Asbjörn gives my arm a squeeze that sends delicious shudders across my skin. “Don’t go anywhere, sweet Freja, I’ll be back in a second.”
Freja?I frown. He knows my name is Elina.
It takes a moment for my brain to snap out of the momentary haze and realize what he’s saying.Viking vibes and Freja. In Nordic mythology, Freja is the goddess of love. It’s probably meant as an endearment. Maybe even a way of flirting?
Heat floods at my core. I gaze toward him, but it’s not Asbjörn my attention catches on. Because Ulf is watching me, straight on. My breath catches as I fall captive to his demanding stare. Without words, he commands the very air—commands me. I try to avert my gaze, but I can’t.
Shivers shudder down my arms. I try to lift my hands to rub my skin, but I’m frozen in place. I can’t seem to do anything as Ulf holds me in the stark grip of his focus. He says something to Asbjörn, and then he’s pointing at me, still watching without inhibition, like I’m an intruder who has stepped onto his land. Or more like he’s a falcon circling a field and I’m the only mouse on the naked, frozen ground.
My heart pounds. I want to hide. But he won’t let me. And I want just another taste of that magnificent power. It’s like seeing the sun for the first time after a long, dark winter. I can’t stop watching even though the intensity hurts my eyes.
Asbjörn looks at me too and nods.
They’re talking about me, and it makes me nervous. And curious.
They exchange a few more words, then Asbjörn leaves Ulf’s side. Ulf holds my gaze a little longer, and that short moment of contact seems to say a whole lot of things I can’t decipher. When he finally releases me as Asbjörn steps behind the bar, it’s like dropping to the ground, hard, after having been levitating.
“I think it’s about time I head home,” I say, suddenly feeling off.
“Not so fast.” Asbjörn takes my hands as I’m about to slide off the stool.
I glance down at his big paws that make mine look like a child’s hands. A rush of something I can’t explain shoots through me. I lick my lips, my breath suddenly coming in shallow gushes.
“Would you like to explore a little?” he asks.
“Explore?” I say, my mind going in slow motion.
“Yeah. With me. It could be a flogger. I saw how you watched that scene earlier. But if you’d rather try a paddle or just a bare-handed spanking, we can do that too.”
“A flogger?” Heat gathers in my cheeks as I seem to be stuck on repeating his words.
A smile tips up his lips. “The whip with lots of leather strands. I have several different kinds. It won’t hurt if you don’t want it to. Don’t worry. I’ll go slow. I know you’re new to this. You don’t even have to take off your clothes.” As if he can tell how my heart is racing, he starts stroking the backs of my hands soothingly. He nods toward the St. Andrew’s cross at the other end of the room. “The cross at the back is free, and most people have gone home. It’s discreet but safe. I don’t even have to tie you up if you’re not comfortable with it.”
I scan the space as I imagine being flogged on the cross—in the open room. Nervousness skitters across my skin at the thought of everyone watching. But Asbjörn is right. There are not many people left to watch. A couple is doing aftercare on one of the couches, and Lea is engrossed in a hushed conversationwith another girl a little farther down the bar. And when I turn to the couches at the back, where Ulf thrones, everyone is getting up.
“Are they leaving?” I ask Asbjörn.
“Most of them are.”
I consider the St. Andrew’s cross. I’ve been fantasizing about the leather-covered structure since the first night I came here—being tied up, at the mercy of a powerful man. Someone strong but safe. I look back at the man who’s inviting me to play.Like Asbjörn.
I press my lips together, then say in a breathy voice, “Okay.”
His warm smile widens as he gives a firm nod. “Okay.”
Reaching down under the bar, he grabs a duffel bag that he sets on the bar top in front of me. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
With fascination, I watch him take out several items and display them on the surface.
“A small flogger. Medium. A heavy one,” he says as he goes. “Probably not this one.” He returns a particularly severe-looking flogger with thick, stiff strands to the bag, then takes out leather cuffs. “Wrist cuffs.” He takes out another pair. “And ankle cuffs.” Then he sets the bag down, leans his elbows on the bar top, and places his big hands on my lower arms. The heat soothes the chills that keep spiking on my skin. “Take your time, ask questions, touch and test, and let me know which ones you’re good with.”
I do as he says, testing the feel of the flogger strands, lifting the implements to gauge their weight, and asking questions. All the while, Asbjörn strokes my skin and answers all my questions patiently and calmly.
I end up choosing all items except the ankle cuffs. Being restrained is one of my biggest fantasies, and I feel safe enough with Asbjörn and the public setting of the club to let him cuff my hands, but I figure both arms and legs will be a bit too much for astart. As for the floggers, Asbjörn explains that he’ll slowly work his way up and only use the heaviest one if I’m ready for it. And I’m surprisingly drawn to the flogger with the long, thick, and narrow strands, so I agree to all three.
When Asbjörn rounds the bar and holds his palm out in a gentlemanly gesture, Lea winks at me, and I cast her a shy smile as I place my hand in his and hop off the stool. It’s reassuring to know she’s here. I like Lea, and it adds a sense of safety.
As Asbjörn leads me through the room, I glance at the couches at the back. Empty. I’m both relieved and disappointed, knowing Ulf—the leader, the chieftain, whatever he is—is gone. He scared me, to be honest. But he also did something else that made my blood hum. What is it with me and those older men tonight?
