Page 4 of Her Viking Lord
The horrifying truth of it crashed over me even as the words left my mouth. I meant it. God help me, I actually meant it. Years of being Takken’s ornamental wife, of having no real purpose, no one who truly commanded me—I needed someone to take control, to make me theirs.
The moment the admission passed my lips, the pain transformed. Where agony had been, pure, liquid pleasure flooded through me. My back arched as an orgasm slammed into me without warning, more intense than anything I’d ever experienced. I cried out again, but this time in ecstasy, my hands still pressed between my thighs as waves of sensation rolled through me.
The phone buzzed on the floor beside me. Through tear-blurred eyes, I read:
That’s my good girl. You need a firm master who will punish you harshly when you deserve it.
Before I could even process the words, another orgasm crashed over me, my pussy clenching around nothing, my bottom-hole fluttering with sensations I’d never imagined. I fell forward onto my hands and knees, gasping.
You need someone who will strip away all your pretenses and show you what you really are.
A third climax, this one centered deep in my belly, radiating outward until every nerve ending sang with pleasure. I collapsed onto my side, curling into a ball, overwhelmed.
Someone who will collar you and make you kneel.
The fourth orgasm made me sob with its intensity. My entire body shook, muscles I didn’t know I had contracting in rhythm with the pulsing between my legs. I could feel my own wetness coating my thighs, could smell my arousal in the air, could feel the shame burning through me even as my body betrayed how desperately I craved this.
Someone who knows exactly what you are beneath that perfect political facade.
The fifth orgasm was almost painful in its intensity. It started in my toes and fingers, racing inward like fire through my veins until it exploded in my core. I screamed into the carpet, my whole body convulsing, every muscle locked in ecstatic agony. When it finally released me, I lay in a trembling heap on the floor, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but gasp for air.
My thighs were soaked. The expensive carpet beneath me was damp with my arousal. I’d never in my life experienced anything close to what had just happened to me. Five orgasms in succession, each one commanded by this mysteriousHerrawho somehow had the power to control my body’s responses completely.
The phone buzzed again. Through the haze of exhaustion and overwhelming sensation, I managed to turn my head enough to see the screen.
Tomorrow night at the reception. Pay close attention. Do nothing else yet.
I wanted to ask what I should be watching for, who he was, how any of this was possible. But my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. I could barely lift my hand from the floor.
The app icon flickered and vanished from my phone screen as if it had never existed.
For long minutes, I lay there naked on our bedroom floor, trying to process what had happened. The logical part of my mind—the part that had once earned top marks in international relations—tried to analyze the technology involved. Some kind of directed energy weapon? Electromagnetic manipulation? But thehowmattered less than thewhyand thewho.
Someone knew about my forum post. Someone had intercepted it before Takken found out. Someone had just demonstrated absolute control over my body in ways that shouldn’t be possible. And that someone wanted me at the Synergy Group reception tomorrow night.
No—not just at the reception. Paying close attention.
I finally managed to push myself up to sitting, wincing at the soreness between my legs. My reflection in the mirror looked debauched—hair tangled, makeup smeared, skin flushed and marked where I’d clutched at myself. This wasn’t Fru Norquist, first lady of Jagland. This was someone else entirely. Someone who’d just admitted she needed to be owned, and worse, had meant it.
The sound of a key in the front door lock sent ice through my veins. Takken. He never came home this early from his ‘meetings.’
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my clothes from the floor. No time for a shower. I pulled on my panties, grimacing at how the damp fabric felt against my oversensitive skin. The bra, the dress—my fingers fumbled with the zipper as footsteps approached down the hall.
“Lorna?” His voice carried that particular tone of irritation that meant something had gone wrong. I managed to zip the dress just as he appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” He surveyed the room with those calculating gray eyes, taking in my flushed face, the slightly askew bedding, the faint but unmistakable scent of arousal that still hung in the air.
“I was… trying on options for tomorrow,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the way my legs trembled. Then I remembered that he’d told me precisely what he wanted me to wear. “I mean… the blue Valentino, as you suggested, but I wanted to be certain it still fit properly.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment that stretched like eternity. Could he see the marks on my skin where I’d clutched myself? Could he tell that his wife had just been writhing on the floor, coming at the command of a stranger?
“You look flushed,” he said finally. “Are you ill?”
“Just warm. I’ll open a window.” I moved toward the bedroom window, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his scrutiny. My fingers shook as I fumbled with the latch.
“The meeting ended early,” he said, and I heard the particular edge in his voice that meant someone had disappointed him—or, I thought maliciously, perhaps that he hadn’t been able to get it up, even under the care of afille de joie. “You weren’t on your computer, were you?”
My blood turned to ice. “No,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Why would I be? You know I prefer reading actual books.”
