but beneath the hurt and humiliation, that shameful heat between my legs intensified. My body’s response to being offered up like a party favor made me want to die of embarrassment. Two days of edging myself had left me so desperately sensitized that even this degradation sent pulses of need through me.
No.I tried to shut the voice up—the one that seemed to come straight from my unconscious. Something about the training from Aksel, though, seemed to make it stronger than it had ever been.No. Not ‘even this degradation.’
I like it. Oh, God…Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw the tree. Distant, still, but very present.Ineedit.
“Excellent,” Horakovsky said, looking at me with the eyes of a predator. “Norquist, hold your wife’s wrists behind her back. Keep her still for me.”
Takken moved behind me, his hands closing around my wrists with more force than necessary. I could feel his anger in his grip—not protective anger, but the fury of a man whose property was being handled by another. His breath was hot against my neck, and I could smell the whiskey he’d had in the car to steady his nerves.
“Now,” the Russian magnate said, his voice casual as he looked around as if surveying the room for its potential to humiliate me, “let’s find a way to see what Fru Norquist is really like.”
With easy strength, he grabbed Katya by the upper arm and drew her across the room toward a leather chair, one of those expensive modern pieces that looked more like art thanfurniture. Horakovsky bent her over its back, her hands gripping the seat cushion for support. The position left her bottom raised high, her smooth pussy visible between her spread thighs, thrillingly framed by the garter belt and stockings.
From somewhere—a drawer, perhaps—Horakovsky produced a riding crop. The sight of it made my knees weak. I remembered too vividly the feeling of Aksel’s strap across my own bottom, and watching another woman about to receive similar treatment while I stood naked and restrained sent waves of heat through me that made me dizzy.
“Since we’re being honest about our partnerships,” Horakovsky said conversationally, testing the crop’s weight with a few swishes through the air, “let me demonstrate how I maintain discipline in my operations.”
The first stroke landed with a sharp crack across Katya’s pale bottom. She cried out, her body jerking against the chair, but she didn’t move from position. The second followed immediately, then a third, each leaving a bright red line across her skin.
I thought I might actually faint. The combination of the sounds—leather on flesh, Katya’s gasps—and my own desperate arousal after days of denial was overwhelming. My legs trembled, and only Takken’s grip on my wrists kept me upright.
“Mila,” Horakovsky commanded, not pausing in his steady rhythm of strikes. “Kneel in front of Fru Norquist. Show her how we treat honored guests.”
“Yes, Master,” Mila whispered, dropping gracefully to her knees before me. Her hands settled on my thighs, gently urging them apart, and I wanted to die of mortification. This couldn’t behappening. Not here, not with my husband holding me in place while another woman?—
