“Come. Here.”
Something in his tone must have reached through Thori’s stubborn embarrassment, because he stumbled forward, only his indignant expression betraying his defiance. When he was close enough, Njord pulled him down across his lap, guiding him so that his torso rested on the bed while his hips lay across Njord’s thighs.
“This is a poor joke,” Thori growled, but his body relaxed into the vulnerable position.
They both knew Njord’s solution was a gentle punishment for a rebellious thrall. That Njord could have thought of a million treatments more cruel or humiliating.
“Your behavior demands punishment,” Njord reminded him, resting a calming hand on the small of Thori’s back. “You attacked a warrior in my hall. One of my trusted advisors. Eldur could’ve been hurt.”
“I had my thunder under control.” With his back to Njord, some of Thori’s usual snappiness returned. “And he deserved it.”
Having the proud Price of Asgard lying naked on his lap, snarking back at him, felt oddly endearing. It also made him want to put Thori in his place. Badly.
“Be that as it may, it wasn’t your choice to make. You belong to me,elskan. Your thunder, your fury are mine to command.”
Njord traced the enticing curve of Thori’s ass as if under a spell, reveling in the responding shiver.
“Then punish me if you must. I won’t ask you to go easy on me.”
“As you wish.”
The initial blow was measured. Njord was testing the waters, trying to gauge how Thori would react, how much pain he could handle. Thori gasped, a soft sound born more of surprise than actual pain. Good. Njord waited for a heartbeat, letting the tension build, before delivering another smack, harder this time, leaving a faint pink mark on Thori’s soft skin. Beautiful.
“Count,” he ordered.
“What?”
“The punishment for your insolence is twenty blows. You’ll count them for me.”
By the waves, what was he doing? This was no proper punishment, way too soft, way too lenient. But marking Thori’s skin with his own hands, even if only for a moment, was too tempting to pass up. Njord delivered the next blow before hecould change his mind. After all, he couldn’t let Thori get away completely unscathed.
“One,” Thori gasped.
Njord set a slow rhythm, his need to savor this moment overwhelming. Each strike he placed carefully, each pause he calculated to let the sting build into warmth, and as Thori’s breathing grew ragged, his hips shifted against Njord’s thighs. Norns, Thori was as caught up in this game as he was, and that knowledge filled Njord with a calm serenity he hadn’t known for decades. He delivered another sharp slap, pulling a breathy sound from Thori, almost a moan.
“Twelve.”
The joy of making Thori squirm was far too powerful.
“Good boy,” Njord murmured, tracing the red marks his strikes had left.
Thori shuddered at the praise. On the next strike, he outright moaned. His skin was flushed pink all over, and when Njord let his palm rest flat against the heated flesh, Thori leaned into the touch.
Njord delivered the next blows in a blur of rising arousal, his fingers tingling pleasantly from the impact. He needed to put a stop to this before he lost control completely.
“Twenty,” Thori gasped, trembling under his touch.
And for a breathless moment, Njord didn’t know what to do with him.
“Njord,” Thori breathed.
“What is it?”
“I don’t—I can’t—” Thori’s voice broke. “Please…don’t stop.”
Njord’s breath caught. The proud Prince of Asgard, reduced to begging. It should have been victory, but instead it felt like the Norns had placed a gift in his hands, precious and fragile.
Carefully stroking the reddened skin, Njord marveled at the hand-shaped marks he’d left. He dipped his fingers between Thori’s perfect cheeks, allowing his thumb to catch at his hole.
