Ægir's Wife Ch. 03

The cold fingers of the wind seeped through even the careful layers that she pulled tighter about her, hardening nipples that were already aching with need for their touch. Once more the waters of the fjord were as turbulent as the emotions blowing inside her mind, tossing and rolling waves lapped at the sides of the boat. Kirsty stilled herself for whatever lay on board, be it welcoming warmth of fires raging in the hearth or the icy winter peaks that loomed all around her forming a fortress as impregnable as his heart.

Over three months. Three months and the man had not touched her. She was almost certain he had not spoken more than a couple hundred words to her in all that time either. And most of those were 'Unnskyld mæ'...excuse me. Sure, when he thought she was not looking, she sometimes caught him staring her, but his face held no clue as to what he was thinking, any more than the ice-capped mountains that surrounded them.

She though had spent days perhaps even weeks thinking about him. Trying to come to terms with all that had happened between them. Her mind rebelled vehemently against that word which Mikael and Bjorn especially insisted upon using. It was not rape, of that much she was certain. He had not even violated her consent. Just lost control...and honestly, some part of her liked the fact that she could make Atlas, Mister Cool loss that composure. No, what had bothered her most was not the way he had taken her ass that first time.

It was what had happened afterwards. The only hard limit she was truly certain she had...besides the obvious illegal and disgusting ones of course...was humiliation. And being dragged naked into the hall way like that, watching them argue and even come to blows over her was damned close to it. That she was still having trouble coming to terms with. The obvious reason was simple, because no matter what had happened she still cared for Sven. And his rejection that night and since hurt. She hated how much it bothered her.

With Bjorn and Mikael's loving support, Petrine's and Olaf's too, she had almost totally settled happily into her new life here. It was odd how London where she had lived her whole life had simply faded into a memory so quickly. How could this place feel so much like home after such a short time?

So why was she procrastinating? Delaying the inevitable? Her previous supervisor had retired and her friend Roz had taken her place. Kirsty had received two emails from her already asking about her plans.

She frowned as she approached the boat that was already docked and tied off at the pier. Usually it was bustling with all of them working to unload and secure things off, but not today. That worried her a bit. Had something gone wrong? Surely Bjorn or Mikael would have told her if it had.

Was that part of it? Kirsty readily admitted that these frequent trips not only left her lonely but worried. Even though Bjorn and Mikael had both explained how lucrative this winter fishing season was to them, it was still hard to put the stories of Lars and Stig from her mind. The thought of the dangers that they faced kept her awake in that bed more often than the aching need between her thighs.

She smiled...her husbands came up with increasingly inventive and sometimes devious ways to make certain that she never felt lack of either their control, her orgasms or even Mikael's pain. Of course, it was never quite the same as it was when they shared her bed...and increasingly it had truly been 'they.'

Especially on nights like this one, where after days or weeks without the touch of their bodies on hers, there was no way humanly possible that she could choose between the men she loved. Not that it was easy. Well, not on them anyway. Bjorn had more than once cringed when he saw first-hand the depth of her masochist.

She chuckled as she remembered the time that Mikael had brought back a special surprise for her. He and Bjorn had each taken a breast, kneading and sometimes even crushing the full globes in their hands, tweaking the nipples until they hardened like the rubbers that she had used in school, until at last each bent their heads and took a turgid peak into his mouth.

She had actually come then as she watched their heads so close to one another. Bjorn's light blonde long hair woven about her even lighter skin as he suckled and blew across the tip. Mikael's darker, almost brown hair, shorter as it tickled her other breasts, but his teeth bit and scored her flesh. The contrast and perfect complement of her husbands had sent her body spiralling unexpectedly out of control.

Without permission. Which of course meant one thing...punishment. Oh, what punishment though. Mikael had once more taken the tawse to her bare and very wet cunt. She had tried very hard not to look at the dark and worried expression on Bjorn's face as she counted out twenty strikes with the stiff leather straps, thanking Mikael after each.

But it was her dark Loki's punishment that hurt far worse than the delicious sting on her clit and cunt. On number eighteen as she felt her need rising, knowing that Mikael always commanded her to come upon the final blow, Bjorn's handsome face had filled her field of vision. His smile was as devious as any that his sadist brother ever made as he whispered, "You do NOT have permission to come, our naughty, needy little slut wife."

When Mikael bent for his 'takk, min herre' kiss for her pain, his smile matched his brothers. Together they had made her pay the ultimate price for her disobedience, torturing her for hours with the prefect mix of pain and pleasure, including Mikael's special gift...a new set of nipple clamps with a nasty set of teeth that made her first cringe in fear then smile in anticipation.

Bjorn had once more frowned at her quick intake of breath as Mikael began to slowly turn the screws until she felt the bite of it into her sensitive and tender flesh. But her pain slut was not to be deterred as she sighed in satisfaction at the feeling. He repeated the process on the other nipple. Then tightened them both one more turn. He stepped back to inspect them, but that was not enough either as he reached out and firmly tugged the chain that was secured to both. She still was not sure how she had managed not to orgasm then too.

Thankfully she had not though. As it was her punishment was bad enough. Hours of mixed pain and pleasure. Even the two of them taking turns fucking her, still they had not allowed her to orgasm. She had finally broken down crying, begging and pleading like a little child to be allowed to come. That was the moment she realized who the real sadist was. As Mikael and Bjorn looked at one another, it was her light/dark angel, who had shaken his head 'no.'

It was Mikael's turn to frown darkly as Bjorn swept her into his strong arms, kissing away her tears as he whispered, "My beloved angel, I know this lesson is hard on you. On us too. But you must learn, who controls that beautifully complicated mind of yours. If you cannot surrender that control to us when we hold you in our arms, how can you possibly when we are nothing more than video illusions, voices in your head or inadequate words upon a screen?"

She shook her head, not fully understanding the importance of that lesson in the depths of need that bit worse than the clamps, Hermóður or even the tawse upon her wet cunt. It was not until the next morning when they had shown her mercy. If you call repeated orgasming upon command as each took turns whispering, "Come for me, my sweet Freya," into her ears.

She sighed, so why was she doing this now, keeping something from them? From them all. Keeping a secret like this.

She swallowed hard as she climbed abroad Ægir's Captive. There could be no doubt now...she was not their captive. She was no longer certain she ever really had been. From the moment his hand had gripped her elbow and drawn her through that turnstile at the train station, she had been theirs. She shook her head as her frown deepened, perhaps even from the moment she opened his first message on that site.

She felt the bite of the wind upon her cheek, like icy fingers gripping her mind. Her eyes clouded over as she stepped fully upon the deck. She reached up to rub them clear and was surprised to see the moisture of tears on the tips of her gloves. No, the truth was that she had walked on this ship of her own free will as much that day as this. They might have thought she was their captive, but she knew the truth...she was destined for more, she was their wife.

And only one thing marred that perfection. Him. Sven. The man, who had begun it all. The man, whose photograph had entranced her enough not to hit the block button for the first time ever. The man whose stern stare even in that grainy photograph had sent butterflies to flight in her tummy and wetness in her knickers. The one whose first touch had been all it took to both frighten her and draw her into their web. The one whose voice had caressed her mind and entranced her like a sorcerer's spell. The one who had taken her...but never more than she was willing to give.

The only one she could not reach. The one that she had failed. And that was the problem. That was what made her so fucking reluctant to hit the send button on the email resignation that she had written weeks ago, even before Roz's first email. How could this place be home, how could they be her family, how could their love ever be enough...without his? The man she had first fallen in love with...probably even before she stepped on the train that day.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had to find a way...somehow. Because she knew that she did not belong back there. That was never really an option. Not since the morning that Bjorn had handed her the unlocked tablet. Not since their mother offered to buy her a ticket back and put her on the plane herself.

She loved them...these rough fishermen that were anything but simple. She loved the family that enveloped and adopted her, filling voids that not even she had really understood their depths. She belonged here...in this place. It called to her and felt like home in some unexplainable way.

The only thing that remained was to figure out how...how to live so fucking, impossibly close to a man you loved and could never really have. She came back full circle...why did that hurt so fucking much...more than the goddess damned clamps or tawse? Why could she not just be happy with Bjorn's and Mikael's love? Most women had to settle for the love of one man. She had two. But still his distance ate at the core of her happiness like that worm buried deep within the bright shiny red apple, rotting it from within.

She frowned as she slipped below deck. The boat was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe she had missed them in passing somehow. Maybe they were already at the Holding, though how that was possible she could not fathom. She checked their room and the galley, but no sign of either Mikael or Bjorn. Not even Sven.

She debated turning around and going back to the house certain that she must have miscalculated how long it took her to make it back from her favorite perch near the top of the mountain. Obviously they had finished quicker than usual and were already laughing and chatting back at the house next to the warm fire. Well, Mikael and Bjorn anyway. Sven would be sitting silently in his chair with his pipe. With Olaf, Petrine and Monika in town she should head back, make them something to eat.

Then she saw the light filtering through the crack of his door at the end of the hallway. She should definitely go back to the house. So why were her feet moving her forward? Closer to him. Towards the danger and pain that festered like an open wound in her heart. Still she could not make her feet turn around and flee. She did not even bother knocking as she pushed back the door just a bit.

Despite the cold, he stood by the foot of the bed as he wrapped rope about his forearm. Why did it have to be rope of all things, she thought, as she felt the wetness drip down her inner thighs. He was naked from the waist up, his feet bare against the rough wood floor that she had knelt upon more than once.

His more mature body might not be the defined muscular beauty of Bjorn's, but it was lithe, honed by his work and stunning enough to turn any woman's head. She rubbed her palms against the wool of her skirt because they itched to reach out and once more run across the coarse hair that covered his chest and arrowed down provocatively into those tight jeans that hugged his thighs.

Her eyes could not help but stray to the front of those jeans as she licked her bottom lip. She sucked in a breath to calm herself. She could almost remember the taste of him, the feel of that thickness buried deep in her throat. Though it was her needy cunt that throbbed and leaked even more sweetness down the inside of her thighs as she turned to go.

This had been a mistake. A bad one, she thought as she turned to flee back the way she had come. Until one word stopped her, "Kirsten?"

Fuck him. Fuck this man who still could melt her insides with a single word said in that too fucking sexy accent. She willed herself not to turn around. She commanded her feet to move, one in front of the other. Fast. Flee him. Seek safety in the arms of the ones who did love her. Who did want her. So why the fuck was she still glued to the same spot?

***

Sven reached for her. Simply because he thought she was a mirage. When his hand touched solid, real bone and muscles on her elbow, his cock hardened instantly. Just as it had that first day when he had drawn her through the turnstile. How could she do that? No other woman ever had. Fuck it...the fact was he actually loved this woman.

When? When had it happened? Certainly he had been attracted to her naïve innocence from the beginning. He enjoyed training subs, he always had. But this one was different than the married women that snuck around behind their husbands' backs to taste a bit of the kink he could offer them. For one thing, none of them had ever been as truly submissive as Kirsten was.

She bordered on the edge of slave in her desire to please and need for submission. The only difference was that unlike a traditional slave, she had a strength of will that made it impossible to actually crush her, to truly enslave her. He shook his head. No, she was not the one enslaved. He was. He and his brothers. And hell yes, that still bothered him.

For the first time in over three months, he was touching her. And even through the damned layers of her coat and sweater, he would swear he could feel the warmth of her too fucking soft skin. He shook his head and willed his heart that was racing to slow its pace. Sweet Freya, how he wanted to strip those clothes from her body and take her to his bed...just as he had that first day.

When she finally turned and looked up at him with those big blue eyes of hers, he felt the burn of oxygen trapped in lungs that no longer could function. The only part of his body that seemed capable of working at that moment was the hard, throbbing flesh between his legs that begged to bury itself inside her warm, welcoming wetness until all was lost.

Then she dropped those eyes, staring at the wood floor as she spoke, "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just looking for..."

He dropped her elbow as the knife sunk deeper into the heart he had never thought he had until he first heard this woman's sweet laughter in that café that chilly autumn day in Tilbury. "Bjorn. Mikael. My brothers. You were looking for them, of course."

He turned his back. He would not let her know. He willed his feet to take the steps necessary to put the distance of his cabin between them, just as he had tried so fucking hard to put emotional distance between them these past few months. But it seemed when it came to this woman, his feet did not obey any better than his heart and mind.

Then he felt the cool of her fingers on his shoulder, "No, wait, Sven. Please, please don't go." Her voice was breathy as he felt the warmth of it on the bare skin of his back. "I'm sorry."

He turned and grabbed her hands, he could not let her keep touching him. Didn't the woman know by now what that did to him? Every fucking time she did, he lost control. The one thing he had prided himself upon, the one thing that every fucking Dom should possess, and a simple touch from her could still fucking strip it away in the space of a heartbeat. "Damn you to Helveti."

Those blue eyes sparked as she rose up to her full height, which was impressive for a woman, but still far shorter than he was. "You already have," she spat as she began to struggle to break free of his grip.

He pulled her closer, wrapped his arms like steel bars about her waist as she began to shove and pummel his bare chest. "Feeling is mutual, wife," he breathed against her warm, soft lips just before capturing them in a kiss that sought to extinguish the fires of Múspellsheimr. But each taste of her sweetness, each soft moan and whimper that he captured at the back of her throat, drove him closer to Ragnarök, "the end of the world."

Just as it had that first day, she felt so fucking good in his arms, so gods be damned right. But it was not. He had to remind himself of that fact. He had made a promise to his brother...to himself. He would step away. She belonged to them now. His brothers. And as much as he wanted...fuck, almost needed...this, it was not right. She was no longer his.

He broke the kiss then, released her as he turned and this time by some miracle of all the gods in Asgard managed to put the space of his cabin between them. Still he was wise enough to keep his back to her as he spoke, "Mikael and Bjorn remained in town with my uncle and mother. I am sure they will be here shortly though. Wait for them at the Holding."

The room was silent. He thought she had obeyed him...fled back to the safety of the house and his brothers. Then he felt it...hands, surprisingly warm and so fucking soft as they ran lightly across his shoulders and upper back, trailing slowly lower and lower. He almost came undone when he felt the wetness of her tongue along his spine. But she was not finished with the torture as the heat of her breath fanned across it as she spoke, "I've missed you."

Three simple words. Three fucking words. And Sven felt the floor beneath him opening up, he was drowning. Drowning in her. Her touch. Her tender kisses and licks. And those words that so fucking echoed how he felt, but could never tell her. He swallowed it all back though as he fought back the raging need to take her. Take your wife, his mind screamed. He shook his head and tried to remind himself that she was not...not his...not anymore. So why the hell did it still feel so good, so right? "Please, Kirsten, please just go," he pleaded through gritted teeth.

Her hands found his waist and turned him. Why he allowed her to was beyond him in that moment. Especially when he looked into those striking blue eyes that never could hide her feelings. He swallowed hard and tried to suck air into his oxygen starved lungs but the sound came out as a moan when her hand began to fumble with the button on his jeans. "No, Kirsten, we can't," he pleaded.

What happened next was truly shocking as much because for once those eyes did not telegraph her intents as she shoved him back onto his bed. Before he could utter a single word, she was on top of him. Her fingers made surprisingly quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans. He closed his eyes and groaned when those soft hands wrapped around the steel length of his cock. But they flew open a moment later when he felt the warm, wetness of something else wrapping around its head. "Kirsten," he half pleaded and half growled.