Chapter Eleven #2
She had been fighting that for so much of her life. Resisting allowing her father to alter who she was. To dent her spirit in any way.
He was right; she had been resisting being changed or affected by her trauma. But it had happened. That part of her life was real.
Just the same as she could allow herself to be changed by this. And she had. She could change what she wanted. It didn’t make her a failure. It didn’t mean that she was losing a fight.
She wasn’t giving in.
Not to anything other than what she wanted. What she was moving toward. There was something good in that. Something powerful in it. In feeling. In wanting. In accepting.
“After this the world will be yours.”
She wanted to correct him. She wanted to tell him that she was going to stay. But the words got stuck in her throat. He was changing. He had admitted to that. He had even said that he didn’t hate the idea of it anymore. That was the beginning of something.
But she was afraid. Afraid to push him too hard too fast. Though what she thought he might do, she couldn’t say. He had been intent on taking her as a wife forever.
Forever.
Was that really what she wanted?
She felt something, something big and fierce in the center of her chest, and when she looked at him it was nearly painful.
When she touched him, it felt like coming home. In a way that home had never been.
She didn’t have words. Not to speak, not even to form inside of herself to try to create an understanding. So she leaned over and she kissed him, letting the blankets fall away, so that her bare skin could press up against his.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, brought her over the top of him, cupping her face as he kissed her with all of the pent-up desire inside of him.
She sat up, and looked down at him, her hair enveloping them both in a dark, tangled curtain.
She felt alive. She felt free. She felt like she belonged to him, and it was nothing like being owned. Because she felt as if he belonged to her too. As if she was the only person who might totally understand. Even if she didn’t today, maybe someday she would. She wanted to.
She wanted to change around him. Wanted to re-form herself in his arms.
She couldn’t make him want the same.
But she felt…
She bent down and kissed him, and he growled, gripping her hips and moving her down so that her wet heat came into contact with the blunt head of his arousal.
She gasped. And then she arched her hips backward, taking him in deep from her position on top of him.
She moaned as he filled her, slowly, completely.
And then she began to writhe above him. A claiming of her own.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Yes.
She gripped his shoulders, letting her head fall back as she established a rhythm that drove them both mad.
She carried them both to the brink.
This man. He was something. He was everything.
She moaned, shuddering as her orgasm claimed her unexpectedly. And then he growled, reversing their positions so that he was on top of her, driving into her. His powerful hold was like chains, but she never wanted to break free of them.
It was the beauty of him. The paradox of him.
A conqueror, who never made her feel conquered.
Who only made her feel stronger. More herself. More alive.
She had never seen it coming. She had never seen it as a possibility.
Would she give up everything for him?
No. She wouldn’t. Because staying with him would mean giving up nothing.
He would be a partner. A lover. Her husband.
My husband is with me.
She thought of Freya, that goddess up in her heavenly plane, forever mourning the husband who was lost to her.
Fern had a husband. And he was not lost to her.
She needed to keep him. She needed to hold onto him.
She needed to have him. Forever.
Yes.
There was a whole world out there. Filled with many things. But in this room, with this man, she had found something that she hadn’t even truly known existed.
She had found things out about herself. When she had been in that ballroom she had realized…her purpose was to help other people. It wasn’t to go away and hoard her freedom, but to try to make life better for others.
For him, for their citizens.
She had been searching for a home all this time, and it was here. Not simply because it was a beautiful country, not simply because she wanted to help the people in it. But because of Ragnar.
It was his home. Branded on his soul. His blood was infused with it.
And she…she loved him. The totality of him. Which meant loving this place. Which meant being part of his mission.
He had been right all along. You couldn’t outrun your destiny. What was meant for you could not be denied. Couldn’t be turned away from.
They were what had always been meant to be.
A wave of desire rose up inside of her, and she wanted to fight against it because she was still breathless from her last orgasm, but she couldn’t keep it from washing over her. She cried out his name.
She loved him.
It was a revelation.
It was glory.
Pain and pleasure and power and more than she had ever even dreamed of desiring.
She had imagined a life where she went off by herself and made all of her own decisions, but that was an illusion of freedom.
It was an illusion of happiness.
She hadn’t been able to imagine caring about other people, thinking about other people, and being happy. Because living her life, living the way that she had in the palace in Cape Blanco, her family had made her miserable. And so she had imagined herself alone.
Oh, it was so much more work to care about another person. But she wanted to do that work. With him.
His face was set in stone as he continued to thrust inside of her, as he continued to chase his own release.
She could tell now that he was playing a game with himself. Prolonging it all. Holding himself back.
She smiled. She lifted her head and kissed his neck, kissed down to his collarbone. She felt his large body shudder, felt him pulse deep inside of her.
“Yes,” she whispered into his ear. “Take me, Ragnar. I’m yours.”
And that was when he let go.
His battle cry echoed off the walls as he surrendered to his need, as he spent himself deep inside of her.
And he gave himself over to the great and powerful need built up between them. And he pushed her over again. The unexpected force of her third climax making her cling to him so hard she was certain she drew blood.
He was breathing hard, and he moved away from her, lying on his back. He was breathing like he had been running. Like…
She looked at him; his eyes were glassy.
“Ragnar?”
She put her hand on his chest; she could feel his heart beating. “Are you okay?”
He growled, and gripped her around the wrist, flinging his body over the top of her again, but this time, it was as if he was shielding her.
“Ragnar,” she said.
He rose up over her, looking somewhere back behind her, but there was nothing there but a wall. “Touch her and die.”
She put her hands flat on his chest, held them there. “Ragnar. No one is here. Nothing is happening. I swear to you. Nothing is happening.”
And then, he made a terrible, strangled sound. Like that of a man being tortured. Physically, mentally.
Wherever he was, it was a dark place. Wherever he was, it might as well be hell.
“No.”
He moved away from her then, his body shaking. He got off the bed, then he stood, like a man waiting to be taken to the executioner.
“Ragnar,” she said again. “Please. Whatever is happening…”
And then it was like the fog had lifted. It was like he could see again. Like he was with her. He made a terrible sound. Like a wounded animal. One that had been gutted. And he fell to his knees, his head in his hands. “I remember,” he said.
“Oh, Ragnar.” She got out of bed and she went over to him. She knelt beside him, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “What did you remember?”
He lifted his head, his blue eyes hunted, haunted. “It was my father. My father was the one that betrayed us all.”