9. LAYLA
Nine
LAYLA
The cold here is brutal. It bites through my coat and makes my bones ache. Vinterfjord is beautiful in its own harsh way: steep fjords, dark water, lights glowing in the stone palace. But I miss the warmth.
Soren, of course, thrives in it. The big bastard walks around in fewer layers than I’d wear to bed and still looks comfortable. He’s been insatiable since we arrived. This morning he fucked me bent over the balcony railing overlooking the fjord, growling about breeding me in his territory.
I’m sore in the best way.
We’re in one of the training halls now. I insisted on sparring with his warriors. I need them to see me as more than the southern wife their king brought home. The men watch me curiously. Soren stands off to the side, arms crossed, eyes tracking every step.
Erik comes at me. He’s the tall blond warrior, the one Soren threw against a wall for calling me “southern spy pussy.” I haven’t forgotten. He hasn’t apologized.
He’s strong but predictable. I use my speed and hips to throw him. The smack of his back hitting the mat echoes. A few of the others mutter.
Soren’s mouth twitches, almost a smile.
“Again,” I say, breathing hard.
After the session, Soren pulls me into a side room, locks the door, and crowds me against the wall.
“You looked good out there,” he says, voice low. His hand slides under my training top, palming my breast. “My men are going to respect you. But they’re also going to know exactly who you belong to.”
I arch into his touch. “Jealous already?”
“Possessive.” He yanks my pants down and spins me around, bending me over a sturdy table. “This ass is mine. This pussy is mine.”
He pushes in deep in one thrust. I moan, gripping the edge of the table. He fucks me hard, one big hand on my hip, the other fisted in my hair.
“Fuck, Layla. Still so tight even after I filled you this morning.” His hips slap against my ass. “Gonna keep you like this. Bent over and dripping my cum every day until your belly starts rounding out.”
The dirty words hit me hard. I push back to meet him.
“Tell me,” he demands, pounding deeper. “Tell me you’re going to take my baby.”
“I’m going to take it,” I gasp. “Fill me up, Soren. Breed me.”
He groans like an animal and comes hard, flooding me again. He stays inside me after, grinding slow.
Later that evening we eat in his private dining room. Roasted meats, root vegetables, dark bread. I tease him about the lack of spice.
“You northerners eat like you’re punishing yourselves,” I say, grinning.
He leans back, watching me with those icy blue eyes. “We save our heat for other things.”
I laugh. The sound surprises me. This giant, grumpy king is starting to feel less like an enemy and more like… mine.
That night he takes his time. He spreads me out on his massive bed, eats my pussy until I’m shaking, then fucks me slow and deep while we face each other. His huge body covers mine completely. Every thrust feels like a claim.
“Getting addicted to this,” he mutters against my mouth. “To you. Not just the contract anymore.”
I don’t answer with words. I just kiss him harder and wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Outside, snow starts to fall. Inside, I’m burning up.