Ægir’s Bride Ch. 06

'Fuck, boy, stop it. This is aftercare. It is about her needs. Not yours,' that voice chided him.

He sighed and nodded as he turned his efforts to her shoulders and upper back. But it was not the few red welts that he had written across the whiteboard of her back that concerned him. It was the nasty looking red and purple bruise that was forming at the point where her neck met her shoulder. He had forgotten how hard he had bitten her when the beast had taken her in the shower.

His fingers traced the outline of his teeth. "Fuck," he cursed as he noticed a couple of places where his teeth had actually broken the skin. Damn it, damn him to hell. He reached for the first aid kit on the floor. He had not thought, definitely not meant, to use this. It was more a pre-caution. Drummed into them...safety...first, last and always. 'Big boys do not break their toys,' how many times had his father told him that?

He found what he was looking for and cursed himself for an asshole all over again. He knew this was going to sting. That she was drifting comfortably out of subspace. He hated like hell that he was going to disturb that, but it had to be done. Human bites were not to be played with. He tore open the packet of alcohol wipe.

"Brave for me, my love, be brave one more moment. I will be as quick as I can be," he promised as he whispered into her ear. But the moment, he touched her warm skin with the cold wipe she jumped and squealed. "Shhh, it will be over soon, I promise."

And he kept that promise too. What bothered him though was the tiny voice in his head that gloated, "Let Mikael and Sven see your mark on her. Let them remember she was your choice. Yours." He forced his sick mind away from that dark path as he finished bathing her back in the soothing aloe.

He turned her over, sitting almost astraddle her hips. His hard cock occasionally brushed her stomach as he pushed a few stray tendrils of hairs back from her face. He found the end of rope that was woven through her hair and untied it. He used his fingers to gentle tug and unwind the braid. Then he bent and kissed her pink lips. "Are you back with me yet?" he whispered against them.

She shook her, "No, I don't want to ever come down."

He chuckled as he reached for the bottle of water and lifted her head and shoulders once more. "Just for a moment then. Drink some more." When she started to shake her head again, he lowered his voice, "Drink." This time she did not argue and almost emptied the first bottle. Satisfied at her efforts, he turned his attention back to caring for her wounds.

He smiled at the precision of the pattern that marked her breasts and stomach. He knew that only a couple of these would remain by morning but damn were they beautiful. This time rather than using the aloe as a crayon to re-trace his handy work, he squeezed some of the slimy center into his palm.

He moved a bit down her body, straddling her thighs now and began with her stomach. He tenderly massaged it into her skin. He began at the top of her mound, his fingers splayed as they fanned out and caressed the soft swell. He growled as her words echoed once more in his mind, "Did you mean it? What you said earlier?"

Her eyes came open and she slowly leaned up, raising herself up, leaning upon her elbows, "Earlier? What is that? Mean what?" her throaty whisper and giggle caressed his raging ego...it calmed just a bit of his need to possess this woman fully. If he could do this to her, make her forget everything else, why wasn't that enough? Why could he not be satisfied with what he had with her?

Why did this matter to? "About my baby...that you'd like that?" he whispered as he bent his head and kissed the area that his fingers had been massaging only seconds before.

She sighed, "Honestly, Bjorn, all I can say right now is...I think so." She shook her head and he saw tears glistening in her eyes, tears his stupid need to push for everything at once had put there. And he loathed himself even more.

He could tell that it took all her strength just then, but she made the effort...for him. As she lifted a hand and ran it over his head, holding him there. "I am sorry. I know that isn't what you wanted to hear. And it is not you. It is just...what happened yesterday...what people would think and say."

He nodded, he understood, probably better than she did. And he reminded himself once more...patience. There was time for all of it. She was his now. Theirs. It would come. In time. "Jag är ledsen. I am sorry. I should not have said anything."

She smiled, "Give me some time, please. I just need to work through things in my head. And it is all in my head, Bjorn. Because, if it helps, yes, my heart meant that."

He laughed against her skin, "Oh, I have no idea what you speak of, woman. Battling between your heart and head? No idea...whatsoever."

Her fingers caressed his cheek tenderly as she too chuckled, "Absolutely not, my beautiful Thor...and my devious Loki."

"So which did you like best? Thor? Loki? Hermóður?" He smiled as he whispered into her belly button.

She frowned and bit her bottom lip for a long moment, "Do I have to choose?"

And those simple words cut through it all. Sliced to the core of his dark soul. Pierced his heart. And shattered his mind every bit as much as what he was asking of her in that moment. He pressed another tender kiss to her tummy as he shook his head, "No, my sweet Freya, you never have to choose."

And as he held her trembling body, smelled her sweet need so fucking close to his mouth, he swore that whatever demons he had to face, he would keep his word. He would never make her choose again. He would find a way to share the one thing he discovered he did not want to. "Now lay back. I am not finished with you," he said as he squeezed more of the plant into the palm of his hand.

"I certainly hope not. Hope you never are," she whispered as she lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. He used his leg to spread her thighs open. Where before he had been astride them, now he used his body as a wedge, forcing them open wider.

His hands cupped her breasts as he squeezed them tenderly and massaged the soothing coolness into them. "Never. I will never be finished with you," he leaned down and whispered as he buried his face between her thighs and allowed his tongue to give her the other thing that she needed just as much then.

He worked her clit until her hips were arching up to meet his tongue. He licked the sweet nectar from her pussy before it could trickle down. Was wasted upon the quilt. He dined at her font like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. When he knew that she could wait no longer, he growled, "Come for me, my sweet Freya," into her very core.

Once more she screamed her release as her thighs tightened around his head. He honestly did not give a fuck if he died right then. Drowning in the sweet taste of her would be better than giving his dark soul in payment to Njörður. Fuck, it would be better anything his ancestors might have known by entering Valhalla blood stained from battle.

He felt her tremors as she collapsed back against the bed. But still he lapped tenderly at the sweetness. It was so fucking intense. Not that he had never done this before with another woman. But none had tasted this sweet. None were her.

It took him several long moments to get himself under control. Even then he did not want to stop. But he knew what she needed most now was sleep. Rest. In his arms this night. He forced himself to abandon her delectable little cunt as he lay on the bed next to her.

He scoped her into his arms and drew her tightly against his chest. "Sleep now, my love," he whispered as he kissed her lips.

The intensity of it all was still overwhelming. As much as he fought it...even when he did manage to win the battle, he felt like he was losing the war. Losing himself in this woman. He sighed as he tenderly kissed the top of her head. Sometime in this life time, the intensity of these emotions had to wear off...right?

***

As the very first ray of dawn filtered through the open curtains, Olaf lay on his side. He had been up for some time. Just watching her sleep. It really was not fair. The woman got more fucking beautiful every year that passed. His fingers brushed a strand of her silver hair back from her cheek.

Forty-two years. Three sons. Three brothers lost. More cold winters than he wanted to remember. More pain than most people could bear. They had seen it all come and go. And he loved her more today than he had then.

It did not seem right. Was not fair. Their bodies might change, age, and slow just a bit. But what he felt for her seemed to grow as exponentially as the punishments he threatened. They must be approaching infinity by now.

But it was all those wasted years that had kept him awake half the damned night. All the mistakes. All the times he should have or could have given her what she needed. Her tears had been like an acid burning away the safe wall that he had erected around that part of himself.

He wanted to blame Stig for not allowing them to punish her, even when she needed it. But he understood. Understood his brother's fear. They had all felt it...not just when she almost died but as her light and sunshine that they had all come to rely upon was hidden behind those dark clouds. He understood his brother's guilt too. Why he blamed himself.

And Andreas. It would be so fucking easy to blame him. The way he had withdrawn from her, from them all. The way he had sought to deaden the pain in the bottom of a bottle. Until that bottle swallowed him as surely as the sea had. Njörður, their patron god of the sea, wind, fish and wealth, was a demanding bastard.

But he could not blame them. He more than either of them had known the truth. He had none that she needed it. Needed their control. And he had allowed Stig's orders to stand...long past when their woman no longer needed the kid gloves his brother had insisted they use with her.

But there really was no excuse for his own negligence after his brother's death. He had known she needed true submission and not the milk toast games that they played once in a while in the bedroom. But he had not been willing to press the issue to correct two decades of mistakes. Until it was almost too late.

But it was not...last night proved that. It proved too that she needed this as fucking much as he did. More even. How had he managed to forget the lesson that they had always worked so fucking hard to instil in her soft heart? The woman had been a natural mother, as much as she might have first chafed at the idea of being 'their brood mare and prize heifer.'

He could still see the fire in those green eyes as she threw that fucking fishing hook that first night on the ship. They had learned to keep dangerous things out of her reach after that. But damn the number of plates and cups this woman had gone through over the years...any time she was mad at one of them something managed to get broken somehow.

But the one thing she had never understood was that children needed boundaries. She had been content to let the boys run wild...and Bjorn especially had done that. The one though that had needed boundaries the most was her. He had conveniently forgotten that subs like children needed those boundaries to feel safe, to feel secure, and to know that they are loved and protected. Protected by someone stronger than they were.

And that was the problem that he had allowed Petrine to swallow his Rachel for too fucking long. Not that he did not like the women...he did. He admired her strength. Her grace. But he had known...he of all of them had known the price his Rachel was paying to hold that mask in place. He had known because he was every bit as much an expert at playing a role as his beloved wife.

But time for role playing, games and the safety of masks to protect your true fucking feelings was long gone. He had wasted enough years. He might like to tell her that he would give her another thirty to make up for the ones they had lost, but he knew there were no guarantees. Hell, they had all learned that lesson when Lars had died. His brother was still more a boy than a man when Njörður claimed his price. No, today, this moment, this sunrise was all he could promise her.

And it was long past time, they started it off right. Past time, for fresh starts and new dawns. As his hand slapped her warm butt that had felt so fucking good cradling his cock last night, "Wake up, woman. Time to face the music...pay the fiddler."

Those eyes were sleepy as she stretched. Then that sexy, slow smile spread across her still beautiful, if slightly more lined face. "Good morning," she purred just like her fucking cats when they deigned to wrap about your leg.

He loved that look. Satisfied. He loved even more knowing that he had put it there. But not enough to be distracted from what must be done. He landed another solid slap to her surprisingly firm butt and this time she jumped a bit, drawing the duvet up to cover her naked tits. "Time to get it over with."

She frowned and pouted, "Get what over with, Old Man?" She feigned ignorance, another of her bratty games that he recognized. But this time it was not going to work.

"Your punishment."

She shook her head and began to toy with the hairs on his chest, "Oh that. Don't you think that I have learned my lesson? I mean all that punishment stuff...we are older now, we don't really need those games."

"No, Rachel, we have been playing 'games' long enough. You know as well as I do that we lost our way when we allowed it to become games instead of who we are." He smiled and kissed her good morning, then landed another warm up on her bottom, "So stop with the brat shit and no, woman, you still cannot outrun me so do not get any ideas. I promised you a punishment and you are getting one."

Olaf shook his head, how could pouting be so fucking sexy on a sixty-three year old woman? But it had never been her brat that got the better of him and he was not about to start now. He had spent part of the time while he watched her sleep devising an appropriate punishment for her. One that would make her think twice before calling their sons 'boys' again, but was also fair. In the end, he had the perfect solution.

"You shall choose your punishment, Rachel," her frown told him that this path was the right one. "Fifty barehanded, twenty with the cane...or ten with Forseti. Which will it be?"

She pulled out of his arms and stared him down, "Are you crazy, old man? Twenty with the cane? The fucking cane! You know I hate that thing."

He shrugged, "Then don't choose it. You have other options."

"Options! Options? You want me to choose my own fucking punishment? How about this? I sleep in the guest room for a month then?"

He chuckled as he ran his hand up her inner thigh under the quilt, "Punishment is not supposed to be that extreme, Rachel." He found what he was looking for and expecting as he slipped two fingers inside of her very wet hole. "You could not last one week, woman." He pressed firmly against that special spot and was reward with a low moan and wetness that spread down his fingers to his hand. "You could not last a day, Rachel."

***

Damn him, damn the old man to Helviti. He always knew her. Knew her better than the others. Fuck him, sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself...and that was saying something.

But there was no way of stopping her body from its natural reaction and honestly, she would never get that mad. 'Cutting off your nose to spite your face,' her grandmother would have called it and she had never been that foolish.

Though perhaps she could use this to her advantage too. Last night had been...well, it was for damned certain she would not be opposed to a repeat performance. Sans his damned serenade of course. "Olaf," she moaned as her hands on his shoulders drew him closer. "Please."

Damn him again as his fingers drew back slowly and he shook his head. That fucking smile that she knew too damned well lit his steel grey eyes as he shook his almost white head, "No, woman, it won't work. After your punishment. Not before."

She pushed back from him, "After? Fuck that shit. Who says I'd even let you?"

His deep roar of laughter echoed around their bedroom, "You never get that mad, woman, and we both know it." Of course, he knew that too. After a lifetime, this man knew her...literally inside and out.

And she knew him too. He was the one that she could never 'play.' Mister Steady. If Andreas had been her great passion, Stig had been her dark mystery, this man had always been her best friend. And that meant they shared a truth between them...a deep and abiding one. Even through the lies, they always knew the truth, even if they did not speak of it. Especially when they did not speak of it.

He would not be dissuaded. And if she were to be honest with herself, she did not want him to be. Not that she wanted to be punished, but more that she needed to know, really know, that they were putting an end to the lie they had been living so long. That at least with him, it was safe. Petrine could allow Rachel out...in his arms anyway.

But that did not mean Petrine did not expect the man to prove he was stronger than she was. "There are always a first time for everything, old man."

Another solid blow on her derrière caused her to frown, "Quit the games, Petrine. And those do not count. Think of them as warm-ups...richly deserved ones too. I gave you a choice so make it."

He fucking even knew that...knew when it was Petrine and when Rachel spoke. Damn him, damn him, damn him. But there was no other choice. She was not going to win or distract him when he got like this. So her only choice was fifty barehanded or ten with... "Justice...peace...and truth?" she frowned.

His face softened for a moment as he caressed her cheek, "Damn woman, I love the fact that you know your Norse mythology as well as you do that fucking Greek and Roman shit. Yes, Forseti, the god of justice, peace and truth. And that is what I would have between us from now on. Even if I have to use him on that sweet ass of yours every damned day to get it."

She was intrigued to say the least. She knew what the cane was like and had no desire to taste its stingy bite ever again. Barehanded had been one of the things they had not abandoned, even if it were more game than real. But just the name... Forseti. "May I see then?"

"No," he smiled, "That too is part of your punishment."

"Hell, making me choose is fucking punishment enough, old man."

His eyes danced, "Part of it, yes, but not enough. Not for what happened. Not to give us that clean slate I want, Rachel. You want that too, I know you do." His eyes darkened as he bent and kissed her.

Damn the man, his lips still did funny things to her as her hands cupped his bearded cheeks and held him to her. By the time, he drew back reluctantly, she was breathless. Damn him even more, the man had always been the most amazing kisser. It was never just foreplay with him, he had always poured himself into it. And she felt it to her toes.

His eyes had lightened to that silvery color that she recognized as passion. "But even more important than what I want, is what you need, Rachel. Not that I don't admire the fuck out of Petrine. I probably even like the bitch. But I miss you, sweetheart. I miss that girl who was happy just sitting in the sunshine and reading. The one who did not give a damn what anyone thought about her. I miss her fucking laughter so damned much. I want that to be the last damned thing I hear before I make that final journey to Valhalla," he brushed away a tear that she could not stop at the thought of what he asked.