He huffs, “I hate people, my brother, and parties. Now, I must attend where all of those are combined.”
“Do you know what I desire, Avina?” His husky voice hungrily asks. “I yearn to carry you back to Blackwood and chain you from the rafters in my chambers. I would have your delicious body dangling with those perfectly pink lips silenced, so I can hear your helpless mumbles that stir my cock.”
He grips the back of her neck, pulling her until his breath falls onto her lips. His middle and forefinger trace her jaw, sending goosebumps flaring along her skin.
“I would shove these fingers up that tight pussy until your luscious cum drips down my arm. Do you want to know what I would do next to my filthy little slut?”
She perspires.
“I need your words, Avina.”
“Yes.” She chokes out breathlessly.
He grins. “Yes, my lovely little fuck toy. Are you my toy?” He growls.
“Yes.” She breathes her response on his lips.
He groans. “Fuck I need to take that tight little pussy while you struggle, bound in my arms. Gods, I want to see those heavy tits bounce as I slap your soft flesh until it reddens for me. When I finish with that cunt, I will unload my seed into your ass, and you will take it just like the good whore you are.”
She can feel her undergarments slick with her desire.
Yes, drag me back to Blackwood so we can fulfill your filthy fantasies.
He pulls away with that devious grin as he pounds on the door, which swings open almost immediately to music and a roaring hearth.
Her pulse races from his imaginings. How will she engage in the evening when all she can think of is the fire now ravaging underskin?
“I want you to think of me,” he whispers. “I want your eyes on me all evening.”
She whimpers, and then his hand is on her lower back, pushing her inside.
Strings of evergreen garland and warm candles flicker on every surface. A small string band strums in the corner, creating a cozy atmosphere. She spins around, inhaling cranberry and orange.
“Sigvid!” Slode wraps an arm around his commander while sloshing ale from his horn onto the pristinely swept floors. “Thrain has casks of that strong shit we lifted from the Ridge a few winters ago.”
While Sigvid drifts off with Slode, she smiles and takes note of the rest of the current attendees. Helga, a short, balding man she assumes is Thrain’s new Second, and a woman with the longest legs she has ever seen, play a card game at the smaller table.
Why is Helga here?
She slips off into the hall, which leads to the study she once meddled in. No, she is not avoiding Helga. However, her comfort level at the shindig extended solely to Frida, Ingirid, and possibly Sigvid. The former has yet to arrive.
Unlike the last time she was here, all the rooms are open and lit with candelabra. She dives into the first open doorway, a small bedroom with a few pieces of child-sized furniture, but it is otherwise plain.
“This is my childhood room.”
She spins around to find Thrain in the doorway. He nudges the wooden frame with the toe of his shiny black boot. As always, his near-identical face to Sigvid has her stumbling off guard.
It is only his seidr.She reminds herself.
Each time she lays eyes on Thrain, she can cut more through theseidr, seeing the appearance beneath. His nose's angular structure, elongated facial features, and high forehead give him a noble appearance compared to Sigvid’s grizzlier warrior build.
“I didn’t realize. I take it you sleep in your parent’s room now?” She clasps her hands at her front, twisting the smooth fabric of her skirt.
“Yes. Of course, my mother is eager for me to produce an heir as King and fill the available beds.” The longing laced in his voice istangible.
Despite Sigvid’s warnings ringing in her ears, she edges across the rug toward the door. She knows leaving will mean she will pass by Thrain, whose eyes have yet to leave hers. But she senses a breath longer alone with him will not end well.
He strides closer.
