Do NOT get off that train until Tilbury Town.
The message could not be any clearer. Kirsty stared at her mobile phone for several long moments. At this time of day, even Barking station was virtually empty. The display board said it was just two minutes until her train arrived. What then?
She fidgeted with her bag. What was she doing? Traveling over an hour outside of London to meet a stranger, whom she had been messaging for months, was so unlike the sedate young professional.
Kirsty watched the train approach the platform. She should turn and run straight back up those stairs, cross over to the other platform and go back…home? To what? Another weekend of eating chocolate ice cream and reading about sex and domination that was so far beyond her scant experience. Unspectacular vanilla sex a couple of times with a boy in university and then Raj. Six years and if she tried, she could probably actually count the numbers of times they had sex. Heck, she got more turned on by this stranger’s messages than the man she had once thought to marry.
The train came to a full stop, and the doors slid open. She sighed, and her fingers trembled as her phone once more vibrated.
Get on the damned train, Kirsty.
She frowned and looked around the platform, almost expecting to see him. But the only other people were a young mother struggling to load her heavy buggy onto the next car over and the little grey-haired lady next to her that kept staring.
“Aren’t you getting on, dear?”
Kirsty was not sure what to answer. She knew the answer that he expected. But typing the words, ‘Yes, Sir,’ was so much easier when the man was nothing more than a fuzzy photograph on the computer screen.
It was bad enough that she had created a profile on one of the fetish sites listed in the acknowledgments of Graffen’s books. Of course, she had not been so stupid as to post recognizable pictures of herself.
She had merely cropped some to highlight her best features. One was her long legs in the mini-skirt that her friends had convinced her to wear for her one clubbing excursion with them after the breakup. The other was the swell of her D-cup breasts spilling out of her favorite jumper as she leaned over to speak with someone. She had gotten dozens of private messages and friends’ requests, but most had been so blatantly offensive that she had not bothered to respond.
Svein was different. Though he made no bones about being a Dom or even his desire to dominate her, he was both respectful and friendly. Their hundreds of emails had ranged from lengthy tomes about the nature of Domination and submission to some rather racy descriptions of the things he would do to her that left her breathless and bothered.
Of course, things had ratcheted up when she foolishly asked how she could know if she was submissive. He had suggested that they play a bit online. His first assignment had been hard enough – not wearing any knickers when she did her weekly shopping. Sure, she usually favored long flowing skirts that her mother called ‘hippie’ clothes. But she had been mortified the whole time, worried that a stiff wind might suddenly come up. On a sunny hot London afternoon?
The shopping trip to Covent Garden and the sex shop to purchase the corset last weekend had been even worse. But she had to admit, as frightened as she was with each new challenge, she was more thrilled. And her tummy did bizarre things every time that she typed those words. The words she was sure he was waiting to read at that moment.
The truth was, if she did not get on this train, she would never know. She managed to make it, pulling her oversized bag through the doors just as they closed. Not that she would not mind her tablet being crushed at that moment. But she would probably rush right out and spend money on another…and more of those stupid books that had gotten her into this mess, to begin with.
She found a seat just a couple of rows behind the older lady. She typed and re-typed the message into her phone. In the end, she kept it simple. ‘On the train now. 25 minutes.’ She knew that he would be disappointed that she had not said, ‘Sir,’ but that was not as easy. Not when she was going to be meeting this man…face-to-face. It was something that she had never actually considered. If she had, would she have ever used those words? Done the things that he asked? Commanded?
Twenty-five minutes. Thirty or forty long kilometers. Four stops. Three Opportunities to change her mind. To come to her senses. But she knew she would not. This man had gotten under her skin. This rough Nordic fisherman, who would most definitely not meet her mother’s exacting approval. She was not even sure how it had happened.
Oh, she knew why she answered that first message. After dozens, a hundred or more, one line messages about her breasts or her legs or demanding that she kneel and…well, it did not bear thinking about now. Svein’s message had been so refreshingly, honest, and straightforward. He had introduced himself and even pointed to specific interests that they shared in common. It was evident from that first message that this man had even bothered to read her profile.
At first, it had just been the daily messages at the site. But by the end of that first week, she had found herself looking forward to getting home from work so that she could read the latest and answer it.
Even when he was busy, he always found time for one line updates about his latest travels. While her parents had taken annual excursions to exotic locales around the globe, their summer holidays were always the same, two weeks at an all-inclusive family resort on Spain’s Costa del Sol. Places like St. Petersburg, Lubek, Germany, and his homeland in the Lofoten Islands intrigued her as much as his deep blue eyes had enthralled her from the moment she saw the picture on his profile.
No, there was no denying that this man fascinated and excited her in a way that Kirsty had never experienced. Something about his eyes and the polite, tersely worded emails belied something deeper, something as wild as the Arctic seas that he fished and the rugged land which he called home. Svein had become her personal fantasy, every Dom she had ever read about rolled into one luscious package of deep blue eyes, shortly cropped dark blond hair, broad shoulders, and towering strength.
And she needed to get the man out of her system. Every night for months, it had been his face that haunted her dreams. His large, calloused hands that had tormented her body with soft caresses and sharp blows to her bare bottom. His soft, full lips that crushed hers, stole her very breath, and moved slowly and enticingly along every single inch of her body.
“Stop it, Kirsty,” she reminded herself as the very proper automated recording called her station, and she readied herself to disembark. She tugged at the hem of the mini-skirt in that picture. This was only the second time she had worn it, but this time she had donned a pair of thick, warm winter tights against the biting winds that she knew would blow off the English Channel. She wiggled into her thick winter coat, thankful that it would cover the generous amount of tits that popped out of her jumper. Also, the one in those photographs, because she did not have that many ‘sexy’ things.
But it was too late to consider that or any of the dozens other questions that had plagued her for the past two hours as she dressed and then this torturously long train ride that suddenly did not seem long enough. If she were honest, the past two days, since agreeing to this crazy meet, had been a roller coaster ride with her changing her mind every five minutes it seemed.
She inhaled deeply and stood slowly. She forced each foot in front of the other, watching her knee-high leather boots move across the worn floor of the train, willing her knees not to give out now.
A brief coffee with this mystery man, who had captured her imagination, was all this was. Then she would be able to put him out of her mind, move on with her life, find another suitable boyfriend to please her parents. Even if Dr. Perfect never made her pulse race the way it was now, the way it always did when she saw another of Svein’s emails in her inbox.
It was just her overactive imagination, too many erotic books, and too long without even the sedate love makings of a man. There was nothing special about this one. Certainly, nothing that would warrant this type of reaction. She had merely built him up in her mind, something larger than life.
That was why this date, if you could call it that, was so important. She was confident that the reality of a rough and weathered fisherman would dispel all her childish fantasies, she assured herself as she filed with the rest of the people out of the car of the train. She squared her shoulders and ran through the speech that she had rehearsed for this moment as she fed her ticket through the automated turnstile.
The moment Kirsty looked up, her breath froze in her lungs. Her heart threatened to pound out of her tight chest. Those knees that had been wobbly, to begin with, would have given way. If not for the substantial hand that reached across the stile, Svein gripped her elbow and drew her through the mechanism.
“Kirsten,” his deep, heavily accented voice caressed her face as he bent over to brush a chaste kiss on her cheek. Few men needed to bend to kiss her, but this one did. “These are for you,” he said as he handed her a bouquet of colorful flowers.
“Kirsty,” she stammered at a loss for her rehearsed introduction. Just the sound of his voice was seduction itself — that accent. Forget French and Italian. His was much sexier, more guttural, manly.
His lips turned up at the corners, but she could not exactly call it a smile. More like that look, her cat, Little Miss, gave her when she was trying to manipulate her into giving her another treat. “No, Kirsten is your name in my language. That is what I shall call you.”
She brought the flowers to her face and inhaled the exotic but subtle aroma. She could see that they were not your typical flower shop selection. “Thank you,” she finally managed to whisper.
He nodded, “You are welcome. They are from my mother’s greenhouse. She thought you might like some token of our homeland. Arctic wildflowers have always been her passion. She says they kept her sane while dealing with my father, uncles, and my brothers.”
This was the most that Svein had revealed about his family in all their months of correspondence. It should have been reassuring, made the man more human, but it only deepened his mystery.
Her heart stuttered for a moment, and she considered turning back around, trying to catch the train back to London before it left the station. It would take far more than a cup of coffee to get this man out of her blood. She was in over her head, and she knew it.
Those icy blue eyes stared into hers, and she could not find the strength to say a single word. Let alone pull her arm from his firm grip, turn, and walk back through the station. Run back would be a better plan, as he drew her against him and wrapped his arm about her shoulder.
She nodded as he led her out of the station and onto the High Street. Tilbury was like many other small ports along the Channel, non-descript. Dead almost, but after the hustle and bustle of London, it held a quaint appeal all its own. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes until they came to a chip shop. Svein stepped back, holding open the door for her. “I am sorry. There is not much here.”
Kirsty smiled weakly and nodded at his words. She turned and looked back at the station, drawn to something. As if something warned her to run, run now. But she dismissed it. The man might not look exactly like his photograph, but he appeared normal enough. She was paranoid; that was all.
Her mind kept drifting back to all of those messages. The long ones about literature, philosophy, and history. The ones where he seemed content merely to listen to her ramble on about her work. Even the short two-liners about their travels.
But especially the naughty ones. The things that she had revealed to this man, secret fantasies that she was much too shy to post to even an anonymous profile. Worst of all were the ‘challenges.’ The small tests of her submission that he had given her almost daily for the past month. The black satin corset hidden in her bag was the least of them.
Despite all of that, the next hour went quickly. Two cups of coffee, decent conversation, and more laughter than she could ever remember on a first date. Not that this was an actual date, more like old friends meeting for drinks she supposed.
Except you did not spend the whole time sneaking glances at your friends, wondering what they would look like naked, what they would be like in bed. No, even though Svein had been surprisingly easy to talk to, she was still intensely nervous. Even more aware of him as a man.
“I suppose I should let you get back to work, Svein. Catch the next train back to London,” she stammered as she looked for a convenient excuse. Studying her hands around the ugly white coffee mug, “It has been nice meeting you, though,” she lied.
If getting this man out of her head had been the goal of this little expedition, it had failed badly. She was more fascinated. More attracted to him now than she had been. She was on dangerous territory, and she knew it.
He frowned, the move sent deep creases into his striking face. He was not handsome in the traditional pretty boy model sense. At almost forty, his skin was weathered by his job, small pathways of wrinkles about his mouth and across his forehead. His hair was curlier than she had thought, its gentle blond swirls almost touched the collar of his coat. His lips that she could not stop watching as he spoke were full. She wondered if they would be as soft as they looked.
But it was those eyes still that Kirsty could not forget. Not just the intense shade of blue or the twinkle when he laughed, which she got the feeling he did not do nearly enough, but there was something more. Intelligence, certainly. Authority, for sure. But something else too. Pain, perhaps.
She needed to stop thinking about this man, needed to go home, find some decent chap, and settle down as her mother said — not mysterious men, who reminded her of his Viking ancestors. Rough fishermen, who brought her exotic arctic wildflowers. Men like Svein had no place in her ordered life. No matter how much her body ached to feel his touch. To have him do even one of the naughty things they had discussed in those emails.
“Nei,” the single word was spoken in a low, calm voice, but one that demanded obedience. “No,” he said in English this time. “I will show you the ship.”
Kirsty knew that she should argue. Knew she should make her escape now. But the truth was that this man still enthralled her. Perhaps seeing him in his natural setting would offer her some closure, some of the answers to this mystery that drew her like a child to a cookie jar. Looking into the depths of those intense eyes, this man was a flame, a scorching flame, and I am going to get burnt.
Still, she found herself nodding her agreement. He held her coat while she worked her arms into it. His hand brushed briefly against the side of her breast, and she exhaled. It came out a pathetic, needy little whimper. She dropped her eyes in embarrassment. When she finally found the courage to look up at him, Svein was smiling, but not just any smile, a smile that made her want to dash for that station. ‘Come in,’ said the spider to the fly, she imagined.
The walk to the harbor took them only moments. The town was tiny, smaller it seemed than the port. Svein spoke in quiet tones with the security guard before placing his hand once more under her elbow and guiding her towards a ship. It was smaller than most of the others around it. But much more substantial than anything she had ever been upon.
She watched from the pier as two other men wound rope and worked upon nets on the deck. They looked strangely familiar. Both men looked up as they approached. Svein spoke to them in another language, Norwegian, she assumed, but it was guttural and harsh, like the men themselves. The two men studied her for a moment, then both nodded and smiled. Svein smiled tightly as he gripped her elbow, helping her aboard the vessel. “My brothers, Mikael and Bjⱷrn.”
The younger man, who looked to be about her age, spoke in near-perfect English, though his accent was not British; Canadian or American perhaps. “Welcome to Njörður’s Captive.”
Kirsty frowned at the words until she saw the name painted on the end of the boat. She turned to ask Svein about the odd name, but he was busy speaking with his brothers.
It gave her a chance to observe him, them. That was what this was about, right? Seeing him in his natural setting was supposed to provide her with the answers she sought, that closure. It was not working. She frowned as she honestly looked at the other two men for the first time.
The younger one smiled at her when he caught her looking at them. If Svein was attractive, this man was stunning. He was that classical male beauty that graced the pages of magazines and won Hollywood fame. His hair was almost white blond, Norwegian blond like the country from which they came. But his eyes were not the intense blue of his brother’s but deep, pure green. If his older brother was a big man, this one was a bear, a true Viking’s son.
Everything about this man made her feel dumpy, insecure, and out of place. Of course, looking was all someone like her could ever do with someone like him. Well, drooling was more accurate, but she would not embarrass herself by doing that now. She would save it for late when she got home.
Maybe she could even escape into her darkest fantasies, the one that those horrid books of Raquel Graffen had exposed. The woman either had one sick mind or a hell of a wild sex life, Kirsty was not sure which. But polyandry. It actually had a name, she learned. One woman with more than one man. And that woman’s naughty tales of the generations of women captured and…
She inhaled the salty sea air and forced her mind back from futile fantasies. There would be plenty of time for that sort of thing later. Alone in her bedroom this weekend. She blushed at another of his challenges…the little gold bullet that he had her purchase on the Internet.
Even though it arrived in a plain brown box with a nondescript label, she had still been embarrassed when her flatmate had brought it to her room that evening. She had lingered, made more small talk than they would typically share in a whole month, then gone away disappointed that Kirsty had not ripped the package open in front of her. Perhaps she would stop at some shop on the way home, purchase more batteries. These brothers could fuel some very sexy Raquel Graffen type fantasies.
She turned her attention to the other brother, but he seemed determined to keep his back to her. He continued his work, though she thought that he looked up at her a couple of times when she was not looking. The only glimpse she caught of the man was his broad back and the beard that covered most of the lower part of his face. She was not sure why but she got the feeling that this man was like that…always hiding more than he revealed.
She shook her head, trying to get those thoughts out of her shockingly, dirty mind as she looked out at sea as far as it stretched. On the other side of its choppy waters lay the wild and mysterious land that had borne these men. It might seem odd to think of Norway in those terms, but remembering the Vikings from British history, their Norse gods, and surrounded by these men, the place seemed anything but civilized.
She turned when Svein took her elbow once more. She forced a smile and nodded at the other two men, “It was nice to meet you both,” her mother would be proud of her aloof politeness as he guided her up a series of steep stairways.
At the top of the last one sat a thoroughly modern command center. There were decks of computers, radar, and GPS; those were just the equipment that she recognized. There was also a wheel that looked much like the ones she had seen in pirate movies, except that it was made of shiny metal rather than weathered wood. He nodded, “My world.”
She frowned, expecting him to elaborate, instead, he walked over to a bank of computers, working at them for a couple of minutes. Then he turned to her with that smile that reminded her once more of a spider, “I will show you my cabin.”
He took her by the elbow again and led her down the stairs. This time he went before her, steadied her step when she might have fallen. Rather than stop on the deck, they turned and went lower, deep into the belly of the ship. It was another couple of flights before he guided her down a small hallway. He pointed out a kitchen that he called the galley and the bathroom. There was another room that he said belonged to his brothers. At the end of the hallway stood another doorway, he opened it and stepped to the side.
“Come in,” he said with that smile. Kirsty’s heart raced as she envisioned that spider, except this time she could see herself as a fly, her wings wrapped in the beautiful silken bounds of this man’s web.
She shivered as he ran those large hands up and down her arms. Even through her thickest winter coat and jumper, she could feel his heat. “I am sorry. I have forgotten how cold the sea can be this time of year.”
It was the most intimate he had been with her. Kirsty swallowed hard. This was not a good idea, some sane part of her protested. But looking up into those blue depths, she stepped inside the dark-paneled cabin. She heard the click of the door closing behind her and turned in panic. His large frame blocked the doorway. Her heart raced wildly in her chest. But he made no move towards her, merely standing there studying her.
“We should probably head back to the station now,” she stammered. Her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest that she was sure he must hear it even across the room.
“Later,” he said, closing the distance to stand in front of her.
“Take off your coat,” the words might have the trappings of polite conversation, but the tone was a pure command.
Looking up into those eyes, her brain considered arguing. But it was too late, weeks and weeks of obedience to typed words on her laptop, tablet, or phone was nothing compared to that voice. Her fingers were already trembling as they obeyed. When the last button sprung free, his hands at her shoulders brushed it away. The coat fell to the floor at her feet.
Those lips that had fascinated her as he spoke captured hers. There was no other word for it: captured, conquered, claimed. There was nothing either tentative or polite about this kiss. It was as wild and untamed as the man himself. And unlike anything that Kirsty had ever experienced. It went on and on. At times, she felt as if he were sucking the very breath from her body and the will from her soul.
When he finally drew back, she was hanging helplessly against him. Her body plastered against his much larger, much harder one. “Take off your clothes.”
Panic rose in her once more. She started to shake her head, but his hands were already beneath her jumper. Calloused fingers caressed the soft skin of her abdomen. She bit her lip to keep from moaning at the intoxicating feel of his caress. “I think I should go now,” she whispered.
“I told you to take off the clothes,” his words were spoken against her ear as he bent down.
When she would have taken a step back, his teeth sank deep into the lobe, pinning her, holding her in place. His hands covered her breasts, working the soft flesh, kneading it as one might dough. His thumbs brushed back and forth across the throbbing tips, and she moaned as he bit down harder on her ear.
One hand abandoned her breast; she whimpered at its loss. It traversed back down across the suddenly sensitive skin of her stomach, but this time went lower. He found the button of her jean skirt; it melted away along with the zipper. His hand worked its way inside her tights until his fingers were brushing against her mound.
“Open,” he growled into her ear as he continued to bite and pull at her tender lobe.
She shook her head even as her legs spread open at his command. What was this man doing to her? For the first time, she sensed how grave the danger was. She had been so careful that no one discovers her little fetish that she had not told a single soul where she was going. “Oh god,” she whispered as the revelation hit her, and his fingers slipped inside her wet depths.
But the thought could not manage to break through the intense pleasure he was forcing upon her helpless body. His fingers plunged impossibly deep inside of her, his other hand pinched and pulled at her taut nipple through her lace bra, and his teeth scored the rim of her ear as he whispered, “If you do not take them off, I will.”
She shook her head at his bold words, tried to bring her hands up to push at his chest, but her entire upper body was captive in the close confines of her jumper as he jerked it over her head. She realized then that sometime during their kiss, he must have unsnapped her bra because it dangled limply from her arm several inches from her chest. She reached up to cover her bare breasts, but he tugged her bra down until it was wrapped securely around one wrist. He drew both her arms behind her back and tied them there using the transparent material. This position forced her chest out, offered her breasts up to him. But he had moved on.
His fingers laced through her hair, tugging on it, pulling her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “Min kvinne,” he spat. Those eyes were glazed, had darkened to an almost blue-black. She shivered and was about to ask him what they meant.
But he pulled harder on her hair, forced her backward, her feet moving tentatively. Then she felt something solid at the back of her thighs. Kirsty opened her mouth once more to speak, but he covered it instantly, another of those scorching kisses that seemed to go on and on, stealing her every thought. Except for this time, she was falling, actually falling. Then a cloud came up to cushion her fall, surrounded her in its softness while it trapped her against his hardness. She moaned into his mouth as his tongue plunged down her throat.
She felt his hands about her waist, realized that he was battling with her skirt and tights. She lifted her hips, tried to dislodge his weight, but the movement only aided his task as he pushed the layers of material over her hips and down her thighs. Then he gave her the release she sought. He drew back; his fingers pulled her clothes down to her ankles. Her boots stopped him, but only for a moment.
Then she was naked. Totally naked in this stranger’s bed. With her arms trapped behind her back, she could not move enough to sit up. He smiled down at her as he reached behind him. “You like ropes?”
It was a rhetorical question. Kirsty was fascinated with bondage. Shibari, the ancient Japanese art of knots, in particular, was her favorite new fetish. He claimed that the forum on it was where he first noticed her.
Of course, she would never work up the courage to do more than look at the photographs of women, usually naked, contorted, and bound. Then she felt those strong, rough hands about her ankles. He positioned her so that her thighs were spread open, her calves crossed over one another, as he tied them together securely, preventing her from closing her legs.
“I don’t think,” she began.
“Flink. Do. Not. Think.” He growled as he tied off the last knot. She looked down at the intricate latticework of rope and knots on her legs. How had he managed such sophisticated beauty in the space of just a couple of moments?
He smiled again as if reading her thoughts. “I have been working ropes, learning knots almost before I could walk,” he reminded her.
She nodded, but the knot that worried her most was the one growing in her stomach. When he bent over her, kissing her lips softly this time, it loosened, but just a bit. His hands snaked under her, and a moment later, she found her hands free once more. She sighed with relief.
But it was short-lived as he brought another rope from somewhere beneath him. It was cinched already. He had only to slip it over her wrists then secure it above her head to a hook on the wall. How had she not noticed that sooner?
“No,” she cried out, thrashing about on the bed as he secured her left arm over her head.
His golden brows arched as he smiled down at her. He reached for her one free limb. She thrashed about, trying to dislodge his weight, reach her other hand, and free herself. Somehow. Panic and bile rose in her throat as the degree of her vulnerability dawned upon her.
“Stop,” his command was quiet but compelling. “Do not hurt yourself.”
“Let me go,” she pleaded.
“You do not want this?” His smile broadened as his hands ran down her upper arm, her neck, and shoulders.
His hand tenderly cupped her breast as he stared directly into her eyes. “Then why are your nipples hard?” To emphasize his point, he ran his thumbs back and forth across both of them until a soft moan was torn from her throat. “If you do not wish to be bound by me, then your little pussy will be tight and dry, will it not?”
Kirsty’s blush deepened at his bold words. Or perhaps the blush had more to do with what she knew he would find. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She swore that she could feel the crisp sea air caress the wetness of her folds, wetter than she could ever remember being, so wet that she feared it would drip down the crease of her ass onto the bed. “Please.”
“Oh, Kristen, min kvinne, I will most definitely please,” his mouth covered hers to inhale the sharp cry from her lips as she felt her other hand captured and quickly bound above her head. Her heart pounded so fast within her ribs that she feared it would explode from her chest.
His mouth, lips, tongue, and teeth began a leisurely exploration of her bound and naked body. From the depths of her throat, down along her firm jaw lower still to the pulse that strummed in her neck. He bit at the veins in its side as he slipped his hand between her legs.
His fingers found her slick folds, the rough pad of his thumb danced against the hard nub at its apex until she arched her body up against his. His thick middle finger slipped into her quivering channel, finding a spot that she had only heard about. As his fingers pressed deeper and harder against it, she cried out, feeling a gush of fluid, unlike anything she had ever imagined.
He laughed aloud at her predicament. “Most definitely as dry as a desert,” he licked across her collar bone as he asked, “Would you like to reassess your claim not to want this, Miss Dickens?”
When she arched this time, it was not to seek out his touch but to dislodge him. “Bastard,” she spat.
His teeth bit hard into the tender swell of her breast. She feared that they would break the skin, leave marks for days to come. She screamed in shock and pain. The hand between her thighs pushed harder and deeper into her. It drove her over the edge once more as she felt the wetness spread on the bed beneath her. His other hand wrapped through her hair, pulling her head back hard against the pillow, tugging so sharply that tears sprang to her eyes.
And still, his teeth held their perch upon her breast. The pain and pleasure melded together, one augmenting the other as sensations crested over her like a tidal wave. Her throat was growing dry from screams, but it did not move him. He continued to torment and tease her.
She felt her world lurch; then, he was sliding slowly up her body. Her breast ached where he had bitten into her. Her eyes blurred as he suddenly loomed over her. She realized then that his hand was no longer between her thighs that were spread open mercilessly by his bonds. She felt that hand, still wet with her juices, as it bit into the soft flesh of her ass, tilting it upward, holding her in place. Then he was filling her. Her eyes went wider, still in fear.
“No,” came out a throaty whisper, an unheard plea. “Please, no,” she pleaded again. She felt her body stretching slowly, burning as he pushed deeper and harder inside of her. She was thankful for the orgasms he had given her earlier; their wetness cushioned his thrusts. He was considerably larger than Raj. And not at all the tentative, gentle lover that her ex had been.
Then why was her body betraying her? Why was it opening for him? Drawing him deeper? Spasming around this invader. She had to stop this. Had to reason with the man before this went any further. Before, it was too late. “Please, Svein. Please, there are condoms in my purse. Please,” she whimpered.
“Nei,” he growled into her ear as his teeth found the same tender spot on her lobe, biting down once more. “Nei,” he repeated as he pounded harder and faster inside of her. “Min kvinne, babyen min.”
She shook her head, uncertain what he had said, but somehow knowing it was not the answer she had hoped for. She fought against the bonds once more, knowing that it was too late, that she was powerless to stop this man from doing whatever he wanted with her — and hating herself for the choices that brought her to this point.
But no matter how much her mind might fight him, her body was surrendering to every touch, every bite, and every thrust. Her body was tightening, straining, reaching once more for the powerful release that she had never felt before. It was so close, so incredibly close, she could almost touch it, but not quite.
Then his fingers pulled her hair hard once more, his teeth pulled her ear away from her head, and his cock thrust deeper inside her than anything ever had been. “Nå,” he roared, “nå, min kvinne, nå!”
She felt him swell inside of her. Knew that it was too late for reason, too late for more pleadings. Too late for her.
But not for her body, she arched upwards as she crested the peak once more. Her orgasm matched his own, going on and on. She might hat this man, but her body had other ideas. She felt torn. Fragmented into pieces so small that she could never find them all, let alone reconnect them.
This battle between logic and need was more than she could manage. Her brain disconnected from her traitor’s body. Until nothing mattered anymore. Only the intense need and power that was thrumming inside her. Everything inside of her burst outwards in a million bright lights that went higher and higher, soaring, reaching towards the stars. Then it all went black.