by Maisey Yates
And he never wanted her to.
There was no reason to spare Latika from the truth. And indeed, Gunnar was a resilient man. One who might bear some scars on his body, but was otherwise fine in his soul. Such as it was.
“How much has my sister told you about our father?”
“I know that he was opposed to her being the heir. But also that there was nothing he could do.”
“Much of that was due to our mother,” Gunnar said. “Our mother was a strong-willed woman. I always wondered why she married him. So, I suppose the title speaks for itself. Our mother made it impossible for him to simply install me onto the throne, as much as he would have liked that. Our mother made it known the world over within ten minutes of our birth that it was my sister who was the rightful heir.”
“Would you have wanted to be the heir?”
“I would have done it,” Gunnar said. “Anyone who wants such a mantle should not have it in the first place.”
“That is probably very true.”
“The weight of the crown is heavy. And Astrid’s crown twice that of what many people in her position would experience. She had to be absolutely perfect. Perfect in a way that I would not have been expected to be. No, I have never envied her. Neither have I resented her. My father wished that I would. My sister’s view of things was that our father favored me, but it could not be further from the truth. I am my father’s biggest disappointment. What he wished for, more than anything else was for a son who craved power with the kind of avarice that he did. He wanted a son who could be trained to desire power above all else.”
He watched as her face shifted, a softness to her dark eyes that he’d never seen directed at him. “But what my father never understood was the bond that twins share. My sister is a part of me. I would die for her. I would no more betray her than myself. For me, it would be impossible. When he found that he could not simply suggest that to me, he tried to force a change of heart. He tried with everything in him. There is a dungeon in the palace, if you didn’t know. And my father was not above making use of it.”
Latika’s face contorted. “Gunnar...”
“If I tell you this, you must promise me you will not speak of it to my sister.”
“Astrid is my best friend...”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m your husband. And if what you desire is intimate knowledge of my secrets, then you must understand why I have kept them.”
“I want to know,” she said.
“And if you want to protect Astrid, you will swear to me that she will never know.”
“I swear it,” Latika said, her voice a hushed whisper.
He knew there was dessert in the kitchen, but he decided to leave that bit of information. No matter how good the Princess cake, it would not be good with this story. It would likely curdle soon.
“My father didn’t just doubt my sister’s ability to rule. He actively despised that she would. For my father, the monarchy and the patriarchy went hand in hand. He wanted me to be his successor. But he knew that he couldn’t simply demand it. First of all, we have a government in Bjornland. A council. And while that council was very loyal to my father, while they would certainly have enforced his rule in normal circumstances, the outright replacement of an heir would have been unprecedented, and indeed, would have likely been impossible without inciting some sort of civil war. When the heir to the throne is born, the military swears their allegiance. Their allegiance to the heir is equal to that of the King. It is the same with the council.”
“So...”
“Short of killing my sister there was nothing he could do,” Gunnar said.
“He would never have done that,” Latika said, the horror laced through her tone so pure it made him feel all manner of soft things for her. He wanted to protect her from this too.
“I don’t know,” Gunnar responded. “But, he didn’t. So, I don’t know how much of that was out of the grace and goodness of his heart, and how much of that was a desire to never tarnish his legacy. You see, that was what it was all about. The desire to install me as heir was all about the perfect articulation of his legacy. To be caught murdering his own child...”
“I can’t believe it,” Latika said.
“Because you didn’t know my father. But of course, he knew that I would have just as difficult a time taking the throne by force. But he thought that I might be able to...persuade my sister to step down. He began to educate me, as a boy, about the facts of life. He tried to instill in me an idea that women were weak. That a female ruler could never be as strong as a male counterpart. But I knew my sister. I knew my mother. While my mother wasn’t perfect, her strength was unsurpassed. That is not up for debate. I can see all around me evidence that what my father said wasn’t true. Astrid surpassed me in patience, and kindness. And to me, those things are a particular form of strength. One that has no sense of being threatened. Astrid is, and always will be, to my mind the rightful ruler of our nation. And nothing my father said could make me turn against her. And that was when he decided to try other methods.”
“How could he possibly think he would get away with this? He wouldn’t come after your sister... You...”
“Yes, he came for me. He would lock me in the dungeon for days at a time. And he would try to get me to say that I was superior. That the country would be better off with me. And I refused. What he did... It had the opposite effect. The decision that I made down in that dungeon was that I would never be manipulated. I swore my allegiance to my sister over and over again in my head, and out loud when my father came. I refused to allow him space in my head.”
Gunnar could no longer look at Latika as he continued. “He didn’t deserve it. And if I was truly so strong as he kept insisting I was... Well then. I felt that I should show it. Because if I had any piece of a true leader inside of me, then there should be no man on earth who can tell me what. Ironically, it was in opposing him that I found my sense of strength. And then, eventually I was no longer a boy, but closer to being a man, and my father knew that his ability to harm me, his ability to overpower me had come to an end.”
“All of this happened when you were a boy?”
“Yes. That is how...bullies like to behave. Is that not what they say?”
“Gunnar,” she said. “How did you survive?”
“I had purpose. My purpose was to protect Astrid.”
“And then in order to flaunt your freedom from your father you... That’s how you became you.”
“I took great joy in forcing him to question all that he thought about who his heir should be, and how the country should be run. I took great joy in proving to him that the fact I was born a boy did not make me more suitable than my sister. Rather than her being the real thorn in his side for the rest of his days, I like to think that it was me. Solidifying to the people of the country that Astrid was the clear and rightful heir. By the time Astrid ascended the throne, I daresay there was not a single person in the entire country that wished I were their King. Do not mistake me. I don’t think my sister needed my bad example to shine. But...”
“The world is a harsh and old-fashioned place,” Latika said. “You don’t have to tell me what it’s like, you don’t have to.”
“So there you have it. My origin story. I’m basically a superhero movie.”
Latika took a breath, and then she rose up from her seat at the table. And before Gunnar knew what was happening, she dropped to her knees before him, taking his hands in hers. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t get on your knees before me unless you intend to do something of interest with your mouth,” he said, his knee-jerk reaction to seeing her sympathy.
As if taking it up as a calling, Latika stood, bending at the waist and grabbing hold of his chin. Then she closed the distance between them, and kissed him.
CHAPTER NINE
LATIKA THOUGHT THAT she might be crazy. Because this emotion and fire running through her blood was something she had never dealt with before. Because it was something that was foreign to her. Utterly and completely foreign. And yet familiar all at the same time.
Gunnar.
She wanted to touch him. She wanted to reach him. Wanted to pour all of her feelings out into his body.
For that boy that he was. That boy who must’ve been so terrified. Who resisted every attempt at being indoctrinated.
For the man he’d become. Arrogant and exasperating and so utterly brilliant.
She had known that he was strong, but she had only ever seen it in his irreverence. She saw now that it was his shield. That he had used it to protect himself from a Machiavellian father who had perhaps taken more joy in the attempted manipulation of his children than he cared for the outcome.
And Gunnar had kept it to himself. He had hidden it from Astrid so that she would never know the pain he endured on her behalf.
So she would be spared the full brunt of knowing her father’s hatred.
The Playboy Prince was not the disgrace of the royal family of Bjornland. He was the crown jewel.
Latika had disdained him from the moment she had met him, but she had wanted him.
And she had been wrong. So utterly and completely wrong.
The man had been tortured by his father.
She kissed him deeper, allowing her thoughts to fall away. Allowing nothing more than the physical home of desire to exist between them. Gunnar growled, pulling her onto his lap.
His hold was strong, his kiss turning desperate. It was deep and intense, his tongue sliding against hers, his whiskers resting against her cheek.
Her Viking marauder who seemed intent on claiming her. No matter that she was the one who had started the kiss.
But that was all right.
If he needed to be the one to stake the claim, she could allow that. She could be that for him.
What she’d said to him had been true. She had gone without sex for twenty-four years. And in this moment, it became clear that what she had been waiting for was this. Not him specifically, but this feeling. For desire to be tattooed on every beat of her heart. For it to be an undeniable, brilliant force that she could not and did not want to deny.
“I want to see you here,” he growled.
“I want to...”
“No,” he said. “I have a fantasy of you,” he said, standing up from the chair, holding on to her. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself from sliding onto the ground. And then he walked her over to the wall and braced her back against it.
She could see him, his eyes a brilliant blue, the same as the sea behind him. Then he lifted her. Lifted her up and maneuvered her so that her thighs were over his shoulders, the wall bracing her up right.
She gasped.
He chuckled.
Then put his face directly between her thighs, with only a thin scrap of underwear keeping him from seeing everything. He held her fast with his arm, and tilted his head, kissing her inner thigh, and then he pushed her dress upward, the fabric bunching around her hips, first on one side and then the other.
“These,” he said, “are very pretty.” He dragged the back of his knuckle over her crease, and she squirmed. “Pity.” Then he gripped the center of her panties and tugged hard, tearing the fabric. It fell free, exposing her to him, and to the open air.
“The beauty of living up on a hill like this,” he said, “is that while we have a great view of all this, no one has a view of us. Latika,” he whispered, pressing a kiss even higher to her inner thigh. “Latika.” Then he turned his head, his tongue painting a hot stripe of pleasure over her flesh as he tasted her, deep and intense.
She gasped, letting her head fall back. She did not know how they had gotten here. With her comforting him only a moment ago, and now with him licking her in her most intimate place up against a wall. He was so big, his shoulders so broad, one large hand bracing her, holding her ass, and the other teasing her as he continued to lavish attention on her with his mouth. He made her feel small, feminine and delicate.
And most important of all, he made her feel wild.
She hadn’t known. Oh, she had realized there was something hot and magical that simmered between them. Something dark and rich and unknowable. But she hadn’t known that it would feel like this.
No, she’d had no idea.
She hadn’t known that anything could be like this. She arched against him as he continued to lick his way to her center, as he moved his hand, sliding one finger inside of her. She gasped, rolling her hips forward, pleasure crashing over her like a wave. A precursor of something that felt like it would be bigger. Deeper.
She was desperate for something to hold onto. She put one hand on the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his blond hair, and gripped his broad, muscular shoulder with the other.
And he continued to eat her like she was dessert.
Continued to tease and torment her with that finger buried deep inside of her. One that became two, the rhythm becoming so slick and beautiful and perfect that she could barely breathe.
And then it hit. Her pleasure breaking her in half. She squeezed her legs together, rolling her hips forward and pushing his head toward her as she rode out the intense peak pleasure. And then she relaxed, letting her head fall back, releasing her hold on him. Then she realized the only thing keeping her from falling down to the earth was the fact that he was holding onto her. He lifted her easily from his shoulders and pulled her into his arms. “You are beyond anything I could have guessed you might be,” he said, his voice rough.
“So are you,” she said, feeling dizzy.
“I want you,” he said. “More than I can remember wanting anything. When I was down in that dungeon I used to think of things that I like. Cars. Cake. My desires were simple then. Moving into adolescence, I thought an awful lot about women. I would picture things I wanted and couldn’t have over and over again.”
His words were rough. Compelling. Like he was touching her. Over her body. In her body. She was on fire.
“A study in perfect, torturous deprivation,” he continued. “And once I got my freedom I never wanted for anything again. I wouldn’t allow it. I indulged in everything. Until you. You... I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. And you made me wait. Oh, Latika you don’t even know what a sin that is. To a man like me...”
“Have me,” she said, her whole body electric with want.
He could. He could have her. Out here if he wanted to. Against the wall. On the floor. Whatever he wanted, he could have. Whatever he needed, she would become. For him, she would do anything.
He growled, picking her up and sweeping her into his arms, blazing a path into the house. He left the door open behind them, but it was clear that he felt secure and isolated up here in his house on the top of the mountain. He carried her up the stairs, and she barely had the chance to take in the beauty before her.
All the clean lines, warm, honey-colored wood panels and open, sun-drenched vistas provided by the windows that overtook each and every wall.
They went up three flights of stairs, to a bedroom that was positioned higher than the rest of the house, built into the side of the hill, made entirely of windows that looked out over the sea that faded from jade to deepest navy. White-capped waves swelled reaching up toward the sky that was open and like the desire the swelling inside of Latika.
So soon.
So impossibly soon after the peak he had just brought her to. The bed itself was large, white and spare, upon a raised platform that put it in line with the view below.
And it loomed larger still, as he carried Latika to it, setting her down on the plush surface.
He laid her down on her back, and she blushed when she realized that her legs had fallen open,
and that she was still naked beneath her dress.
“Too late for modesty,” he said, pushing his hand against her knee and holding her legs open before she could close them.
Then he moved up her body, reaching around behind her and undoing the zipper on the little red dress that had barely gotten an hour’s worth of wear. He pulled down, exposing the bra she was wearing beneath. Lacy and insubstantial, with gaps between the intricate flower design, giving him a clear view of the shape of her nipples.
She knew. Because she had put it on and looked in the mirror and wondered what he might think.
Those eyes became a blue flame, the desire in them so clear, so potent, that she didn’t have to wonder.
He wanted her. She had been so focused on wanting to make him feel good that she hadn’t fully realized what a wonderful thing it was for her to be wanted by him.
No one had ever wanted her. Not her, as she was.
They wanted her to be the perfect daughter and representation of all that they were. Wanted her to be a perfect prisoner and a slave.
She had been the daughter. A fugitive. An assistant.
Never just a woman. And now, with Gunnar’s hungry gaze roaming over her curves, woman was exactly what she became. What she felt, straight down to her soul. He pulled the dress the rest of the way from her body and cast it onto the floor.
Then he moved back to her, unhooking her bra and sending it the same direction as the dress. She still had her shoes on, and it should feel ridiculous, her knees bent, her elbows propping her up, her black hair cascading over her body like a wave.
Like she was a pinup, and not a virgin about to surrender to a man with more experience than she could possibly imagine.
But whether she was Madonna or siren, Gunnar didn’t seem to mind. He growled, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to her neck, nibbling his way to her jaw, and to her lips, where he treated her to kiss after drugging kiss, ecstasy making her limbs feel heavy.