10. LAYLA
Ten
LAYLA
I’ve been in Vinterfjord for two weeks, and I am losing my mind.
Not because of the cold. Not because of the food. Because of Soren.
He fucks me every morning. Every night. Sometimes in the afternoon when he “accidentally” finds me in the library or the kitchens or the goddamn linen closet.
His hands are constantly on my body. His mouth is constantly on my skin.
His voice is constantly in my ear, telling me I’m his, I’m his, I’m his.
And I am. God, I am. My body is his. My pussy is his. I come for him like my orgasms belong to him now.
But my heart… my heart is terrified.
Because this was supposed to be a contract. A political arrangement. Fuck the king, make the peace-baby, live separate lives in the same palace. That’s how these things work.
But Soren doesn’t do separate. Soren does obsessive. Possessive. All-consuming. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. He touches me like he’ll die if he stops. He tells me he loves me, not with words, but with his body, his actions, the way he memorizes every inch of me.
And I’m falling. I’m falling so hard I can’t breathe. I’m falling for a man who was my enemy three weeks ago. A man whose ancestors killed mine.
So I run.
Not far. Just to the old guest wing on the east side. I tell myself I need space. Air. Time to think without his scent all around me.
I curl up on a narrow bed and stare at the ceiling. My body aches for him already. My pussy is wet just from thinking about him. I’m pathetic.
“Your Majesty.”
I jump. Monique stands in the doorway, her expression serious. “The king… he’s looking for you. He’s tearing the palace apart.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“He found your rooms empty. He broke the door off the hinges. He’s screaming your name. I’ve never seen him like this.”
I should be scared. Instead, I’m wet. The thought of Soren feral, desperate, tearing through his own palace to find me…
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“Because I’m your best friend and I know all your hiding spots. Duh.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “Layla. You need to go to him. He’s… he’s not okay.”
“I’m scared, Mo. I’m falling for him and it’s too fast and too big and I don’t know how to…”
“So fall.” She takes my hand. “Fall hard. He’s catching you. That man is so obsessed with you it’s actually gross. In a romantic way. Go to him. Let him love you.”
I hear it before I see it. Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Fast. Feral.
The door bursts open. Soren stands there, chest heaving, eyes wild, blond hair sticking up. He’s in training clothes, no shirt, loose pants, his carved chest heaving. He looks like a god. Like a monster. Like my monster.
“Layla.” My name comes out as a growl. “You left.”
“I didn’t leave. I just…”
“You left.” He crosses the room in three strides, drops to his knees next to the bed, and grabs my face in both hands. His palms are rough and warm and shaking. “You were gone. Your rooms were empty. I thought…”
His voice breaks. This giant of a man is on his knees, and his voice is cracking.
“I thought you left me,” he whispers. “I thought I finally found you, and you left.”
I reach up, my hands covering his. “I didn’t leave, Soren. I just needed space. To think. This is all so fast and so big, and I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of you. Of this. Of how much I feel for you when I’m supposed to be making a peace baby and then living separate lives.”
His eyes flash. “Separate lives? Who the fuck told you that?”
“It’s how these things work…”
“Not for us.” He stands, lifting me with him, and backs me against the wall. “There is no separate, Layla. There is no ‘peace-baby and then go our own ways.’ There is you. And me. And this. Forever.”
“You don’t know that…”
“I do know.” He kisses me, hard and desperate. “I knew the second I touched you. I knew when I felt you come around my fingers in that alcove. I knew when I woke up with you on that beach. You’re mine, Layla. Not for the contract. Not for the peace. For me. Because I fucking love you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stare at him, tears filling my eyes.
“You love me?”
“I love you.” He says it like a vow. “I love your fire and your fight and the way you challenge me. I love your body and your laugh and the way you look at me like I’m not a monster.
I love you, Layla. And if you need space, I’ll give you space.
But don’t run from me. Don’t ever run from me.
Because I will chase you. Every time. To the ends of the fucking earth. ”
I sob. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him with everything I have.
“I love you too,” I choke out. “I love you too, you big grumpy bastard. I was just scared.”
“Don’t be scared.” He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carries me out of the room. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He takes me back to our chambers and lays me on the bed. He strips me slowly, kissing every inch of skin he exposes. He worships me. He tells me I’m beautiful. He tells me I’m his. He tells me he loves me again and again until I’m crying and laughing and coming apart under his tongue.
Then he pushes inside me, slow and deep, and makes love to me for the first time.
Not fucking. Not breeding. Making love.
His eyes never leave mine. His hands cradle my face. He moves inside me like I’m precious, like I’m fragile, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“I love you,” he whispers with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”
I come with his name on my lips, my pussy clenching around him, tears streaming down my face. He follows, groaning my name, flooding me with everything he has.
After, he holds me. He doesn’t let go. He strokes my hair and kisses my temple, and tells me I’m safe. That I’m home. That I’m his.
And for the first time, I believe it.