Page 44 of Her Viking Lord
I turned my head slightly, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “You’re fucked.”
The confusion that flashed across his face would have been comical in any other circumstance. “What did you?—”
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash. The heavy steel buckled as if it were paper, and suddenly the room filled with black-clad figures moving with terrifying efficiency. I caught a glimpse of Henrik’s face beneath his tactical helmet, his expression carved from stone as he raised his weapon.
“Down! Down! Down!” The commands came in multiple languages as the strike team flooded the space.
Horakovsky’s hand went for the pistol at his waist, but he never completed the motion. Two suppressed shots—barely louder than coughs—and he crumpled to the concrete floor, blood spreading from wounds in his shoulder and thigh. Non-lethal shots. They wanted him alive for interrogation.
“Clear left!”
“Clear right!”
“Secondary target secured!”
The tactical chatter washed over me as my vision swam. Strong hands worked at the manacles binding my wrists, and I felt Henrik’s presence beside me even before I saw him.
“Easy now, sister,” he murmured in Norwegian, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he freed my right wrist. “We’ve got you.”
CHAPTER 23
Lorna
It took me a week to recover fully. Physically, anyway. Mentally and emotionally… in at least one sense I knew I’d never be the same woman who had received that first message from the silver raven on my burner phone: the humiliating memories would remain with me for weeks, and what they meant would continue to change me for even longer.
“ButHerra,” I would tell Aksel as he held me close, murmuring his apologies for what I’d gone through. “I won’t be the same, yes—I’ll be better. I’m avolva,now,and true wisdom only comes through suffering. Thank you.”
Tears would well up, and Aksel would kiss them away.
I spent those seven days at the Sons of Odin safehouse, under myHerra’s tender care. It seemed hard to believe that the same man who could in his own way punish me just as severely as Horakovsky had done—though always with better reason and much more regard for my safety and well-being—could also nurse me back to health so gently. I had already felt certainI loved him, but after the first day in his subterranean house, waited on hand and foot, fed delicious if simple meals, I knew why. With myvolva’s senses, I supposed, I had understood that beneath the stone front of his dominance and his utter masculinity lay the heart of a true caregiver.
It made me blush to think about it, but the most difficult part was doing without Aksel’s hugetólin my abused but still needyfisse. To my mortification, I found I even wanted him in my bottom, my littlerøvhul, if only to reclaim that sacred part of me from the brutal use of the warlord and his minions.
“No, little one,” Aksel told me when I begged him to fuck me on the third day. “I want you back to full health before I enjoy you again.”
“May I… may I suck yourtól, though,Herra?” I asked in a desperate whisper even as the embarrassment of the request sent heat blazing in my cheeks. “Please? And… maybe I could ride your bride saddle while you use my mouth?”
I looked up at him through my lashes, trying to convey with my eyes how desperately I needed this—not just the physical relief, but the reclaiming of my sexuality on terms that felt sacred rather than violated.
His steel-gray eyes studied my face for a long moment, and I saw the war playing out behind them—his protective instincts battling with his understanding of what I truly needed. Finally, he nodded.
“Very well, littlevolva. But we go slowly. The moment I sense you’re in pain, we stop.”
Relief flooded through me as he rose from the bed where we’d been sitting. I watched him move to the corner of his bedroomwhere the bride saddle sat—that ingenious device he’d designed himself, blending ancient tradition with modern engineering. The smooth wooden seat held the secret of the bride’s consolation, positioned to stimulate without penetrating, and I felt my body respond with hot anticipation despite its battered state.
He positioned it carefully in the center of the room, adjusting the height with precision. Then he settled into the chair facing it, spreading his legs as he unfastened his trousers. The sight of his massivetólemerging, already half-hard, made my mouth water.
“Come here,” he commanded gently, and I moved toward him on trembling legs.
His hands steadied me as I positioned myself over the saddle, lowering myself with a sharp intake of breath as the ridge made contact with my still-tender flesh. The pressure was intense but not painful—more like a deep ache that promised relief if I could just find the right rhythm.
“Take your time,” Aksel murmured, his hand stroking my hair as I leaned forward, bringing my face level with his impressive length. “There’s no rush, little one.”
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, marveling as always at the sheer size of him. My tongue traced the crown, tasting the salt of his skin, and I felt him swell further in my grasp. The movement made me shift slightly on the saddle, sending a spark of sensation through my core that made me gasp around his rigid tool.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice thick with approval. “Take what you need.”
I began to move in earnest then—my mouth sliding down his length while my hips rocked gently against the saddle’s knob. The dual stimulation was exquisite, building slowly as I found my rhythm. His hand remained gentle in my hair, guiding but not forcing, letting me set the pace.
