Chapter 2
Elina
“What is that music?” I ask Asbjorn, wanting to know more about the music that has been playing all night, enhancing the Viking-like undertones.
“Wardruna. ‘Himndottir,’ the song is called.”
“It’s very intense.” It has these almost primal vocals, breaths marking the rhythms, and lots of hypnotic drums. A dark, ominous sort of folk music.
“Very… Vikingish.” I look off to the side as I listen.
The music shifts from a sparse heartbeat-like interlude—just vocalizing and drums—into a wilder part that evokes images of tribal dancing and chanting.
Chills chase down my arms, and I shudder as the intensity washes over me.
I smile at Asbjorn. “I think I like it.”
“Yeah? The music or the Viking vibes?” Amusement lights up his brown eyes, and he crosses his arms over his chest, putting his Viking tattoos on full display.
I bite my lips at the sight of Thor and the lightning that strikes from his eye. It’s a little creepy. In a way that draws me in. Like the music. Like him.
I nod and lift my gaze to him again, my cheeks suddenly heating. He’s too old for me—at least ten years my senior—but I can’t deny the attraction.
He’s about to lean in and say something, but a motion from across the room stops him. I’m a little disappointed. I draw a quiet sigh before following his line of sight to the back of the room, where Ulf is holding up his hand and waving his fingers at Asbjorn in a summoning motion.
Asbjorn gives my arm a squeeze that sends delicious shudders across my skin. “Don’t go anywhere, sweet Freja, I’ll be back in a second.”
Freja? I frown. He knows my name is Elina.
It takes a moment for my brain to snap out of the momentary haze and realize what he’s saying. Viking vibes and Freja. In Nordic mythology, Freja is the goddess of love. It’s probably meant as an endearment. Maybe even a way of flirting?
Heat floods at my core. I gaze toward him, but it’s not Asbjorn my attention catches on. Because Ulf is watching me, straight on. My breath catches as I fall captive to his demanding stare. Without words, he commands the very air—commands me. I try to avert my gaze, but I can’t.
Shivers shudder down my arms. I try to lift my hands to rub my skin, but I’m frozen in place.
I can’t seem to do anything as Ulf holds me in the stark grip of his focus.
He says something to Asbjorn, and then he’s pointing at me, still watching without inhibition, like I’m an intruder who has stepped onto his land.
Or more like he’s a falcon circling a field and I’m the only mouse on the naked, frozen ground.
My heart pounds. I want to hide. But he won’t let me. And I want just another taste of that magnificent power. It’s like seeing the sun for the first time after a long, dark winter. I can’t stop watching even though the intensity hurts my eyes.
Asbjorn looks at me too and nods.
They’re talking about me, and it makes me nervous. And curious.
They exchange a few more words, then Asbjorn leaves Ulf’s side.
Ulf holds my gaze a little longer, and that short moment of contact seems to say a whole lot of things I can’t decipher.
When he finally releases me as Asbjorn steps behind the bar, it’s like dropping to the ground, hard, after having been levitating.
“I think it’s about time I head home,” I say, suddenly feeling off.
“Not so fast.” Asbjorn takes my hands as I’m about to slide off the stool.
I glance down at his big paws that make mine look like a child’s hands. A rush of something I can’t explain shoots through me. I lick my lips, my breath suddenly coming in shallow gushes.
“Would you like to explore a little?” he asks.
“Explore?” I say, my mind going in slow motion.
“Yeah. With me. It could be a flogger. I saw how you watched that scene earlier. But if you’d rather try a paddle or just a bare-handed spanking, we can do that too.”
“A flogger?” Heat gathers in my cheeks as I seem to be stuck on repeating his words.
A smile tips up his lips. “The whip with lots of leather strands. I have several different kinds. It won’t hurt if you don’t want it to.
Don’t worry. I’ll go slow. I know you’re new to this.
You don’t even have to take off your clothes.
” As if he can tell how my heart is racing, he starts stroking the backs of my hands soothingly.
He nods toward the St. Andrew’s cross at the other end of the room.
“The cross at the back is free, and most people have gone home. It’s discreet but safe.
I don’t even have to tie you up if you’re not comfortable with it. ”
I scan the space as I imagine being flogged on the cross—in the open room.
Nervousness skitters across my skin at the thought of everyone watching.
But Asbjorn is right. There are not many people left to watch.
A couple is doing aftercare on one of the couches, and Lea is engrossed in a hushed conversation with another girl a little farther down the bar.
And when I turn to the couches at the back, where Ulf thrones, everyone is getting up.
“Are they leaving?” I ask Asbjorn.
“Most of them are.”
I consider the St. Andrew’s cross. I’ve been fantasizing about the leather-covered structure since the first night I came here—being tied up, at the mercy of a powerful man. Someone strong but safe. I look back at the man who’s inviting me to play. Like Asbjorn.
I press my lips together, then say in a breathy voice, “Okay.”
His warm smile widens as he gives a firm nod. “Okay.”
Reaching down under the bar, he grabs a duffel bag that he sets on the bar top in front of me. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
With fascination, I watch him take out several items and display them on the surface.
“A small flogger. Medium. A heavy one,” he says as he goes.
“Probably not this one.” He returns a particularly severe-looking flogger with thick, stiff strands to the bag, then takes out leather cuffs.
“Wrist cuffs.” He takes out another pair.
“And ankle cuffs.” Then he sets the bag down, leans his elbows on the bar top, and places his big hands on my lower arms. The heat soothes the chills that keep spiking on my skin.
“Take your time, ask questions, touch and test, and let me know which ones you’re good with. ”
I do as he says, testing the feel of the flogger strands, lifting the implements to gauge their weight, and asking questions. All the while, Asbjorn strokes my skin and answers all my questions patiently and calmly.
I end up choosing all items except the ankle cuffs.
Being restrained is one of my biggest fantasies, and I feel safe enough with Asbjorn and the public setting of the club to let him cuff my hands, but I figure both arms and legs will be a bit too much for a start.
As for the floggers, Asbjorn explains that he’ll slowly work his way up and only use the heaviest one if I’m ready for it.
And I’m surprisingly drawn to the flogger with the long, thick, and narrow strands, so I agree to all three.
When Asbjorn rounds the bar and holds his palm out in a gentlemanly gesture, Lea winks at me, and I cast her a shy smile as I place my hand in his and hop off the stool. It’s reassuring to know she’s here. I like Lea, and it adds a sense of safety.
As Asbjorn leads me through the room, I glance at the couches at the back.
Empty. I’m both relieved and disappointed, knowing Ulf—the leader, the chieftain, whatever he is—is gone.
He scared me, to be honest. But he also did something else that made my blood hum.
What is it with me and those older men tonight?
“Let’s keep your clothes on tonight,” Asbjorn says as he drops his armful of toys onto the floor.
“I think we’ve already reached the right amount of uncomfortable.
” He flips my hair behind my shoulders, then lingers on my neck, studying my brown tresses.
“Maybe I should braid this, so it won’t get in your face.
” He considers for a moment, then reaches down for the cuffs.
“But let’s start with these. Hold out your right hand. ”
He opens one of the thick leather cuffs, and my pulse speeds up as I lift my right hand.
A strange, dizzy sensation goes through my brain as he wraps the leather around my wrist and fastens the buckle.
I blink a couple of times and try to keep my breath steady, but the sensation intensifies when he makes me lift my other hand and the leather kisses my wrist.
Trying to distract myself and clear my head, I study the many armbands on his wrists. Wide pieces of leather, some made of metal, some of braided leather. One like Lea’s. Except he has two silver beads and both have different symbols from hers.
“What do those mean?” I ask, nodding to his right wrist.
“Which one?” He gestures to the many armbands there, and the sight of the visible veins on his strong hand stirs a fluttery sensation in my belly.
“The silver beads on the woven leather band.”
He points to one rune—?. “This one. It symbolizes strength and endurance. It’s the symbol of the bull. Uruz.”
That makes sense. Asbjorn is not only physically powerful with all his well-toned muscles, broad and tall build, but I also sense a strength in his eyes and in the patient way he naturally takes control.
He points to the other rune. “This one is journey. Raidho.”
“What kind of journey are you on?”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek. “Shh, no more questions—no more talking. Just give in. Let me guide you.”
Swallowing hard, I nod.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly.
I draw a long, shuddery breath and let my eyes drift shut on my exhale.
“Good girl,” he praises, and my knees soften, my brain letting go, just a little. Stepping behind me, he wraps his hands around my upper arms, slowly turns me, and steers me forward until my torso connects with the cool leather of the cross.
I open my eyes and focus on the black leather and the red wall.
Then I watch Asbjorn lift my hands, one at a time, and attach the cuffs to chains hanging from the top of the cross, using carabiners.
There are no locks—not on the cuffs or the hooks—but I don’t think I could get free even if I tried.
And when Asbjorn strokes the back of his hand down my spine, I know that I don’t want to.
My eyes drift shut again, and my breaths come deeper as I soak up the comforting touch. It calms the jitter of nerves that has become a constant buzzing inside me—a buzzing that rattles me in a surprisingly titillating way.
“Lean your head back,” he says after a minute of soothing strokes. Then he starts braiding my hair. Deft fingers start at the very top of my head, gathering strands of hair into what I think must be a French braid.
“Do you remember the club safeword?” he asks while he works on my hair.
“Um, raven.”
“Good. Keep that tucked at the front of your brain. That is your safeword. Say it anytime, and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. I’ll keep a close eye on you, but I don’t know your reactions, so I need you to promise that you’ll say the word if you need me to stop.”
I draw a shuddery breath and nod. “I’ll say it.” Something tells me I won’t need it, but the way he stresses it makes me feel safe.
He finishes the braid by adding a hairband. “There we go. No hair will get in the way now.” He leans down to grab something, then rests a hand at the top of my back. His touch has a steadying effect, and it pulls me a bit further into a floaty sense of safety.
“I’m gonna start with the light flogger,” he says. “Just softly. Then we’ll see how you take it and if we need to go harder.” His hand holding the flogger slides down to the hem of my black dress. “Is it okay if I lift this? It will feel better if there aren’t too many layers.”
My shoulders lift with a deep breath as I steady myself, then nod.
He bunches my tight dress up around my waist, leaving only my thin pantyhose protecting my ass. Then he steps back and swings the flogger.
I startle at the first strike, expecting some sort of pain. But he’s right. It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s just like a soft slap that awakens my nerves and pulls my attention to the area.
“You okay?” he asks, his hand returning to rest on my back.
Widening my stance a bit, I lean into the cross, and a small smile stretches my lips. This is exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about. Trapped at the hands of a powerful man. And I must admit that the age difference only adds another layer that I didn’t know would excite me. “I’m good.”
He swings the flogger again, and this time, I simply soak up the sensation without resistance.
He continues at a steady pace, and the sensation builds.
But it never hurts. It’s more like a warmth that accumulates beneath my skin and buzzes in my nerves.
It’s soothing, even, and I sink into an almost meditative state.