Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
F redrick
The next few weeks are a flurry of activity. I know her heart aches for her family, and I want to keep her as distracted as possible as Callum works to make amends with the islander Kings while planning an act of retribution against the Hoax for using Freya as they did.
And if he can’t?
Our marriage must go forward. She’ll need that extra layer of protection. Until then, I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe.
Though my current job for the Kings is much less tumultuous than Callum’s, I dare say my days are filled with more tension than his. The constant pull and tug of power between Freya and me, the sexual tension notwithstanding, has me on my toes every moment of every day with her .
No matter how things work out for Freya, I’m determined to make her my wife. Defeating the Hoax feels like a chess game compared to getting the fiery Valkyrie princess to marry me. I’ve not given up hope.
The dress remains hung in her closet, where she can see it daily. Every morning, she moves it to a different closet in the castle. I seek it out every afternoon, replacing it in her closet so it’s there when she prepares for our evening meal together.
If Joyeux and I get my way, one of these nights, she will wear it again.
Days are spent walking the property, planning renovation projects, and training the young staff.
We work well together.
Except when we don’t.
Nights, we dine together in the dining room, dressed well, having “good banter” as she says, her sipping wine or whisky, me sparkling water. We make a pretty picture. After our meal, I walk her to her room. She allows me a kiss. Then sends me to bed in my separate room.
With tension in my balls that makes me feel as if they’ll break, I’ve taken to swimming in the nude at night, under the moonlight, the frigid temperatures cooling my blood. MAWR-vein stands on the river's edge, blankets wrapped around her shoulders.
“Lifeguarding” me, as she says. There’s no way she’d go in after me, but she figures she can call for help. I think she’s softening toward me. The luxury suite I booked in town for her and her husband to celebrate St. Andrews’s Day probably didn’t hurt our relationship .
She’s not taken to Freya like I’d hoped.
“Too pretty,” she said to me. “The pretty ones are nothing but trouble, Mr. Fredrick.”
Luckily, I’m game for a bit of trouble where Freya is concerned.
Tomorrow is St. Andrews Day, and as Freya says, it’s a big deal in Scotland. It happens every year on November thirtieth and celebrates a saint named Andrew, who was once an apostle. In 1320, he became the official patron saint of Scotland when they declared they wanted to be their own independent country.
Hourrah Scotland!
See. I can be fun.
The day is all about having a good time and embracing Scottish culture—that means tables spread with food, lots of fiddles and bagpipes, and Scots debuting their best moves on the dance floor, ceilidh dancing into the late hours of the night.
And they eat, God, they eat.
For starters, there’s Cullen Skink soup—the soup tastes better than the name sounds—made with smoked haddock, taters, as they call the potato, and onions. Then comes the main course: haggis (if you're brave enough), turnips, and mashed potatoes. You can make it at home or go to any pub or restaurant in Scotland that day for the classic options. For dessert, warm up with some clootie dumplings and custard—a delicate Scottish dish with dried fruit, spices, oats or breadcrumbs, flour, and beef suet. I’ve no idea, nor do I want to know, the meaning of the word clootie .
It's a bank holiday. MAWR-vein threatened to lead the staff in a revolt if I didn’t give them St. Andrews Day off with pay. As I had already planned, I gave them the day off with pay and threw in a generous bonus with a note telling them their St. Andy’s Day drinks are on me.
MAWR-vein truly has a husband, a reclusive artist who lives in a cabin in the forest. Tonight, they have a date planned at their favorite pub, The Walrus and the Carpenter, where they will enjoy buckets of ale and piles of haggis.
With the staff away and neither of us allowed to use the stove—they didn’t teach a cooking class in the fancy boarding school I attended—I planned a getaway evening for Freya and me.
There will be no party, no rowdy pub for her this year. I need to distract her from that fact, so I’m taking her into town. I’ll have the place we’re going heavily guarded and escorts for the drive. She’ll be safe outside my walls from the Hoax for this one night.
She won’t be safe from me, though.
I’m taking her to the private sex club in Inverness to have my way with her. I want to show her that I am fun and have a wild side, even if it differs from hers. I don’t drink. Don’t dance. But I know how to show a woman a good time.
Of course, me being me, I’d already pre-arranged the room we’d be using, and before they left for their St. Andy’s Day parties, I sent my staff to clean, disinfect, and provide me with implements from my own home.
See?
Good clean fun .
We enter the underground club to the thrum of fast-paced music, the scent of sex mingled with sandalwood.
Freya looks radiant in the dim lighting, her blonde hair dancing around her shoulders, illuminated by the flickering lights and lasers. She’s chosen a bright red, sleeveless minidress that hugs her body, lipstick in a matching red. Her pale skin glows with a natural radiance, her classic beauty turning heads as we walk in.
As we make our way through the crowd, I can't help but notice the reactions from the other patrons. They clearly understand that Freya is not just another woman to be admired but a goddess among mere mortals. It's intoxicating to be seen with her, as if you gain status as a man just by being seen with her.
I take her hand in mine, feeling the warmth of her skin and the pulsing energy that seems to emanate from her very being. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and curious. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“I thought I was the stuffy one,” I tease.
Her eyes dart around the club as she takes in the crowd. “I’ve…um…I’ve never done anything like this.”
"Ready for an adventure?" I ask, my voice a low murmur.
She looks at me with fear and excitement. A smile slowly creeps onto her face as she squeezes my hand and nods. "Let's do it," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
We make our way to the heart of the crowd, the pulsating music getting louder and more intense as we approach. The energy is palpable, the rhythm of the music fueling the bodies that sway and grind against each other .
I guide Freya toward a dark corner, away from the main dance floor. I press her against the wall, my body crashing against hers. "Are you sure about this?" I ask, my lips brushing against her ear.
"I trust you," she says, clutching onto my shirt.
I pull her closer, our bodies pressed against each other, every inch of her soft and warm against my touch. Heat radiates from her body, along with her nervous energy, her arousal.
I don’t dance but I’ve been told I kiss like a god.
I press my mouth to hers. It's like an electric current flowing through us both. She melts into the kiss, her fingers clutching my shirt as if she wants to pull me even closer, her long nails brushing against my skin. She murmurs into my mouth, “God damn, you know how to make a girl’s knees go weak.”
The woman can rule a courtroom, a place where I’m sure I’d clam up. Here, in the club, my blood heats, my curiosity piqued. She’s out of her element. She needs me. I feel myself getting lost in the music and the rhythm of our tongues. The music and energy connect us on a deeper level.
I break our kiss to lock eyes with her, the intensity of the need in her gaze making my heart race. For a moment, we stand there, lost in each other's gaze, our bodies still pressed against each other. We’re in our own world in the corner of the crowded club.
Finally, I say, “Are you ready to enter a room?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “What’s in the rooms?”
“Depends on what you choose.”
“What are the options?” she asks .
“One, two or three,” I say.
“You want me to choose?” she squeaks.
“Yes.” I run the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. “You seal your own fate.”
I love the look of trust in her eyes as she stares up at me. “And I don’t get to know what’s behind the door before I choose?”
I lean in, nipping her earlobe. “Now, what would be the fun in that, princess?”
“Fine.” She takes a shaky breath. “I choose…one.”
We make our way to the sex room that I had earlier prepared for us tonight. I told a tiny white lie to keep her safe tonight; this is room one, two, and three. It’s decorated in black velvet and wood, creating an atmosphere of luxury and sophistication. As she enters, I can see the apprehension in her eyes and her deep curiosity.
Candles burning in a candelabra over our heads cast a warm glow on the walls, and black velvet covers every surface. The air is filled with an intriguing mix of exotic perfumes; I catch a hint of orange and sandalwood.
Freya stops moving into the room as she spots the chains that hang from the ceiling, fur-lined handcuffs dangling from them. The metal chains and cuffs starkly contrast with the luxurious setting. They also symbolize trust and submission, heating my blood with anticipation.
I don’t like games, but with her, I’ll always play.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her to the center of the room. I snag the cuffs, removing them from the chains. My voice is a rake over hot coals. "Are you ready?”
She nods, her eyes on other chains that hang from the wall. Slowly, she holds out her hands to me, silver fingernails glittering, her eyes full of angst yet anticipation. I take her wrists, kissing them in turn before fastening a cuff around each one.
Raising her cuffed wrists over her head, I adjust the length of the ceiling chains and fasten them securely to the cuffs.
"Do you trust me?" I ask, my voice a low murmur.
She looks up at me, a jumble of emotions. She glances down at her breasts as if she wants to remind me not to touch them. Instead, she glances back at me, saying, “I do trust you.”
“Thank you.” I begin to explore every inch of her body—carefully avoiding her chest—my hands running down her back, over her sides, her stomach. Every touch is deliberate, every movement calculated to create a wave of pleasure and anticipation in her.
Arms reaching high, her short dress has ridden up. I reach lower, my hands brushing against the sensitive skin of her naked inner thighs. She lets out a small gasp. Her breathing becomes ragged, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed in the candlelight.
“I’m not stuffy. I’m calculated. But I do enjoy some games.” I reach for the riding crop on the wall, flicking it before her. “Ready to play?”
Freya's eyes widen as I hold up the crop. She's both apprehensive and intrigued by what this new element might bring. She steels her nerves, narrowing her gaze. "Of course," she says, her voice shaky but determined .
I walk around her, slowly circling her body, taking in every curve and contour of her exquisite form. I can feel the tension building within me, the desire to unleash myself upon her, to take her in a way that we've never experienced before.
I approach her from behind, gently brushing the crop's tip over the delicate skin at the backs of her thighs. She trembles slightly, her breathing becoming shallower with each passing moment. "Do you like this?" I ask, running the implement lightly over her back and shoulders, where her skin is bare above the red dress.
She gasps slightly at the sensation, her muscles tensing, her body responding to my every touch. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the thumping of the music outside the room.
I slowly bring the crop down against the backs of her bare thighs, starting lightly and gradually increasing the force. Each stroke is carefully calculated to create a wave of pleasure and pain that seems to consume every inch of her.
As I continue my teasing of her body, I can feel myself getting lost in the rhythm of the music and the crop and the tension between us. It's like we're in another world where time and space don't exist, where it's just us and the energy between us.
Freya's skin flushes from the crop.
"Do you want more?" I whisper into her ear, my voice barely above a murmur. "Do you want me to take you? Right here, right now, your wrists chained. With you being totally out of control? ”
She shudders, her breath catching in her throat as she nods vigorously. The desire to be taken by me, to surrender completely to my control, is obvious in her every movement.
“Too bad.” I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins, my heart pounding in time with the music. I want to take her, to plunge deep inside of her and claim her completely. I know she’s not ready. “This is not the place or the time for me to take you for the first time, pretty Freya. But I will make you come. Hard and fast, till your knees go weak.”
I kneel before her, reaching up under her dress, tugging her lacy elastic thong down over her hips, drawing them down till they’re wrapped around her, mid-thigh. Her enchanting scent calls to me, and I can’t resist an opportunity to put my mouth on her.
Licking and teasing, I get a taste of intoxicating Freya. “Oh. God.” Her eyelids flutter.
I need to prepare her to ensure she's ready for what's to come. Forcing myself to unbury my mouth from her, I step back, picking up a small bottle of my preferred lubricant from the nearby table. I generously apply it to my fingers, slicking them up as I approach Freya again. She looks at me with fear, anticipation, and a burning desire that ignites a bonfire in my core.
"I'm going to touch you now," I whisper into her ear, "and I want you to let go of any fears or reservations. Just focus on the pleasure and sensations building within you."
I slowly run my slick fingers over her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness that seems to emanate from her very core. Her body trembles slightly, her muscles clenching in anticipation of the promised release .
As I begin to insert one finger, then two, inside of her, Freya lets out a small gasp of pleasure. Her eyes roll back slightly as she loses herself in the moment, her body awash with a wave of pleasure. I continue to explore her inner depths, my fingers stroking and probing every inch of her sensitive flesh. Her breathing becomes heavier, her heart pounding faster as she surrenders entirely to my touch.
"Are you ready?" I ask, my voice a low rumble that seems to send her over the edge.
“I’m—I’m going to come.” She shrieks, muscles locking around my fingers as she comes on my hand.
I remove my fingers, sliding them from her. She smiles at me. “That was incredible?—”
“I’m not done, princess.” She gives me a curious look. “Part your legs.”
Obediently, she spreads her feet further apart till the restriction of the thong around her thighs stops her. I grab the crop, moving closer. She watches, wide-eyed in shock, as I bring the handle of the crop between her thighs.
I replace my fingers with the handle of the crop. It's cold and hard, contrasting with my warm fingers. She’s so wet as I slowly insert it inside her, feeling the tightness of her muscles as they resist my invasion. But she wants this, needs this, and soon, she surrenders to my intrusion.
Then, I flick the button, turning on the vibrating handle.
She skyrockets onto her tiptoes, chains rattling as her back arches. “Oh my God!”
As I begin to thrust steadily, slowly but relentlessly, into Freya with the crop's vibrating handle, she lets out a soft moan of pleasure and pain. Her body shakes and trembles as she surrenders completely to the sensations that are building within her.
"That's it," I whisper, my voice hoarse with desire. "Let yourself go. Let me take you wherever this takes you."
I watch her beautiful face as I use my other hand to rub lube against her swollen clit. “Oh. My. God.” Freya's breathing quickens, her body arching and twisting with every thrust of the crop, each circle from the pad of my thumb over her sensitive clitoris.
“Look at me,” I command. “Look at me while I make you come.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and I can see the depth of her desire mirrored in their depths. It's an intense and powerful exchange that only fuels the burning fire between us. I turn up the power on the vibrator.
“Holy. Fuck.” She’s no match for the intensity of what’s inside her. As Freya's body begins to tremble uncontrollably, her orgasmic release washes over her in waves. “FRED. RICK.”
"That's it," I whisper, moving my thumb faster, my voice thick with desire. "Let go, give in, let yourself fall completely into this moment."
“God! Fredrick! Fuuuuck!” she screams into the empty room, her arms stretching up, her body taut. “Fuck!”
Slipping the crop from inside her, I toss it to the floor. I kiss her lips, kissing her through the aftershock waves of the orgasm as she shudders against me. Still kissing her, I reach up, pressing a button on each cuff to unlatch them, freeing her wrists.
Her arms collapse and she wraps them around my neck, holding me tight as we kiss.
I feel so close to her now; I know she needed this escape. To my complete and heavenly shock, she drops to her knees. Gazing up at me with those sexy green eyes, she runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, those pretty fingers with their sparkly silver tips going to my belt buckle.
“Nom de Dieu!” I reach up, gripping the chains in my hands for something to anchor me to this world as her perfect mouth wraps around my already pulsing cock. “God damn.”
Soon, I’ll have to break this spell by telling her about my earlier phone call with Callum. He called as we were leaving the house, heading for the club. The news he shared with me will surely break her heart.
Freya will probably never be safe in Glasgow.
And never be able to go back to her beloved home.
But this moment?
I’m holding on to those chains, letting her blow my mind.