by Kresley Cole
Good. If she didn’t get to a private room soon, she was liable to start masturbating like a lunatic right here and now.
“Okay,” Sofia breathed out.
Her clit was pulsing, throbbing. She needed to touch herself so badly. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the boat docked.
Sofia expected Johen’s home to be as simple and rustic as the room she’d been locked in for five days and nights. It was surprising to be led into a lavish Underground house bursting at the seams with luxury.
Silk pillows and draperies of every color imaginable filled each room, bringing to mind the extravagant home of an Arabian sultan. Servants lingered everywhere, seeing to various chores, humming tunes to themselves as if pleased in their work.
Sofia blew out a none-too-subtle breath as Johen steered her into his bedroom. The bed was huge—at least double the size of her king bed back in Florida—and ornately carved from a black material she couldn’t name. Proud dragon heads had been sculpted into the foot of it. Sheer blue and green silks draped down from the eight posters that thrust up from the gargantuan-size bed.
“I do not expect that we will consummate our union this eve,” Johen said softly as he turned her around to stand before him. “Yet we will always sleep under the same bed furs, never to be separated.”
Those silver eyes betrayed his desire. He was controlled enough to keep his hands off of her, but Sofia realized it was the last thing he wanted to do.
The self-preserving part of her brain was thankful that he didn’t want to have sex tonight, since she planned to run. She knew that being intimate with him might make him all the more territorial where she was concerned.
Two strong hands landed on her shoulders and her gaze flew up to meet his. Johen tugged at the chain mail she wore, his eyes filled with unapologetic lust as he removed it.
“What are you doing?” Sofia breathed out. Her pulse soared, heart thumping in her chest. “I-I thought…”
“I will not breach you,” he said, his voice hoarse. His gaze drank her in as she stood before him naked. “I just want to touch you.”
His callused palms rested at the juncture of her neck. Slowly his hands trailed down, feeling every curve of her breasts. His palms scraped her sensitive nipples and Sofia couldn’t suppress the small moan that escaped.
“So beautiful,” Johen murmured, gently massaging her stiff nipples. “And so mine.”
He played with her breasts and nipples for torturously long minutes. Every second felt like an hour, destroying Sofia’s concentration. She was this close to coming and knew it wasn’t wise. She had to fight the arousal—refuse to give into it.
His fingers found her vaginal lips. He played slowly with them while she sucked in a deep tug of air.
“Please,” Sofia begged, her voice shaky. His forefinger found her clit and began rubbing her tantalizingly. “Please stop.”
Her plea didn’t sound credible even to her own ears. She could see his large erection swollen against his leather pants and wondered if he’d be able to pull himself back.
“You are wet with need,” Johen said hoarsely, “yet I will respect your wishes.”
He rubbed her clit a few more times, then withdrew. Sofia whimpered—in relief or misery?
Lord help her, a saint couldn’t withstand torture like this! Desire clawed at her belly; she would never survive this night with her sanity intact!
Her eyes frenzied, her entire body on fire, she ached so badly that she was in actual pain.
Unable to endure it another moment, her brain too frazzled to consider the consequences, Sofia scrambled up onto the bed, spread her thighs wide, and began vigorously masturbating.
Beads of sweat broke out on Johen’s forehead at the carnal sight. How could she expect him not to consummate with her this eve when she was stroking her pussy right there in front of him? His jaw steeled.
Sweet Odin.
“Oh, God,” Sofia moaned, rubbing her clit in urgent circles. “Oh, yes.”
She was lying on her back, golden ringlets of hair fanned out around her head. Her legs were wide open, showing him the tight flesh he wanted to impale more than he wanted to breathe. Her nipples stabbed straight up, beckoning to his mouth.
Johen’s teeth gritted. Why was she doing this to him?
Sofia came on a loud groan, her nipples growing impossibly harder. Her neck arched and her eyes closed, yet she still wanted more.
“It’s not enough,” she gasped, her voice sounding almost terrified. “When will it wear off?”
She continued her relentless quest for satiation, nearly killing him. What man could resist this?
Then Johen stilled as her words sank in. When will it wear off? When will what wear off?
The answer slowly dawned on him. Old Myria was chiefly responsible for the captive brides’ well-being until they were put up for auction. Old Myria…the herbalist.
Sofia had been pumped full of erotisk.
Sweet, sweet Odin.
Johen peeled off his clothes until he wore nothing but his gold, jewel-encrusted bicep bands. His cock was stone-hard, and more than eager to help his wife out of her carnal predicament.
He got onto the bed beside her, resting his weight on an elbow. “’Twill be all right,” he said reassuringly, his free hand massaging her nipples. He couldn’t help but lower his mouth to one. He closed his eyes briefly as he suckled it, firmly drawing on the swollen nub.
She moaned, coming loudly. He nigh unto spilled himself at the sound, at her scent. Suppressing a moan of his own, he released her nipple with a popping sound and laved attention on the neglected one.
“Ohgggggoooooood!”
She came. And came and came and came.
Gods, but he’d never seen a sexier wench.
“I had thought to give you time to adjust to the thought of consummating our marriage,” Johen rasped, “yet your need will not pass for a few days.”
She whimpered. His cock throbbed, knowing he was up for the challenge. Pre-cum dripped from the tiny hole, desperation to be inside of her scraping at his gut.
“Come, little one,” Johen said thickly as she resumed playing with herself. His hand recommenced playing with her breasts, massaging her stiff nipples.
Sofia burst on yet another loud groan, her head falling back and mouth ajar. Her breathing was heavy, her need still great.
“Please,” she said in a little voice that got to him in a way no wench before her ever had. “Help me.”
She looked so scared, so defenseless. It moved him in a way he couldn’t name. Wide, innocent eyes and a wanton’s body—’twas a heady combination.
Johen blew out a breath. He didn’t want to take her like this, but he didn’t want her in unnecessary pain, either.
Hard and ready, he moved between his wife’s thighs. Preparing to enter her, he threaded his rough fingers through the soft silk of her golden hair, his eyes finding her amazing green-blue gaze.
“Do you want me to help?” He positioned the tip of his cock at the opening of her pussy. If she said nay, he might not be able to stop. “Do you desire this consummation?”
“Yes!” she wailed. Her hands grabbed his buttocks, pulling him closer. Her eyes were wide, desperate. “Please get inside of me!”
Teeth gritting, muscles tensing, Johen slowly pushed his long, thick cock into her pussy. He groaned as he impaled her, seating himself to the hilt in hot, wet paradise.
Sofia came immediately. Violently. She screamed, fingernails digging into the rigid flesh of his arse.
Already close to coming, Johen utilized every drop of self-will to hold back his orgasm. He began to move slowly within her tight flesh, his entire body clenched in a pleasure that was almost an agony. He had to concentrate on his wife’s needs rather than his own.
“Faster,” Sofia panted. She threw her hips up at him, pounding against him. “Faster, harder,” she ground out.
Johen growled, giving her what she needed. He drove d
eep, impaling her in long, fast strokes. She keened in response, coming more times than he could count.
“You belong to me,” Johen said possessively, riding her hard. “Your pussy, your everything—never forget that you are mine.”
Later he would work on claiming her heart, her soul. For now all he could do was bask in her tight depths, gluttonously devouring every inch of her.
Sofia’s hips rose to his, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I won’t forget—just don’t stop!”
Johen took her impossibly harder. He moaned as he rode her, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as arousing as the scent of her orgasms. Over and over, deeper and faster, possessively branding her as his.
He could no longer hold himself back. The orgasm was ripping through him and he couldn’t stop it. “I’m coming, here I come, little one.”
He came on a loud roar as she milked every last drop of him. His entire body convulsed atop hers, tense muscles loosening in the all-consuming explosion.
Johen held her closely, his breathing heavy, his body slick with sweat. He murmured to her of her sexiness, of her beauty…and of his promise that one day soon she would love him.
He could only hope his words proved true.
They were husband and wife. Master and cherished one. He would have it no other way.
Chapter Nine
Three days later
Ivow to you that they will not bite,” Johen said with a wink as, hand-in-hand, he steered Sofia toward his parents’ house. “’Twill be all right.”
Sofia doubted it. For one, the erotisk still hadn’t totally worn off. Her urges weren’t as all-consuming as they’d been over the past three days, but they still simmered. Her cheeks suffused with heat, thinking about the possible embarassments.
Second, she was still feeling shell-shocked. In a little over a week Sofia had borne the death of her only relative, survived a kidnapping, been stripped of her clothing and possessions, then sold to the highest bidder on an auction block.
The clothes Johen had given her in replacement were shockingly indecent. The gold tunic was undeniably beautiful, but much too sheer for Sofia’s peace of mind. The barely–there dress was supported at the top by an elastic band that began just above her cleavage line and draped down to her ankles. Red rope crisscrossed at her hips and kept the hemline from falling all the way to her toes. Her nipples pressed against the sheer top, stiff and aroused. To say she was mortified by her attire was the millenium’s greatest understatement.
All in all, there were plenty of times when she felt like she was in the midst of a long, weird dream.
And Sofia felt uncomfortable pretending to be compliant while plotting her escape all the while. It would have been so much easier if she could hate Lord Johen Stefsson.
If he’d mistreated or abused her. If he’d forced her into having sex. Or withheld it, knowing the potent herb was driving her crazy. Hell, even being ugly would have helped!
You’re simply going through Stockholm syndrome. You aren’t the first woman alive to start identifying with her captor, and you won’t be the last. Fight against it….
She had nothing to feel guilty about. She had been kidnapped, and it was normal to want her freedom.
And yet the guilt was there whenever the giant gazed down at her with stars in his eyes and she smiled back at him.
Why did he do that? Why? He’d known her all of three days. He couldn’t possibly be in love with her!
Johen was a battle-honed soldier, a wise and respected leader of his people. He was not a young boy who couldn’t separate lust from love. At thirty-six, Johen was not only four years her senior, but judging by his skill in bed, he’d been around the block more times than the ice-cream man.
And yet…
Despite his brains, regardless of his brawn, there was something inexplicably naïve about him. Johen looked at her with such hope, such longing—as if she wielded the power to make him or break him. Sofia couldn’t understand why, but it was getting to her.
She didn’t want to hurt him. Despite everything, she truly didn’t. Call it Stockholm syndrome, call it something else altogether, but she had no desire at all to wound this man who called himself her husband.
“I’ll survive this meal somehow,” Sofia said quietly. A pang of arousal lanced through her, forcing her to clench her vaginal muscles. “Preferably without making a fool of myself.”
Johen chuckled. It was the first time she’d ever heard him do that, and she found herself giving him a genuine smile.
Stop it! Don’t you understand that I need to hate you?
“The only fool here is I,” Johen replied, coming to a stop before the door to his parents’ house. He drew her hand up to his lips and softly kissed it. “I’m fool-crazy over you.”
Sofia mentally sighed. Apparently he didn’t understand.
The door abruptly opened. Startled, Sofia’s gaze landed on the handsome couple standing there—his parents.
They eyed her up and down, as if assessing her worthiness for their son. Stupid as it was, she found their scrutiny even more nerve-racking than the bride auction three days past. Sofia had no reason to be bothered by what these people thought of her, and part of her wished they disliked what they saw, so she’d feel better when she ran from Johen.
It didn’t look like that would be happening.
The father’s smile was wide, the mother’s all but beaming. “Greetings, daughter,” the older man said, his eyes dancing. “I am Eemil and this is my wife, Amani.” He respectfully inclined his head. “Welcome to our dwelling.”
Sofia forced a smile to her lips, every nerve in her body frayed. “Thank you.”
As Johen’s parents led her into their home, Sofia decided this had the makings of a long night. An aura of exuberance haloed the gathering, while she felt as though she’d ridden a twister into the land of Oz.
Dinner was unlike anything Sofia had ever tasted. As she listened to the conversation taking place, namely, the story of Amani’s capture and marriage to the big Viking beside her, she understood why the flavor of the meal was so unique.
A mix of two cultures, the food was just like the house’s decor—Conan the Barbarian meets Princess Jasmine of Arabia.
“My sister and I thought we might faint,” Amani mused in a lyrical Arabic accent. “Arranged marriages were nothing new to us, but the Viking culture was much to take in, for two women who’d lived such sheltered lives.”
Eemil chuckled at the memory. “I believe you did faint, my love. Leastways, I seem to remember reviving you, only to have you see me and faint dead away yet again.”
The family shared a laugh and Sofia found her lips twitching, too, despite herself. She could empathize with Amani’s plight only too well.
“I do not recall fainting,” Johen’s mother teasingly sniffed.
“Aye, you did,” Eemil quickly countered. “Right at my bedamned feet.”
“Oh shush!”
Sofia’s gaze strayed to Johen’s grinning face. It was obvious he and his parents were very close. The love and bond they shared was a tangible thing.
Johen looked like a younger, but strikingly similar version of his father. Same height and musculature, same teasing eyes and smile. From Amani he had inherited his dark hair and olive complexion.
Yet as much as Sofia found the conversation amusing and intriguing, it was also horribly alarming. In the first year of her marriage, Amani had run from Eemil several times, only to be recaptured by him in mere hours. She had raged against him, declaring her hatred toward him, his people and all that they stood for.
All to no avail.
Amani had possessed the advantage of hatred and fury, not to mention an ally in her sister, and yet still she had not escaped. Sofia briefly closed her eyes. She had no ally in this world, or any hatred toward Johen to conjure up and call upon. Even her fury seemed to come and go.
Don’t let them break you, Sofia. Remember what it was to be free.
The more she watched them interact, the more she saw her own childhood family reflected in their smiles. She had forgotten what it felt like for mother and father, daughter and son, to gather around a dinner table and just enjoy being alive and together. It was appealing to her, and she didn’t like it.
Oh, Sam, do you remember how good things were before Mom and Dad died? It’s been so many years since I’ve allowed myself to remember.
Pancake breakfasts on Saturdays. Washing the family car on Sundays. Love, affection and a sense of belonging every day of the week.
All of that had been taken by a cruel twist of fate. For years she’d had no one but her brother. Now she didn’t even have him. Above the ground, she was utterly and completely alone.
Johen’s gaze strayed toward Sofia’s. He looked at her questioningly, but thankfully didn’t call attention to her. He could see the distress on her face, the unshed tears, and doubtless knew something was wrong—he just didn’t know what it was.
Unable to endure his stare, Sofia blinked several times in rapid succession while she regained her composure. Looking away, she trained her eyes on her meal, feigning interest in the chunks of spicy meat, vegetables and bread set before her.
As Johen and Eemil engaged in a political conversation, Amani said, “I know it’s overwhelming to you.”
Sofia’s gaze darted over to meet Johen’s mother. A second ago she had been seated halfway across the table. A blink later and she was right beside her. “Yes, it is.” She sighed. “Very overwhelming.”
Amani nodded. Her hand found Sofia’s atop the table and rested there. “You think to flee from my son.”
She thought about denying it, but there was no point to that. “Yes, I do,” Sofia admitted, pulling her hand back. “Surely you can understand.”
“Oh yes,” Amani agreed, her brown eyes gentle. The kindness she exuded made Sofia feel guilty. “I was you once, after all. I feel your every emotion and sympathize with it.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”
Amani’s tone was tender, but firm. “But you cannot escape.” When Sofia opened her mouth to rebut, Johen’s mother placed a solitary finger to her lips. “You believe you can run successfully, and will believe so for some time to come. It’s normal—we’ve all felt that way.”