Deep, Dark & Dangerous

by Jaid Black

“She also knows that, regardless of her personal feelings, ’tis something I must do.” His tone was too portentous for Madalyn’s liking. “Every man has a fate. The Revolution has been mine since Toki claimed the jarldom.”

  She didn’t know where he was going with this, but her belly clenched despite ignorance. “What are you trying to tell me? It isn’t like you to talk in riddles. You are nothing if not blunt.”

  He searched her eyes. “The Revolution grows very near, Madalyn. I must leave two days hence.”

  Her pulse picked up. Sweet Lord, she felt like she was going to be sick. How could he force her to live down here, below the earth, and then just leave her?

  “You will remain here with my mother and sister. All will be well for you, Madalyn.”

  “Forget about me,” she breathed. “What about you?”

  “I do not matter, little one,” Otar said softly. “The will of the gods will befall me.”

  You don’t matter? How can you say that?

  Tears began to well up in her eyes. For the first time since they’d met, she wasn’t able to shield their presence. “This sounds like good-bye,” Madalyn said a bit shakily. “Like you know you’re going to die and are preparing me for it.”

  His large, strong hand covered hers atop the table. “We must be realistic, Madalyn. I am but a warrior, not a noble. My blood will matter very little to either side in the grand scheme of it all.”

  She snatched her hand back and swiped at a tear that fell. “Then why fight?” she ground out, trying to understand. “Your blood might not matter to them, but it matters to Annikki and Agata.”

  And it matters to me.

  “Madalyn,” Otar said softly. “Madalyn, look at me.”

  It took all of her effort to meet his gaze—and to do it without crying like a baby.

  “’Twill be all right. All of you will be taken care of by Lord Ericsson when at last he is crowned jarl of New Sweden. He has made his vow to me and I know he would never break it.”

  “Take care of us? What are you talking about?”

  Madalyn felt like screaming and pounding on him with her fists. Anything to make him understand he couldn’t leave.

  Otar’s thumb found another tear and wiped it from her cheek. “When Lord Ericsson becomes jarl, my rightful position as the Thordsson heir will be reinstated. Mayhap I will not live to see this, but as my widow, you will reap the benefits of that status.

  Madalyn felt dazed. She was too numb to talk, too upset to do anything but listen.

  “You will have the life you deserve, Madalyn. A large dwelling with servants, coins for the bartering stalls, and the protected status of a widow.”

  Otar’s hand covered hers again. “As a widow, no man can force you into a marriage you don’t covet. You can marry the second time for love.” He forced a smile and brushed back a lock of her golden-red hair. “You deserve so much more than I am, Madalyn. I cannot regret this week we have spent together, but I do lament your unhappiness.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to stay, to tell him that she didn’t want to replace him—but he let go of her hand and held a finger to her lips.

  “All will be well, Madalyn.” Otar stood up, then bent down to kiss her cheek. “You’ve my word.”

  FLATBREAD, CHEESES, STEW, AND APPLE TARTS. Dinner was typical Annikka-style delicious—or it would have been, had Madalyn possessed any appetite.

  The Thordssons might not have possessed much in the way of material goods, but they sure knew how to make do. In this small home, every meal was a feast to be savored and enjoyed. It was a time when they caught up on each other’s days, shared their triumphs and defeats. They were the essence of what a family was supposed to be.

  Madalyn sat quietly, her fork absently playing with her tart. She could feel Otar staring at her while Agata regaled him with a story, but Madalyn wasn’t up to making eye contact yet. She needed some time alone, though she knew she wouldn’t be getting any.

  So much had happened this past week. So much had changed this past week.

  Hearing the story of how the Thordssons had ended up on Shanty Row had nearly torn her heart out. Otar was too good a man for something like that to happen to him, not to mention the wonderful Annikka and Agata.

  Finding out that Otar was preparing to fight, and maybe die in the name of seizing New Sweden out of Toki’s hands, had forced Madalyn into a jarring realization: she cared for him. She didn’t want to, yet there it was.

  If there was even a single thing about Otar worth hating, she would have latched onto it tightly and told herself the impending war was a good thing. She couldn’t do that. His one and only sin had been in capturing her, but since that was a normal, even honored tradition amongst his people…

  She sighed. Try as she might, she could no longer think of him as a monster.

  Madalyn didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want him to leave her alone. She didn’t want to be free to marry another man. She wanted Otar to stay.

  Glancing up, she saw Otar still staring at her, just as she knew he would be. His gaze rarely strayed from her. Every time her eyes sought out his, she found him already attuned to her.

  He was probably wondering why she’d grown so quiet. Her mood had sunk from cordial to outright depressed and gloomy somewhere after the stew and before the tarts.

  I care what happens to you, and that scares me. I’m not used to caring about anyone except Drake. And I’ve known my dry cleaner longer than I’ve known you!

  She hadn’t asked for this marriage or wanted it, but he was her husband. The stew must have contained a truth serum, for this was the first time she admitted that fact to herself.

  Otar Thordsson was her husband. Her husband.

  Her husband who was planning to leave her, so he could fight in a war and die. Her husband who didn’t think he deserved her. Her husband who believed he really didn’t have anything to live for. Her husband who believed she would be better off if he were dead.

  Madalyn had donned many roles for money, most of them romantic leads. The stories had told different tales, but all of them had possessed one central theme: love happens when it happens.

  It could take years for the feeling to develop, or a single moment in time. The love could be requited or it could be scorned. It could be forbidden or welcomed. But always it was there, shaping destinies and molding realities.

  Madalyn realized that for a woman who had pretended countless times on film to fall in love, she had no clue what it really felt like. It could hit her square in the jaw and she wouldn’t recognize it.

  “I’m tired,” she said, standing up suddenly. Annikki and Agata looked at her quizzically. Otar did nothing, just continued to stare at her, his thoughts unapparent. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to go to bed.”

  Madalyn didn’t wait for anyone’s permission. She headed for the adjoining door and made her way into Otar’s hut.

  Chapter

  Twenty-three

  Madalyn slowly awoke to the feel of strong, persistent fingers massaging her nipples and clit. With her eyes closed, she let a soft moan escape her lips.

  “Mmmm,” she breathed out, hazy with fatigue. All that registered was she was lying on her back…and her legs were spread wide open. “That feels so good.”

  It hadn’t taken Madalyn long to nod off after leaving Annikki and Agata’s hut. She had been so overwhelmed with emotions that she’d been asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  The fingers massaging her nipples grew more demanding. They pulled and lightly squeezed, plucked and pinched. They did everything right, just the way Madalyn liked it.

  A thumb continued to massage her clit in tantalizing circles. Two fingers thrust up into her wet vagina, penetrating it.

  “Otar,” she gasped.

  She had known that this moment would eventually come. Her eyes flew open.

  Madalyn instantly became aware of the hard, naked man looming over her, and of the polar bear skin that had been flu
ng to the floor. “What are you—”

  “Shhh,” he murmured, filling her with his two fingers. “Do not talk, little one, just enjoy the sensations.”

  Madalyn couldn’t help but enjoy them. His hands, so callused and powerful, touched her with wicked brushes that sent sexual tension zinging throughout her entire body.

  For a week, she’d been fighting off her attraction to him. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her nipples stood stiff, her pussy was clutched in carnal agony, and she wanted Otar to make love to her.

  “Please,” she panted, spreading her legs wider and pulling him close. He was going to leave her and she wanted to give him a reason to come back alive. “I need to be with you. Please.”

  He stared down into her face, his eyelids heavy. “I need to be with you, too,” he murmured. He kissed her lips softly, gentle brushes that made her clench tighter, and then settled his body intimately between her legs. “I’ve been praying to the gods you would want me, Madalyn. If even for just one eve.”

  Otar began kissing his way down her face, down her neck, and onward to her breasts. Cupping one in each palm, he stared at them for a lingering moment, driving Madalyn insane with desire.

  “Go on,” she said hoarsely, her pink nipples standing straight up, begging for attention. “Suck them.”

  Their gazes clashed. She saw the yearning in the depths of his eyes. The intense, aroused gleam there told her without words that he’d fantasized about kissing her breasts for a long time. She swallowed heavily.

  He brushed her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. She hissed, her back arching, pushing them closer toward his face.

  “Please,” she breathed out. Raw desire took over and she grew more demanding. “Please.”

  Otar’s dark head fell to her chest. She sucked in her breath as she watched him lick her nipples, his tongue making long, firm strokes over each one. He took his time, savoring the feel of each one under his tongue, and Madalyn thought she might lose her mind before he sucked them hard.

  “Please suck them,” she panted.

  Otar licked at them faster, first one and then the other, back and forth, again and again. The fast, hard flicks made her writhe and moan, but they still weren’t enough. She needed more. A lot more.

  “Who do you want?” Otar murmured. “Tell me, little one.” His dark eyes penetrated hers, shifting up to look at her without moving his head from her breasts. He continued the flicking movements, making her whimper.

  “You,” Madalyn groaned.

  Unsatisfied, he kept toying with her nipples but refused to suck them.

  Oh God. Her body was on fire, her breathing labored, and relief loomed nowhere over the horizon. She was going to go insane.

  “Otar Thordsson,” she amended, hoping his name was the golden ticket. When he made no move to up the ante, sexual frustration the likes of which she’d never before experienced gnawed at her.

  “Who am I?” Otar rumbled, his eyes on fire.

  Madalyn blinked as realization dawned. If she wanted more, she would have to admit who he was to her. “My husband,” she breathed out.

  On a growl, his mouth latched around one stiff nipple. She moaned as he began greedily sucking on it, already close to coming. He kept her breasts cupped close together with his strong, callused hands, his mouth going back and forth between each one with hard, mind-numbing sucks.

  “Oh God,” Madalyn panted, her fingers twining through his black hair. Her thighs instinctively spread wider, her back arching like a cat’s. “Yes.”

  Otar sucked her nipples long and hard, refusing to relent until he got his fill. Memories came back to her, confessions he’d made about watching the movies over and over again where she’d bared her breasts.

  The animalistic way he sucked on her nipples forced her to realize that he wouldn’t be letting go of them and moving on in their lovemaking until he was good and damn ready. She whimpered as she watched him, his eagerness as much a turn-on as the sensations themselves.

  No man had ever wanted her like this before.

  Otar sucked harder and harder, his fixation rivaling a kid with two lollipops. Madalyn was certain she would go irretrievably insane before he consummated their marriage.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, her breathing so heavy she felt dizzy, Otar released one of her nipples with a popping sound. His dark head came up, his eyelids heavy with arousal.

  “Your nipples taste as good as your pussy,” he said thickly, grabbing his impressively endowed member at the base. He guided the head toward her wet entrance and pressed against it, letting her know how huge he was. “But now I need to know how my pussy feels.”

  Madalyn wet her lips, his words heightening her already significant arousal. “That’s good,” she breathed out, reaching around his back and stroking him there with both hands, “because I need to know how my cock feels.”

  His jaw tightened, beads of perspiration soaking his hairline. Her words had gotten to him, too. Good.

  Strong arms came down on either side of her, gripping her shoulders as though he’d never let go. “You are mine,” he rumbled out, his expression intense. “All mine.”

  Otar pushed the head of his cock deeper into her entrance. Securely there, he plunged inside of her on a groan, his muscles corded with tension. Madalyn gasped as he seated himself fully, her fingernails digging into his arms.

  “Otar,” she moaned, writhing beneath him. “Please.”

  His face was taut with tension, his expression one of dominance and need as he impaled her with long, full strokes. “You feel so good,” he said hoarsely, fingers digging into her shoulder blades. “I will fuck you all night.”

  Madalyn threw her hips back up at him as he took her, moaning at the exquisite sensations.

  Otar rode her faster, guttural groans ripping from his throat. “Mine,” he growled like a predator forcing prey into submission. “All mine.”

  Sweat-soaked skin slapped against sweat-soaked skin. The tangy scent of her arousal perfumed the hut. He mercilessly pumped in and out of her, making her beg for more.

  “I’m coming,” Madalyn gasped, her head lolling back. She bared her neck to him, the ultimate gesture of sexual submission. “Now.”

  He impaled her like a madman, the sound of her flesh clenching his cock reaching her ears. The coil in Madalyn’s belly unraveled, violently bursting.

  “Oh God!” she cried out, throwing her hips up at him at a wicked pace. “Otar.”

  Otar slammed into her, fucking her faster and deeper. His jaw clenched hotly as he rode her, the vein at his jugular bulging. Her nails dug deeper into his biceps, the sight of him about to lose his control intoxicating.

  “Come in my pussy,” she whispered wantonly, knowing what the words would do to him. “I want to feel your cum inside of me.”

  It was all he could withstand. His body tensing over hers, Otar slammed into her once, twice, three times more, then roared out his orgasm, his entire body convulsing atop hers.

  Madalyn held on to him tightly, wanting him to feel as treasured as he had made her feel when she fell apart in his arms.

  “Madalyn,” he panted, his body slick with perspiration. He fell on top of her, careful not to hurt her.

  She stroked his back, his buttocks, as he lay there and recuperated, caressing every powerful muscle she could reach. Finally, after a long moment, Otar moved off of her and collapsed on the bed beside her.

  They were quiet as they lay there together, both of them panting for air. Otar stared up at the ceiling, his eyes unblinking, and Madalyn wondered what he was thinking about.

  The lovemaking they had shared had been beyond earth-shattering. It wasn’t just that Otar was a skilled lover, but more the way he made her feel every time he touched her, every time he gazed into her eyes.

  Like she mattered.

  Like he loved her.

  When finally their breathing calmed, Otar said softly, “You once told me that I fell in love with Victo
ria, and mayhap I did. He didn’t look at her, but continued to stare at the ceiling. But it doesn’t make what I feel for you here and now any less true.”

  Madalyn studied his profile. So powerful and rigid, but so gentle and caring where she was concerned.

  “My life’s path has been a difficult one, and I didn’t wish to reduce any woman, much less you, to living under these conditions. ’Twas my intention to never marry. But then I saw you…”

  He sighed and ran a hand over his jaw. “All these years, I possessed no hope of ever having a wife. I harbored only my dreams, those fantasies that are so secret to the heart none but the possessor knows of them.”

  He glanced at her, maybe to see if she cared enough to listen. Madalyn was all ears.

  “The only woman in my life all these years has been you, Madalyn. Your name changed from moving picture to moving picture, yet ’twas you who kept me smiling…and hoping.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes. She could feel the pain in his voice, see it in his face. “Thank you,” she said, her voice catching. “That’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “I love you, Madalyn,” Otar vowed. “I will go to my grave loving you.”

  “Otar—”

  He held a finger to her lips. His expression was unreadable as always, but his heart was in his eyes.

  “You needn’t say anything, wife. When I leave for the Revolution, just know that my words are true.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-four

  Unable to get enough of her wee body, Otar had mounted her twice more. He’d come so much last eve that he was drained and depleted when he rolled off of her the final time. Even then he’d held her, holding her close to him while he slept.

  Otar’s thoughts were distracted as he set off for the grindstone early the next morning. Everywhere he looked, every breath he took—everything reminded him of Madalyn.

  Last eve had been the best of his thirty and four years. He had waited with infinite patience for his wife to accept their consummation. There were moments when he had doubted the day would ever come, but he had remained hopeful.