Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
F reya
I glance around the room I was whisked to upon Fredrick’s command. A rounded space with exposed stone walls and honey-colored hardwood floors that have been recently refinished. The tall arched windows overlook the pebbled front drive, which is empty, and the car that drove me here is long gone now.
I move to the mirror.
The dress has a high neckline, and sparkling silver beads make a necklace-like halter, drawing attention to my face. The shimmery white gown is entirely backless, dipping low at the waist to show off my slim frame, the fabric flaring into a long, beaded train. The white satin nips just below my ribcage, at the slimmest part of my waist, then flows downward. The skirt has multiple layers of translucent fabric, and hints of glitter sparkle in the light as I move .
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and precisely what I would have chosen for myself, and it fits perfectly.
I stare back at the perfect bride in the mirror.
This wedding gown was designed specifically for me.
But when? And by whom? I think of the delicate artistry of the miniature balloon. Could Fredrick have not only purchased this dress but ordered it to be custom-made too?
A dress like this…would take weeks for a team to make, a solo seamstress, months. My stomach sinks. Am I the disloyal one? I think of Callum’s and my fight last night, him reiterating that I needed to leave Norse Garden.
Did he specifically mean to leave home for Inverness? And if so, how long have he and Fredrick been planning my captivity? How far does my brother’s heartbreaking disloyalty stretch?
And people say I’m the one betraying the Kings.
The women who spent the last hour silently preparing me, pinning up my long hair, contouring my face with makeup, and dressing me swirl around me, nodding at their work, the crest of the house emblazoned in gold on the lapel of their tan sweater-vests.
At the sound of a knock on the door, they jump to attention, standing with spines straight and hands clasped behind them.
Fredrick appears in the doorway, commanding, “Leave us.”
“Stay,” I demand, trying to catch the eye of anyone, but all the women’s eyes are on him, just as it was in Glasgow whenever Fredrick was in the room .
This time, it’s only because he’s paying them, I tell myself. Not because of the way his powerful presence fills the room. Or how stunning he looks in the black tux he wears.
I watch him in the mirror. His eyes remain on me as he addresses the room. “Now.” One word from Fredrick, they scatter like kitchen roaches when the lights go on at night.
Cowards. If I were to be the lady of the house during my stay, I would get rid of those hideous khaki uniforms they wear and teach these women how to stand up to their boss.
Steeling my nerves, I grit my teeth, turning away from the mirror to face my captor. “Well. I did it. Did you do as you promised?”
He repeats my earlier demands. “Call off the wedding and send the guests away?”
“Yes.” I would only agree to wear this dress and stay for dinner if he ended this crazy plan he and my brother concocted.
“Not yet.”
“I’m wearing the dress.” The white heat of anger creeps over my face. “Why haven’t you held up your end of the agreement?”
“I will.” He moves closer. Those little hairs on my forearms stand on end, my braless nipples contract, sensitive against the cold sheen of silk. I can smell his cologne, a fragrance I find incredibly sexy, one I would buy for a husband if I had one. If I even wanted one, which I don’t. He comes even closer now, light flashing off the face of his handsome watch, putting a shine on his stylish black shoes. “You look amazing. ”
“So do you,” I admit. “If you weren’t such a psycho.”
A dark-sounding chuckle escapes him. “Psycho? What makes you say that?” His footsteps echo through the empty room as he circles me.
“Um, let’s see…arranging a marriage in this day and age. Not informing the wife-to-be, much less asking her consent?—”
“Consent is a tricky word for me.”
I let the momentary fear this comment instills wash away, remaining stoic as I continue speaking. “Having a dress made to her specifications—I’m guessing since there’s no way my friends or Fiona would willingly let this happen to me, you’ve somehow tapped into my online pinboard for wedding ideas. You shouldn’t let that fool you. Every woman has one. Even women like me, ones who never want to marry.”
“We’ll see.” He leans forward, and I will myself not to cringe back. He takes a deep inhale.
“Are you…smelling me?”
“Yes. Amazing. You smell as good as you look.”
“See. Psycho. Path.”
“I know you taste even better than you smell.” His eyes lock on mine, and something in his dark, confident gaze sends a shock of electricity bolting to my core. “Wife-to-be.”
“Och, hell no. Let’s stop with all that nonsense right now. I may have agreed to dinner, but I certainly?—”
“Have you agreed to dessert?”
The word dessert grabs my attention enough to stop my monologue. “Huh? ”
Now his hand is on my waist, slipping over the silk, heat and control where there was nothing. My usual stilettos were traded for ballet slippers; he’s much taller than me as he stares down at my face. “Do you agree to dessert?”
Is this a trick question? Who wouldn’t agree to dessert?
I’m trying to figure out how to answer him. I live for sweets, but the question is part of his game. There’s no way he’s got one of those uniformed women hiding behind the Chinese dressing screen, ready to roll out a cart of cake slices from Sugar Rush on Byres Street.
Does he?
I do adore wedding cake.
Before I can decide what to say, he’s wrapping his body around mine, his arms encircling me, his warm hands pressing against my bare back. “I have a treat in mind.”
“Is it chocolate?” I ask.
“No.”
“More evidence you’re trying to marry the wrong woman,” I say.
“You don’t want to know what I have in mind?” A smoldering grin covers his face as he glances down at my very pert nipples in the gown.
“I’m not sure I do.”
His hands run down the sides of my body, and I do nothing to stop them. He drops to one knee, staring up at me as if to propose. “I’m having a craving,” he says, gently moving the tulle of my skirt away from my body. “For my dessert. ”
Before I can blink, the man is buried under the many gauzy layers of the wedding dress, his hands stroking my bare legs, grazing up my thighs, and hooking into the waistband of the white silk thong I wear. He drags the material down my legs, dropping them around my ankles.
My hands don’t know what to do as I sputter in shock. “What—what are you trying to do?” I feel hot breath on the bare skin of my smooth pussy, strong hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs.
“Oh. God. Oh my God.” The slick heat of his tongue darts out, licking my pussy, the soft tip wriggling and tickling my clit. A tight little orgasm immediately breaks free from me as my body gives an involuntary, hard shudder.
“I want something else from you. For making me cancel our beautiful wedding.” He’s angry, frustrated, and tired of getting me off while being left hard and cold. “The gown isn’t enough.”
He wants to own me, control me, dominate me. And he wants my pretty lips wrapped around his cock. Proving my point, he stands up and backs away, his hand going to the buckle of his belt.
“Careful what you wish for,” I say.
“Why? Do you bite as well as bark?”
“Are you calling me a dog?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, only warning you.”
“Warning me about your fellatio?” he snaps. “Are you that bad at it? ”
“No. I’m that good.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares, the look in his gaze turning to pure hunger.
“Once you’ve had my mouth wrapped around your cock, you won’t be able to think of anything else.”
He swallows a tight lump in his throat. “I’ll take my chances.”
I’m not shitting him. Islander girls are known for being good girls, maintaining their precious virginity as long as possible, but we still love our men. I may be inexperienced in other areas, but I’m damn good at pleasing a man with my mouth.
Him being helpless under my seduction will be a welcome power exchange
‘Cause even though I’ll be the one on my knees, he’ll be entirely at my mercy.
“And no,” I add. “I don’t bite.”
Often.
Hips rolling, I stride over to him, flattening my palm against the center of his chest. Holding his gaze, I push him backward until he falls onto the bed and sits on the edge.
He’s staring up at me for once.
I stand over him, Freya Warrior Princess, ready to go into battle.
“I’m going to make you weak. Make you beg for mercy.” Placing my hands on his knees, I lean forward, close enough to kiss him. “You’re going to be begging me to let you come. ”
“Let me come?”
“Allow you to, if and when I choose.” I brush my lips over his. When he tries to kiss me, I pull back.
“A sliver of power,” he murmurs, “and she goes crazy.”
“Crazy? You’re the one who’s about to lose your mind.” I sink to my knees, making him hold my gaze as I slowly unbuckle that leather belt of his, letting my fingers brush over his already-growing erection.
His eyes burn into mine, the hunger and desire reflected in their depths mirroring my own. The tension between us is palpable, the air thick with anticipation as I finally free his erection from his pants, lightly dragging the backs of my knuckles along his stiff shaft. He gasps softly.
I wrap my hand around his shaft, slowly stroking it as I gaze into his eyes. He lets out a low groan at my touch. The power I have over him is almost intoxicating; he's so eager, so desperate for me, while I can take my time, savoring the moment.
“Please.” His hands go behind him as he leans back, thrusting his hips up, needing me to take him in my mouth.
“I haven’t even begun, and you’re already begging.”
He swallows hard, his deep brown eyes searching mine, trying to read my intentions. He has beautiful eyes, something I’d never noticed before given their usual hard expression. Now, with his wanting me so badly, I almost feel connected to him in his need.
Drunk on power, I push the thought away, letting Dominatrix Freya out to play .
I lean in closer, my breath warm against his skin as I continue to stroke him. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself back. But not for long.
"I'm going to free you from this prison," I say softly, my fingers moving faster now, teasing the sensitive skin of his cock with a quick lash of the tip of my tongue. “Even as you hold me captive in yours.”
His breath hitches, his body trembling slightly with desire and anticipation. He lets out a low growl, lunging forward, his hands gripping my shoulders tightly as I continue to stroke him, his hips moving instinctively to meet my hand.
"You want to be free?" he asks hoarsely, his eyes locking onto mine with a raw intensity that makes my stomach flutter. "To not be locked away, caged in by these walls and rules and me? Or do you want to live?"
His words strike fear into my heart, remembering the self-inflicted danger that brought me here in the first place. Frustrated with myself, I take it out on his cock.
The head of his cock tastes salty and sweet, the skin warm and firm beneath my tongue. I stroke him slowly, taking him deeper into my mouth as I savor the feel of him against my lips.
The veins in his shaft are throbbing, a testament to his arousal. I increase the pace of my strokes, my hand moving up and down his length with reckless abandon. My mouth moves in tandem, sucking and slurping at his head as I tease and tantalize.
I glance up at him. The sight of him losing control is almost too much for me to bear; his eyes are wide and glassy, his lips parted slightly as he pants for air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath sending another wave of arousal through him.
"Fuck...yes," he groans, unable to hold back any longer. It's music to my ears; I want him to lose control, to let go and surrender to me. "Fuuuuuck." He thrusts upward as I suck and stroke him. Releasing my shoulders, he leans back, his hands tight around the bedding, covers shifting as he grips them.
I smile around him, feeling powerful and in control.
His hands release the covers and reach for me, tighten in my hair, guiding me as I bob my head up and down his shaft. The pulsing of his cock throbs against my lips. He smells and tastes of man and desire, intoxicating and irresistible.
He moans loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily as I explore every inch of him with my mouth. He moans my name. “Freya. God, Freya. You’re incredible.” His words are a victory cry for me.
He's desperate for release.
I pull back, my eyes locked with his as I continue to stroke him gently. "Tell me how good I am," I whisper, my voice a seductive purr. “Tell me how much you want me.”
He swallows hard, his eyes wide and wild with desire. "You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he gasps out, his breath ragged with his fight against the urge to come. “Your mouth, your tongue, your lips. There is no woman like you, Freya.”
The sincerity in his words almost brings me to a pause. I slide my lips over the head of his cock, a satisfied grin spreading across my face as he twitches against my mouth. Almost folding in half at the waist, he groans, his hands tangling in my hair as he tries to control himself. I savor the taste of him, the salty sweetness of his arousal, taking him deeper into my mouth.
His hips buck wildly beneath me, thrusting upward, and he comes. I feel the warmth of his release flood my mouth, the taste of him suddenly sweeter and more intense. I savor it for a moment before swallowing, a small smile playing on my lips.
"Perfect," I murmur, pulling away and leaning down to kiss the sensitive tip. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes still wide with a mix of pleasure and shock.
I straighten up and look at him, my eyes locking with his. "You’re not the only one in charge here at Inverness." I stand up, my body glowing with the power of dominance.
He stares at me, his gaze heavy with desire and a hint of fear. He knows he's been bested and is no match for me in this game. And yet, something in his eyes tells me he doesn't mind, that he even craves it, too.
"You're crazy," he says finally, his voice hoarse and laden with a mixture of lust and admiration. He reaches out and runs his fingers along my waist, like he wants to grab me and pull me in for a kiss, his touch sending a thrill through me.
"Maybe," I say, meeting his gaze head-on. "But you keep underestimating me."
He chuckles, a low and deep sound that leaves me wet. "I don't think I’m underestimating you. I think I’m the only man who really knows you. And I think you love the chase."
His words hit me in the center of my chest, take my breath, then anger rises. We’ve only been together a few times. How could he have the audacity to say something like that ?
A nagging thought pricks at me; the truth is what upsets us most. Could he be right? I hide the smile that wants to creep onto my lips. "Well, keep chasing then," I say, turning away from him and walking to the door.
As I step out of the room, I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It's an intoxicating feeling, knowing that I have control over him. And yet, there's a part of me that craves his dominance.
My wild nature and free spirit lean toward the dominance he delivers. Every ounce of me screams for him to take control, command, and make me obey. And he’s right; I crave the chase.
He knows me too well. And I think I hate him for it.